Haunted (31 page)

“And then…nothing else?”

“Nothing else,” she said, and it was only a small lie. There had been that awful feeling for a moment that she was going to relive history in more than a dream. The passion…

Then the violence.

Except that Matt wasn't violent.

“Adam, I need to get back into that dream. I need to see more clearly. I don't have any faces, and yet something that I do see but don't recognize is nagging at me terribly, and I think that it's the answer to the dilemma.”

Adam nodded. “Hypnotism is the best tool. But before we go into it, I want to run through the video and sound tapes. I'll take them to my room and take a look—there's probably nothing, if you were in a dream state. Why don't you take a little break? Watch television, read a book, go for a walk.”

He wanted to study the tapes alone, that much was obvious. And she agreed with him. There wasn't going to be anything on the tapes.

“Sure.” Darcy went to the machines and got him the tapes.
“Whatever you do, don't forget that we're meeting downstairs at twelve-thirty.”

“I won't.”

When he left the room, Darcy headed back downstairs. Penny must have been in her office, and there was no sign of Clara, either.

She walked on out to the stables, just to see the horses. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she was startled to see a form, a man standing by one of the stalls.

“Hey, Darcy, did you want to go riding?”

It was Carter. She exhaled, amazed to realize that she had been frightened.

“No…I just thought I'd come and give the fellows a few pats,” Darcy said. She walked over to him. The nameplate on the stall where he stood identified its occupant as Midnight Blue. Naturally, the horse was so deep an ebony in color it might have been blue.

“This your guy?” Darcy asked.

“I don't own any of them. But when I ride here, he's my fellow,” Carter told her.

“He's beautiful.”

“Yes, he is, isn't he? You wouldn't believe it, but Matt found him working on a hack line up in the mountains. He was underfed, and pathetic looking. But a fine horse, and Matt knew it. Brought him here, and Sam looked after him. That was a few years ago. Look at him now! Old Midnight is a gorgeous fellow, great riding horse.”

“Well, I'm glad he's here,” Darcy said. She leaned against the stall, studying Carter. “Thought you were busy this morning.”

He shook his head. “I was supposed to meet with the construction boss over at some property I bought. The man bailed on me.”

“Ah,” she said. “It's strange to think that you have your own property. You seem so much a part of Melody House.”

“It's easy to become a part of Melody House,” Carter said.
“There's something about that old sense of Southern hospitality here. And it's true, I've been around a heck of a long time. I like Stoneyville.”

“And Delilah Dey?” Darcy teased.

He shrugged, smiling. “She's darned cute. She's not you, of course, but I knew right off that you were a loss. Matt beat me out, again.”

She shook her head. “Carter, I can't see where you feel you have any problems in life. From what Penny says, you've had a major run of love affairs.”

“But the right one hasn't come along,” he said.

“That's hard in life for everyone, huh?”

“Um.” He leaned against the wood, studying her. “People can be so deceptive, as well. Take Lavinia—Matt's ex. She was stunning, sophisticated, and sweet as molasses when she first arrived. She was down with friends to do some antique hunting, met Penny in town, and Penny dragged her here for a ghost tour. Lavinia met Matt, and suddenly, she wasn't leaving. Lord, but they were gorgeous together. Then she turned into the Witch of the West, thinking Matt could drop anything at any time, and take off with her. All he had to do was be polite to another woman, and Lavinia went into a tantrum. They were something, though. Hot as fire one minute, ready to kill one another the next. Funny, though, right after the divorce, it seemed they'd become friends. But now…hell, we haven't heard from her in years. Strange, she was going to come down to arrange some big financial social party here…but then she never did. And we never heard from her again.”

“Sometimes it's best when the past is really behind us,” Darcy said with a shrug.

“Don't worry, you're nothing like her, not really,” Carter said, rubbing his beard, and studying her with an amused smile.

“I wasn't worried.”

“You do have her hair.”

“Hey—there are lots of redheads in the world.”

“She was tall and elegant, too.”

“But I'm not a socialite, by any stretch of the imagination,” Darcy said. “And anyway…I like Matt. I like you all. But I live a strange life. And few people can really handle it.”

“You really can see what others can't?” Carter asked.

“Carter, it's impossible to explain. I don't have a crystal ball. I can't really conjure any visions. Sometimes I see, and sometimes, I don't.”

He was silent, then said, “Darcy, I wish that you'd leave here.”

“Carter, I can't believe that you're not on my side!”

“I am on your side. I think you're gorgeous and adorable, and you don't really freak me out at all. But…I don't know. I just don't feel that you're…safe here.”

“Why not?”

“Well, it's just not a good place for redheads. Matt is a great guy, but…maybe he's not good for you. And maybe Melody House does have some kind of evil in it, but since we don't see it, we're not hurt by it. And you may be.”

“Carter, please, I'm not afraid of ghosts.”

He turned to her, setting both hands on her shoulders. “Darcy, you're a very brave young woman. Truly. Beautiful, assured, absolutely incredible. But Melody House…I have to say it. I really believe you should leave. Because…because you've become too involved, for one.”

“Too involved?” she echoed. He seemed so sincere, despite the fact that he had mocked the idea of ghosts so much himself.

“With Matt. Darcy, you can only get hurt,” Carter warned softly.

She nodded, and placed both her hands over his where they lay on her shoulders. She gave them a squeeze, then extricated herself from his hold.

“Thanks, Carter.”

“Don't get me wrong—he is a great guy.”

“Just not for me, right?”

“There is that Lavinia thing,” Carter said. “Too bad you couldn't have met her. But then, well, you know. She's disappeared.”

“I'll be fine, Carter. But thank you so much for caring.”

She turned to leave.

“Darcy!”

She turned back.

“I don't mean this strangely, but…I love Matt. I think he's basically one of the finest men I've ever met. I think you're pretty great, too. And maybe…maybe this place just isn't very good for you. Please, like I said…I just care about both of you.”

“Sure. Thanks, Carter.”

She left then, without him calling her back. The conversation had been very strange, and unnerving.

He'd talked in such a strange, roundabout way. Not that his words hadn't been evident. Matt was his friend, his very good friend.

So…

If there was something wrong about Matt, he'd never come out and say so.

Just how loyal was he as a friend?

Had he been making implications that something had gone seriously wrong with Lavinia, even after the divorce?

That was too far beyond ridiculous. To suggest that Lavinia hadn't been heard from—
because something had happened to her!

And yet…

As she walked back to the house, she couldn't help remembering the strange sensation she had felt the night before.

Passion…

And then violence.

T
he ceremony for the skull was sadly beautiful.

The minister's name was Todd Bellamy, and he was a tall trim fellow with graying hair, and a voice that was clear, resonant, and soothing.

Despite the fact that the family had moved from the area eons ago, and the old family stones had eroded with time so that they were almost impossible to read, records had set the workers digging in the right area. Matt told them all that the original wooden coffin had decayed, and so the skull had been given its own twenty-first-century metal box, and would be lowered to join the bones at what would be approximately head level.

And so, as it was lowered into the ground, Reverend Bellamy said a prayer, and gave a small speech.

“May all the sins of the past find forgiveness, and as she sits in the warmth and glow of her maker, may Amy find the grace of forgiveness herself. Her time on this earth was brief and fragile, and stolen from her in the sadness of betrayal. In His grace, Amy must surely find peace, and in that peace, grant it to the one who so cruelly wronged her life. So it is that those who faced evil on earth will face the greatest rewards of Heaven, and there, surely, Amy has found her happiness and love. If you will all bow your heads…?”

Bellamy went into a series of prayers for the dead. Darcy bowed her head, but found herself looking around the cemetery.

It was a beautiful old place that was still attached to the church. There were majestic angels guarding tombs, while many of the seventeenth- and eighteenth-century headstones offered up grim carvings of death heads and grim reapers. By night, she was certain, the place would carry an ethereal atmosphere, and most people would certainly consider it eerie.

Even now, though it was a summer's day, storm clouds were moving down from the mountains. When they had first arrived, the sun had lit the place, and it offered the historic charm that brought many to such churches and cemeteries.

Now, the darkening sky changed it to a brooding atmosphere, reminiscent of many a Hollywood horror film. Still, no one seemed to notice too much—those in this area were well accustomed to the old and historic.

With her head slightly bowed, Darcy felt a small twinge, noting that to her side, farther from the church, there was a canopy. A velvet liner remained beneath it, and chairs still surrounded an open grave.

The dead were still being interred in this cemetery.

Darcy found the idea traditional and charming.

“Dust to dust, ashes to ashes…” the reverend intoned.

Matt had planned the ceremony with determined haste, and so, the crowd was small. Naturally, the household was there. Sam, Clara, Penny, Carter, Clint, Matt, Adam, and herself. Delilah Dey had come, naturally representing the city council, Jason Johnstone had come—specifically at Matt's invitation—and a tall, skinny fellow—an Ichabod Crane look-alike—who claimed to be a writer was there as well. Mae had come, delighted to be part of the event, and even Mrs. O'Hara had come from the library. There were a few people in attendance that Darcy didn't recognize, but somehow, Matt had managed to keep it all very low key.

“Amen!” the reverend said. “Go in peace, and may the blessing of God be with you and yours.”

The ceremony was officially over. The last word had barely left the reverend's lips before the Ichabod-man turned to Darcy.

“Miss Tremayne?”

“Yes?”

“I'm Max Aubry from the local paper. First of all, welcome to Stoneyville. We're delighted to have you. It's my understanding you found the skull. Would you mind talking to me for a few minutes?” he asked.

Darcy didn't get a chance to answer. Clint was suddenly behind her like a bulldog, hazel eyes flashing. “Aubry, she minds.”

“What is this, the Stone kingdom?” Aubry said. “Clint, this is America. We've got freedom of the press here. Let the lady answer herself.”

“I can talk to him, Clint, I'll be all right,” Darcy said.

“There, see? She wants to talk,” Aubry said.

Clint looked at Darcy, as if offering her a warning, but he lifted his arms, shrugged, turned and walked away.

“Darcy, dear!” Penny called. “We're going to head down to the Wayside Inn for some lunch.”

“Go ahead, I'll be along,” Darcy called. She saw that Matt and Adam were both talking to the minister; Carter had Delilah Dey by the arm and they were reading old tombstones.

“Perhaps we could move over by the old oak, and your Dobermans won't be nipping at my heels,” Aubry said.

She smiled, confident that whether or not this fellow was a sensationalist journalist, she could handle him.

“Careful, the ground is rough around here,” Aubry warned.

The oak was near the open grave. Darcy found herself curious about its intended inhabitant.

“Mrs. Morrison,” Aubry said.

“Pardon?”

“Old lady Morrison. She was a hundred and one on her last birthday. Died a few days ago in her sleep, surrounded by loving family. That's the way to go, I do say,” Aubry said.

“Certainly.”

“So!” They stood behind the oak. “You're a psychic investigator. Did you see the skull in a vision? How did you do it? Do ghosts talk to you? People are fascinated by such phenomena, you know.”

“Actually, Mr. Aubry, I was able to find the skull because I looked up the history of the legend at the library. After that…it was a matter of deducing where the murder took place, and how far a skull might have moved through time and the elements.”

“So you don't talk to ghosts?” he said, disappointed.

She would never let this man quote her as saying that she did. “We all have incredible minds, Mr. Aubry. And we don't use all of our mental power that often. Harrison Investigations is a company that does a great deal of research. We ferret out shams, and we can say that there aren't always answers to the unexplained. They may be there somewhere, not just in our current knowledge of science and technology. So, if you want to write up what happened, I discovered the details of the story at the library.”

“You fell through the floor there, too,” Aubry told her. “You weren't hurt?”

“No.”

“The sheriff saved you, huh?”

“Yes, luckily, he was around.”

He was staring at her, trying to get to something. Darcy didn't feel daunted; just challenged.

“That was odd, don't you think?”

“What was odd?”

“That the sheriff was there,” Aubry said impatiently.

“Why would it be odd? He knew I was doing research there. It was natural that he might check in to see how I was doing. And luckily, the timing was good.”

“Do you think that a ghost, afraid of what you might discover, followed you from Melody House to attack you at the library so that you would cease your meddling?” Aubry asked.

She laughed out loud. “Mr. Aubry! The floorboards gave because someone spilled a cola on them! The acid ate into the wood. I hardly think that a ghost drifted over from Melody House, sneaked a soda into the library, and spilled it all over the floor.”

Aubry blushed.

“Weren't you scared, though?”

“When the floorboards gave? Of course.”

“Aren't you scared now?”

“Why would I be scared now?”

“Because the ghost must think that you're meddling.”

“Mr. Aubry, I don't remember telling you that there was a particular ghost. And there would be no reason for a ghost to be disturbed that I was meddling, as you say.”

“This is just ridiculous,” Aubry argued with her. “Obviously, Matt Stone called you because of a ghost!”

“Mr. Stone allowed Harrison Investigations in because of a few reported incidents that had occurred in his home. We're investigating those incidents, doing research, just as I did when I heard about Amy's murder, which is how I found the skull, Mr. Aubry. And that's it. I've talked to you, and I'm afraid that I really don't have anything else to say.”

“What do you think about the fact that so many of these incidents have only started cropping up in the last several years? Think the Stones are trying to invent ghosts in order to bring in the tourists?”

“Since Matt Stone doesn't believe in ghosts, he'd hardly go about inventing them.”

“He doesn't believe in ghosts, but he'd do just about anything in the world to hold on to Melody House,” Aubry said. “He was married to Lavinia Harper, you know. A very wealthy woman. Since they divorced he doesn't have her money behind him anymore. She'd once wanted to put all kinds of money into the house. We haven't seen hide nor hair of her for ages, though.
So there you go. Money problems. You don't have to believe in ghosts to invent them.”

“I definitely don't believe that Matt is inventing incidents at his house, Mr. Aubry. If you need to ask any more questions, my associate—and the founder of my firm—Mr. Adam Harrison, is here. Perhaps you should talk to him.”

“Where is he?” Aubry asked sharply.

“He was over by the minister,” Darcy said, pointing toward the church.

“Thanks!” he told her.

Darcy leaned against the oak, feeling oddly drained, and once again, uneasy. Aubry pretty much came right out and said what he was feeling.

Matt Stone had married for money. Then he'd divorced. He needed money.

His wife had disappeared.

If he'd murdered his wife, he wouldn't need the money, would he? But she was his ex-wife. They'd been divorced.

She gritted her teeth, furious that she was allowing people to let such suspicions seep into her mind. Especially when they didn't make sense. Matt was simply impatient and angry with the whole ghost concept. And yet, even Matt thought that something was going on.

He'd loved Lavinia at one time. Been enamored of her. Their relationship had been one of passion—and hate.

Just like that she had witnessed in dreams, from both sides…

“Ridiculous!” she said aloud. Just as she did so, the threatened storm came. First, a few raindrops fell on her head. Then the wind kicked up as if the hand of God had indeed reached down to stir up a tempest. The raindrops suddenly became a deluge.

Darcy started away from the oak. The cars were around in front of the brick wall, but if she leapt over it, she'd reach them far quicker than if she were to walk around. She headed toward
the wall, and in doing so, needed to skirt by the open grave awaiting Mrs. Morrison, the centenarian who had passed away in her sleep.

She wrapped her arms around her chest, lowered her head, and started to run. She shot through the area where the chairs had been arranged around the grave.

She didn't hear anything behind her. Nothing at all. But the rain was pounding and the wind was whistling. Footsteps would have been washed away.

The wind was strong. Very strong.

And still, she didn't know what kind of force seized upon her with such strength as she ran by the grave. She only knew that it rocked her to the side with such vehemence that she lost her footing, teetered precariously on the uneven ground, then slammed over to her right.

Flailing…

Falling…down. Down, into darkness.

Six feet down, to be exact. Into the deep, damp earth of the freshly dug grave.

 

The rain was pounding hard. Matt saw Penny, her summer shawl over her head but doing little good, come running toward the passenger door.

He leaned over to open it.

Penny slid in, moving the shawl, and apologizing. “Oh, Matt, I've gotten the car all wet. You would have thought we'd have been prepared for this kind of summer storm! Oh, well, thank God it's summer. You can go for lunch, right? We're all supposed to be meeting at the Wayside Inn.”

“Yeah, I can lunch,” he said. “Where are the others?”

“In Adam's car. He drove.”

“Darcy?”

“She's probably with Adam. Or else…”

“Or else what?” he asked sharply.

“Max Aubry cornered her. And you know Darcy. She was confident she could take care of herself. I never had a chance to tell her that he was a headline-grabbing monster. Clint tried to come between the two of them, but…Matt, don't worry. Darcy doesn't like to tell anything, she hates it when people turn her kind of perception into ooh-aah parlor tricks.”

Darcy was with Max Aubry. Great.

He gunned the motor with greater force than he intended.

“Matt, it will be all right.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“That was a beautiful ceremony!” Penny said. “Wasn't the Reverend Bellamy just wonderful?”

“Yep.”

“Matt, come on. Sure, it will be in the newspapers. They'll say that Amy was put to her final rest with tender words. What else can they say?”