Haunted (20 page)

“Hey, hardworking lawman,” Carter said. “You made it back just in time for dinner.”

Matt nodded, glancing at Darcy. “You feeling all right?”

She made an effort not to grit her teeth. “I'm really feeling terrific. You were the one who hit the floor, remember?”

“Ah, yes, the valiant, manly man of a sheriff!” Carter teased, and yet, Darcy thought that there was just a slight edge to his voice.” Of course, Darcy is fine. She fell on all that terrific muscle and sinew, eh, Matt?”

“Something like that,” Matt said dryly.

Penny appeared in the foyer. “Matt! Great. I'm so happy you're back in time for a real dinner. Where did you get to? You weren't answering the cell, and Shirley said that you'd left the station.”

“I had some business out of the county,” Matt said simply,
still looking at Darcy. Then he turned to Penny at last. “Go on and start dinner without me. I'm going to take a quick shower and change. If you'll all excuse me?”

It wasn't really a question; more of a statement. He headed up the stairs.

“Well, ladies?” Carter said. He offered them both an arm.

Penny smiled and took one. “Honestly. You and Clint can be the most wretched young reprobates in history, but then, you can be the most darling men I know.”

“We strive for ‘darling'!” Carter said. “Come along.” He looked at Darcy, wiggling his free arm. “I'm working so hard on being ‘darling,' Darcy. Give me a hand here!”

She smiled and accepted his arm.

“You should shave, Carter,” Penny told him.

“I've worked long and hard on this beard!” he told her.

“You're still such a handsome fellow without it,” Penny argued.

“But I don't look like Jeb Stuart without it!” Carter protested.

Penny sighed and looked around him to tell Darcy, “They called Jeb Stuart ‘Beauty' when he was at West Point, and not because of his good looks, but because they thought that he was ugly as sin. So he had to grow a beard! Carter, it's just the opposite with you. You have a great face. The beard should really go. What do you say, Darcy?”

Put on the spot, she shrugged. “I think he has to do what makes him happy with himself,” she said.

Carter studied her, slowly grinning. “That's the whole crust of life, right in a nutshell, don't you think? We all have to do what we all have to do—to be happy with ourselves.”

“While we're living—and when we're dead,” Penny said. She shivered suddenly. “Oh, Darcy! I like you so very much, but I sure do wish that you'd leave. I'm so worried about you.”

“Penny, there's an expression that's not very nice, but it fits the bill, I think,” Darcy told her, then quoted, “It's not happening. So live with it.”

Penny grimaced. “That's just the point, Darcy,” she said, and there was a real shiver to her voice. “I want you to live!”

Clint came striding to the foyer from the dining room. “Excuse me, people, but dinner is served!”

Penny walked ahead, touching Clint's cheek. “We're coming! But stalling a minute is fine, too. Matt's home, showering and changing.”

“Well, then, Ms. Penny, you come and tell that to the cook!” Clint said.

Clint and Penny moved on. Darcy started to follow.

Carter pulled her back. “Darcy, something there just gave me chills, and I don't believe in chills. Maybe you should think about this.”

“What are you talking about?” Darcy asked him.

“I don't know. Just a feeling of discomfort. I don't think that I believe that a ghost could be after you. No, I definitely don't believe that. But still…”

“Still…what?” Darcy asked.

“There does seem to be some danger here for you,” Carter said, his words slow, as if he was struggling to understand his own feeling. Then the look of worry left his face. “You're just too gorgeous. Which means, of course, we'd like to have you around forever. But not as a ghost! We want you to remain among the living. Oh, what the hell am I saying? Come, my beauty! The dinner table awaits.”

Caught in his arm, Darcy walked with him toward the dining room.

Then she was startled herself.

An icy chill suddenly swept up around her. Cold, so cold.

And she felt a strange tug….

As if someone was trying to get her away from Carter.

Keep her back.

Have her there…

Alone.

“S
o, our skull proves to be that of poor Amy, who has been running around the forest looking for her head for years,” Clint said, helping himself to more mashed potatoes. “This means we have to have a nice little ceremony and bury her skull, right?” He looked at Matt.

“Oh, but of course!” Penny exclaimed, before Matt could speak.

Matt arched a brow to her.

“We should bury it quietly,” he said. “If we have a ceremony, every idiot journalist from here to Alaska will be in the place, making a big deal out of it.”

“Matt, really!” Penny said with disgust.

Matt might be exaggerating, but he also had a point. People loved stories like this one; the
New York Times
might not pounce on it, but small papers and sensationalist rags from all over would jump on that kind of a story.

“Actually,” Carter said, “it wouldn't be so bad. It would be a nice thing. A tidy end to the story. And the journalists would have to write up the fact that the ghost had been put to rest. Once put to rest, there would be no more hauntings. Right, Darcy?”

Darcy set her fork down. “The skull should be buried with the rest of the body. Having a minister officiate would be nice. Exactly what goes on other than that probably doesn't matter.”

“None of it really matters anyway,” Matt said. He sounded irritated. Naturally. He didn't believe in ghosts.

Darcy chose her words carefully. “Whether Amy's ghost ever actually ran around the forest or not isn't the point. We bury people out of respect for the lives they led, and for those loved ones left behind. Granted, Amy doesn't have any remaining relatives in the area—that we know about—but she was still a living, breathing human being. A pitiable one, considering the way that she was murdered. In all due respect, we should see that her skull is buried with her body.”

Matt hesitated, then said, “Her skull can go near her body. She was buried more than a century ago. God knows what shape she'd be in now. The coffin was probably simple wood, long since deteriorated. There are different laws regarding burial now. We can do our best—since I suppose you're right, that it would be proper.” He looked around the table. “Go into any major museum, and you'll find bones and skulls coming out of the woodwork. Dead is dead. If there truly is life after death, I'd say it's pretty well confirmed that we don't need our physical bodies once we get there.”

“Matt, there's not a bit of the romantic in you!” Penny moaned.

“What is romantic about a tragic murder?”

“The simple rightness of seeing that she is whole again, at least in her final resting place,” Penny said firmly.

Matt shrugged. “Penny, we'll see that the skull is interred near the body, all right?”

“And we'll have a little ceremony?” Penny pleaded.

He threw up his hands. “Whatever you wish, Penny.”

“Hey,” Darcy asked, determined to change the subject. “Did any of you all ever hear of a woman named Arabella?”

“Yes, there is a story about Arabella,” Penny began. “She was supposedly the bastard child of a far distant Stone who tried to seduce the legitimate heir, eons ago. Scheming, conniving, and all. But he married someone else. And she disappeared from the legend. Why? Were you reading about her?”

“Yes, just now.”

Penny was excited. “There's no story about her dying a violent death.”

“But she disappeared. Maybe she was murdered. She could be the haunt in the Lee Room.”

Matt pushed back his chair. “Excuse me, ladies, gentlemen. I hear the night air calling to me.”

“But Matt!” Penny said.

He didn't reply. He pushed his chair in, then looked at Darcy. “You're sure you're all right?”

They had managed to go through the entire meal without referring to the episode in the library.

Darcy sighed. “I'm fine,” she said.

“When you're tired, go up,” he warned.

“Darcy, he's right,” Clint said, looking at her worriedly.

“I'm fine,” she persisted.

“I agree. You looked darned good to me,” Carter said lightly.

Matt turned and walked out of the dining room. Penny folded her hands and looked at Darcy excitedly again. “Arabella! I can see what you're thinking. She disappeared from the records and the area—because she was dead. Murdered by her traitorous lover. In the Lee Room!”

“Something like that,” Darcy said.

Carter groaned. “There wasn't a body.”

“Oh, posh! A man who knew the area—years ago, before forensic sciences were so advanced—could easily dispose of a body,” Penny said. She looked earnestly at Darcy. “I watch all the forensic shows, so I know about these things.”

Darcy looked down, hiding a smile. Then she looked at Carter. “I'm afraid that even today, with all the police work and forensic technology available, lots of bodies still disappear, and many murderers go unpunished.”

“I suppose,” Carter said. With a shrug he added. “I'll let you ladies play,
Murder, She Wrote.
” He stretched and yawned. “If
you'll excuse me. I think I'm going to head out to play some pool. Anyone want to join me?”

He looked hopefully around the table.

“Not tonight,” Clint said.

“You sure?” Carter asked. “Darcy?”

She shook her head. “Thanks. Maybe tomorrow night.”

Clint laughed. “Carter, you don't need to look like an old hanged dog. I heard that our lovely new young city commissioner, Delilah, plays pool a lot of evenings. Ah, hm. I'll bet you knew that. Makes the Wayside Inn so much more appealing, huh?”

“She may be there, she may not,” Carter said.

“Why don't you just ask her out?” Darcy suggested.

“Well, since I'm barking up the wrong tree following you around like a coonhound with his tongue on the ground, I might as well.”

Darcy smiled at him, certain that he was joking, but feeling just a little bit uncomfortable anyway. But Carter's smile deepened and he winked. “So I should just ask her out, huh?”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” she said.

“I'll give it some real thought. Meanwhile, I'm going to go play pool and see if I run into her. Night, all.”

With a wave, he left the room.

Penny stood. “Heavens. I forgot to make those fellows help clean up!”

“I'd like a little busywork right now,” Darcy told her. “We'll get this all picked up in a matter of minutes.”

She stood, gathering plates. Clint rose with her. “I guess I didn't run out fast enough,” he said, moaning to Penny, giving Darcy a quick grimace.

“Young man, work is good for you.”

“I'll have you know that I actually have lots of irons in the fire. I'm just not sharing my activities until I have something really sound to say.”

Penny eyed him skeptically. “Hm.” Then she took a casserole plate and moved on into the kitchen.

Darcy rinsed dishes while Clint put them into the dishwasher. He was amusing as they worked, finding a way to break into a song regarding every comment Penny made as she put leftovers into containers and then into the refrigerator.

By the time they had finished, Penny was groaning, Darcy was laughing. And yet, Penny was very fond of Clint, and not half as dismayed by his antics as she tried to appear to be.

Matt didn't come back in.

When they finished, Darcy excused herself, anxious to get up to the Lee Room.

She turned the light on as she closed the door behind her. She looked around the room, then closed her eyes, and tried to let any sensations ease into her.

The room seemed extraordinarily still and quiet. And empty.

“Arabella?” she murmured softly aloud. “If there was an injustice, we can at least let it be known. There's no need to be so hostile. We're trying to help you.”

No response. No whisper of a breeze, no hint of a voice on the air. No coldness. Nothing.

The ghost was lying dormant. Darcy didn't even get her usual chilling sense of being watched.

She hesitated a few minutes, then went out on the balcony, gripped the rail, and stared into the night. So beautiful. Surely, this area of Virginia was blessed.

After a few moments, she went back in.

She turned on the television, and was surprised to realize that the late-night talk shows had come on. Idly, she began to strip down for bed, started to choose a T-shirt for sleep, then hesitated.

Matt would come. She was certain.

She opted for a light-blue silk peignoir.

Seated upon the bed, she watched the television for several
seconds, waiting. But that night, the Lee Room seemed to be giving her nothing.

“I don't understand at all,” she said out loud. “You obviously want help. Let me help you. Or are you simply angry with the Stones for what happened to you, Arabella, and eager to hurt them? They are not the same people now. Matt Stone is not the man who did this to you.”

Still…nothing.

With a sigh, she turned around and curled up with her pillow.

 

Matt wasn't sure why he stayed out on the porch so late. But then again, there were times when he did just sit out there, doing nothing, feeling the light, watching the land beneath the moonlight. There was something calming and reaffirming about doing so. He did love Melody House. More than that, he loved Virginia, especially his county. It was as if the heritage and history were ingrained in him, and as if his love for the land returned to him sometimes on nights like this, strengthening.

Either that, or he didn't want to listen to any more nonsense from Penny.

Carter had gone to play pool. After a while, Clint, too, had decided to head into town claiming he was feeling a little edgy and might as well go to the Wayside Inn and play some pool.

Matt lingered outside a bit longer, then went in.

The house was silent. Those who hadn't headed out rabblerousing had gone to bed.

He went to his own room first, but didn't stay more than a few seconds. Walking out on the balcony, he paused a few minutes again, staring at Darcy's door. It was closed. She probably hadn't locked it, though, and he didn't know if he'd be relieved or angry once he made certain that he was right. She should be locking it.

But then again, maybe she had left it open for him.

He tried the door. Open.

He should go in and yell at her.

Matt stepped into Darcy's room, closed and locked the balcony doors behind him. For a few moments he stood where he was, thinking that she had been through a traumatic day. Except that a near-death experience hadn't seemed so traumatic to her.

He should leave.

He wasn't about to do so.

The television was on, but the lights had been dimmed. And Darcy was soundly sleeping.

He walked to the bed, treading softly.

She looked like a heroine of old, red hair splaying out like an elegant, fire-touched shawl. She was long and lean, slender legs visible beneath the gauze of her nightgown, feet just peeking out. The way she slept…her position enhanced her cleavage. And the way her arms were curled around it…he wanted nothing more than to be her pillow at that moment.

“Darcy?” he said softly.

“Um?”

She stirred, turning. Her eyes, heavy-lidded, opened slowly. She stared at him, a slow, seductive smile curling her lips.

“Why, Sheriff Stone,” she said softly.

“You left the balcony doors open,” he said, sliding down to sit beside her.

Her smile deepened. “Not to be too presumptuous, but…I assumed you might arrive here,” she said. Heavy with sleep, her voice was husky, the sound of it eliciting drumbeats in his veins that echoed into his mind. And beyond.

“You're sure…you're fine? After today?” he queried.

Her smile deepened. She lifted her arms, curling them around his shoulders as she halfway rose to him. Head cast back, throat at an incredible arch, voice richer than carnal sin itself, she assured him. “Really, truly, fine. Better than fine. Want me to prove it?”

She had come to him completely, hot breath of her whispered words against his ear, causing the drumbeat to shudder down to a mambo in his groin. He wrapped his arms around her, finding her lips, her mouth, depth and heat and wetness, and locking her into a kiss that seemed to fuse his body to hers. He had to press her back to struggle in his haste to remove his clothing. Bared to muscle and sinew and pure lust, he rose above her, fingers finding the hem of the gauzy gown, dragging it up before he settled, flesh against flesh, arousal spiraling with the first brush of the senses. He could drown in the sweet aroma of her soap, perfume, and self. The feel and taste of her were seductive, intoxicating, and he ran his palms over her flesh again and again, savoring the feel, bringing his lips against her next for a taste of the texture of her skin. The impact of their bodies against one another created an arousal within him that he fought, not just for the desire to be a giving lover, but to prolong the excruciating promise of climax and pleasure.