Haunted (35 page)

“But a living one, right?”

He frowned. “You're suggesting she might be dead?”

“No,” she said quickly. Too quickly. “I mean…Matt is truly a decent guy. Hardheaded and heavy-handed at times, but ethical, I would swear. Still…”

“You think your ghost might be his murdered wife?” Adam sounded very skeptical.

“No. I really don't think that. But I don't want to be an idiot, either. People say she was supposed to show up here…but that no one heard from her.”

“I see what you mean. And very difficult when you're so infatuated with Matt,” Adam said flatly.

She cast him a frown.

“You don't believe in him?” Adam asked, a slight smile curving his lips.

“I do.”

“Ah.”

“Too much, Adam.”

“We'll check into Lavinia's whereabouts,” Adam promised her. “Oh, ye of little faith!”

“I do have faith!” she protested.

“Cover all the bases, Darcy. I'm teasing you. I've always told you to cover all the bases, right?” Adam said, smiling at her.

“Adam,” she began, then hesitated, and started again. “I've seen too many women fall…fall in love. And lose their minds and their senses because of it. I don't want to be an idiot because…” She shook her head and threw her hands up. “Because I am so infatuated!”

“Good girl!” he said. Then he sneezed again.

“Get in bed!” she chastised, giving him a kiss on the cheek and then walking to the door. “Good night!” she called to him.

“Darcy.”

“Yes?”

“Don't worry. We'll find Lavinia,” he told her. “And Darcy, you'll get me immediately if you need me!” he commanded. Then he sneezed again.

“Absolutely,” she promised.

In her own room, she paced awhile, wondering if Matt would come that night.

Probably not. He was offended that she had suspected him of foul play in the nonappearance of his wife. She started to put on a T-shirt, then opted for her lacy white gown instead, thinking wryly that, if she did go down the stairway that night, she could convince any onlooker that she was the lady in white.

Restless, she watched the late show. But then she fell asleep. She tried very hard to clear her mind before she did so, since the day's events had prevented Adam from trying hypnotism again.

The dream came again.

Not the violence of it, or the murder.

Just the woman, a haze of white, staring down at her at first where she lay in the bed. She heard a single whisper. “
Please!
”

Then the woman moved to the door, and slipped through it.

Awake, Darcy rose, and hurried after her.

Once again, she waited on the stairway. Halfway down, she waited again. Darcy followed. At the front door she hesitated, remembering all the warnings she had received, and the fear she had felt herself.

But she wanted so desperately to get at the truth.

There were umbrellas in an old stand near the door. She took one, then let herself out.

The ghost waited on the porch steps. Then she started moving again, drifting toward the smokehouse.

Tonight, she went in.

The old building was in sound repair, and from the scent within, was obviously still used. Darcy opened the door, and stood there, looking into the darkness.

Great. She had an umbrella. No flashlight.

And still, with only the moonbeams hurtling down for illumination, Darcy could see the ghost. Standing in the middle of the small space.

“Please!”
she said again.

A rustling sound came from behind Darcy. She swung around with her umbrella, ready to strike. She thought that she saw a shadow, disappearing against the stable wall.

A feeling of cold wrapped around her shoulders and she heard the whisper again, right against her ear, urgent and quick.
“Please!”

Suddenly, she knew. Exactly what the ghost was trying to say, and exactly what she wanted. There was an old call bell for the plantation hands on the porch. Darcy ran like a maniac to clang it, then raced back to the smokehouse again.

She ignored the darkness, burst into the center of it, and began to dig, using the point of the umbrella. She'd gotten
down no more than a foot, and was so involved in her task, that she screamed when she felt hands on her shoulders.

She spun around.

Matt.

“What the hell are you doing?” His words sounded like an angry growl. She took a step back, aware of his size, and of the darkness.

But she had rung the bell loudly enough to wake the dead. Naturally, he was out here. And yet, in the small room, it seemed that he was staring at her with malignant eyes.

“What's going on?” The shout came from the house. Penny was running on out. Adam, with a slip cap and robe on, was hurrying along behind her.

“She's here!” Darcy said. “She's here, I know it!”

By then, Sam Arden, Clint, and Carter had come from the stables. They were all barefoot, dressed in nothing but hastily thrown-on jeans.

“What the hell…?” Clint demanded, rubbing his five o'clock shadow.

Carter stared at the scene. “She thinks she's found something,” he murmured to Clint. “Hey, should I get a shovel?”

“Yes, please!” Darcy said.

Matt threw up his hands. “Hell. Sure. Get a shovel. Let's dig in the middle of the night.”

Sam disappeared with Carter. They were back in a minute with two shovels, a portable floodlight, and a pick.

“Darcy, move, let me at it,” Carter said, entering the little room, and starting right off with the pick. He loosened the earth, and Matt joined him to start digging, swearing beneath his breath as he did so.

The others looked on. Minutes ticked by, and mounds of dirt came out of the smokehouse.

Sweating despite the coolness of the wee hour, grimy with dirt, Matt wiped his brow. He glared at her. She forced herself
to stand firm, wishing that she didn't note that his physique remained exceptionally imposing, tanned biceps and chest glistening with sweat, streaked with mud.

“Darcy, we're down several feet.”

She let out an impatient sound and started for the smokehouse herself. He raised a hand to her. “All right, all right!”

He went back to it with a vengeance.

Still, it was Carter who gave a sudden cry.

“Damn!”

“What, what?” Darcy cried.

“He probably shoveled his own toe,” Penny murmured.

Matt hunkered down with Carter. Clint nosed his way in. Darcy couldn't get past them.

“What is it?” she cried out.

Matt rose, tossing down his shovel, glaring at her once again as he started to walk by her. “Don't anyone touch anything else. I'm getting a team out here.”

“A team?” she said.

He stopped walking, hands on his hips, eyes like ebony as he stared down at her. “A forensics team, Darcy. Yes, we found bones.”

“Could be an animal,” Penny suggested softly. “It is a smokehouse.”

Matt glanced over to her. “It's human. It appears to be complete, or nearly complete.”

“But do you really need a team in the middle of the night?” Penny said, perplexed. “Poor thing has probably been there for hundreds of years.”

“Maybe not, Penny. We don't know that.”

Darcy felt her breath catch. That was it, of course. She'd assumed, they'd all assumed, that the ghost had to have been there for years. She had never really thought that Matt might have killed his ex-wife, and yet…

The suspicion had been there.

She stared at Adam. He stared back at her, and she knew that they were both hoping that they hadn't found Lavinia Harper Stone.

Matt was still staring at Darcy. She felt his eyes and looked back at him.

“We don't know anything about this skeleton—
yet,
” he said. “But we will.”

With that, he walked on by.

And all eyes turned on Darcy.

I
t was approximately one in the morning when they first dug out the bones.

It was four by the time Matt's team had carefully dug out the surrounding dirt along with the skeleton and sealed off the smokehouse for further excavation. The box containing the remains was locked into the morgue at the Mahoney Funeral Home by four-thirty, and Matt was back at the house by five and finally showered and in bed at five-thirty.

He was exhausted, and should have slept easily, but he lay awake staring up at the ceiling.
How the hell had she done it?

He was tempted to go to her. Knock on her door, the hell with whoever might hear the sound. He felt a greater need than ever to be with her. He tried to tell himself that he was an idiot—she had suggested that he might be capable of murder, for God's sake! And there was still that thing…tonight, once again, seeing the look in her eyes, the set of her jaw. It was creepy, and if he was failing to realize it, it was all because he was blinded by emotion, he was letting his dick, rather than his mind, rule his thinking.

Didn't matter, he realized. He felt the same way about her, no matter what. Except…he was damned indignant. He looked at his watch. Six. He groaned, then rose, went out to his desk, and began shuffling through his papers. Somewhere, he had the cell number he wanted. Not in his phone, it was too new.

At last, in the bottom drawer, with a stash of old pictures,
he found the number. He punched it in, expecting an answering machine.

She didn't answer with a simple hello. After all these years, she must have recognized the house number on her caller ID.

“Darling!” Lavinia cooed over the wires. “Darling, do you know what time it is?”

“Six-o-five, I believe,” Matt said dryly. “Sorry, I thought your machine would pick up, and you'd give me a call back.”

“That's quite all right, although really, you should know better than to call me at this hour, unless, of course, you have some kind of incredibly hot proposal to make?” she teased.

“No. Actually, I just called to see how you were doing.”

“At six in the morning?”

“Like I said, I didn't expect you to answer.”

He heard Lavinia's low, husky, rumbling laugh. Once, the sound of it had been sheer aphrodisiac. Now…

“Things are going wickedly down there, so I hear,” she told him. “Believe it or not, I was going to call to see if you were all right.”

“Oh?”

“An article made it into the New York papers by that local walking-stick you've got down there. All about the occult. You'll just have to see it, darling. All about the world's most beautiful ghost hunter finding a skull, then being cast into a grave.”

“That just happened yesterday!” Matt said.

“Darling, it's only ‘news' because they get it out quickly.”

“Good point, Lavinia.”

“Is she that beautiful?” Lavinia inquired.

Matt wondered if there was a touch of jealousy in her voice, and even, a touch of pathos.

The past was long gone. And Lavinia was alive and well and in New York. He was suddenly feeling very generous.

“Lavinia, she looks a great deal like you. A tall redhead with all the elegance in the world.”

“Should I come down and meet her?” Lavinia asked. Matt wasn't sure if she did so with mischief, or the best of intentions. “I mean, it sounds as if you could use a little help. You know…actually, I wasn't all that fond of the Lee Room myself, but…the article this fellow wrote tells about all these weird events at the house, how a ghost has pulled hair and slapped people, and all that kind of stuff. If you need help…?”

“That's sweet, Lavinia. I think we're fine.” He hesitated. “Miss Tremayne led us to a skeleton last night. Once the remains are identified, I think we'll be fine.”

She was silent for a minute, intuitive, then she said, “Oh, Matt! I am so sorry. I haven't been there in years, of course, and I had said that I was coming back. I had an offer in Paris I couldn't refuse, and there was no point in pursuing that lovely affair between the two of us….”

“A marriage isn't the same as an affair, Lavinia,” he said.

“But someone there thinks the bones are me!” she exclaimed.

“Lavinia, look at that! If you tire of the social whirl, you'll be perfect for Harrison Investigations. What intuition.”

“Don't tease, Matt. I'm between events right now. Summer can be so droll. If you need to prove that I'm alive, I'll be happy to come down.”

“Lavinia, I know you're alive and well, and I'm grateful. That's all I need.”

“Ah, well. You do have my number.” The last was filled with sexual innuendo. It didn't mean anything. Lavinia was incapable of anything else.

“Thanks, Lavinia. And hey, if you need me, I'm here.”

“Oh, darling, on nights when I'm alone, I do need you.”

“Good thing there aren't many nights like that, eh, Lavinia?” he said, his tone light. “Sorry to have awakened you. Take care.”

“You, too. I'll love you a little, Matt.”

“Yeah? Thanks. Take care.”

He hung up, feeling remarkably smug. Maybe he should have asked her to come down. Make sure everyone saw her.

He nearly jumped when the phone started to ring again. Thayer.

“Thayer, what's up? Didn't you get anyone to spell you yet?”

“Matt, you're not going to believe this.”

The pleasure he'd felt at hearing Lavinia's voice evaporated in a flash. “Try me.”

“The bones are gone.”

“What?”

“The bones are gone. There was a break-in at Mahoney's place. And the box with the dirt and the bones has been stolen.”

“Anything else missing?” he asked Thayer.

“The office drawers were trashed, some petty cash was taken,” Thayer said. Then he plunged in with, “But if you ask me, they broke in for the bones. Someone has chalked a few of the walls with Greek letters as if it were a fraternity prank, but…who knows? College kids have been known to do more than steal bones on a lark.”

“You've got the area sealed?” Matt asked, a little too harshly. But he'd be damned if he'd lose fingerprints or any other important evidence on this one.

“Matt, you know that we're capable of protecting the integrity of a scene,” Thayer said.

“Sorry, I do know that,” he said. “I'll be right there.”

 

Darcy woke to the sound of an ear-shattering scream. She'd had to shower again last night, after her bout in the smokehouse, and she was wearing a knee-length sleep T-shirt. She didn't bother with a robe or slippers, or care in the least about her appearance, not at the sound of a scream like that one.

She tore out of her room and to the railing, looking downward.

Penny was standing in the foyer, her hand to her throat.

“Penny!” Darcy cried, and came racing down the stairway.

She came up abruptly against Penny's back, and stared past her.

There was a soldier at the front door. He was wearing worn butternut and gray, his sash tied perfectly around his hips, his sword swinging at his side. His hat was low slung over white hair, and he wore a regal silver beard. He was ready to march to battle.

“Harry Smith!” Penny chastised, her finger falling from her throat.

Harry Smith. Darcy smiled, recognizing the medical technician who had come to her aid when she'd crashed through the floor at the library.

“You scared me to death!” Penny told him.

“Penny Sawyer, why I'd suddenly scare you after all these years, I can't begin to imagine!” he said gruffly, shaking his head. “But I sure am sorry.” A smile was tugging at his lips, and only barely hidden by his growth of beard.

Darcy started to laugh herself, and then Penny eased completely and laughed as well. It was easy to see how Penny might have thought that she had indeed come across a ghost from the past. Harry Smith was the perfect image of a long-ago soldier.

“Harry, you look great!” Darcy said.

He inclined his head toward her. “Thank you, ma'am. The uniform belonged to my great-great-grandfather, who was captain of one of the units that fought here. The sword is authentic, too.”

“Harry, this is all well and good, but did you forget the concept of knocking?” Penny asked. “If you'd knocked at the door, I might not have come so close to having a heart attack!”

“Penny, now, you're the one who's claimed to have seen ghosts in the past, anyway,” Harry told her. “I did knock. No one answered, and the door was open.”

“That's odd—we've been careful about locking it lately,” she murmured, then challenged Harry again, her eyes sparkling. “And we had a rough night. Darcy led us to a stash of bones in the smokehouse, so you see, Harry Smith, there is a ghost!”

Harry looked at Darcy. “I heard,” he said. “Good work, young lady. Except, it seems that you ladies haven't heard the latest.”

“What happened?” Darcy asked.

“The bones have been stolen.”

“Stolen!” Penny repeated. “Who on earth would have stolen old bones?”

“Are you sure?” Darcy said. “They were just dug out in the very early hours of this morning.”

“I'm sure. This is a small town, Miss Darcy. I'm with the fire department, and we know the minute something has happened down at the sheriff's office.”

“So Matt is down there already?” Darcy said.

“He's been down there for hours now,” Harry Smith said. He smiled. “It isn't exactly morning anymore. It's almost one in the afternoon.”

Darcy hadn't had the least idea it could be so late. But then, she hadn't gone to sleep until very late—or very early.

“Who would want old bones?” Penny said again.

Harry shrugged. “Looks like a fraternity prank. Like a challenge, even. Thayer told Bill Jenkins that there were some Greek letters chalked on one of the walls. And some money was taken, too. Not a lot. Maybe a hundred dollars. Anyway, Matt is livid. Don't blame him. We make a discovery, hold the bones overnight in a mortuary so that they can be brought up to Washington the next day—and they disappear. Bad business. Makes us small-town folk look like real hicks. Anyway, he's on it. Don't you all worry.”

But Darcy was worried. She didn't think that it was any kind of fraternity prank. “That's very strange. The bones must have been stolen during a very small window of time.”

“Yep,” Harry said.

“How would fraternity pranksters even know they were at the funeral home?” Darcy asked.

“Ah, the kids can listen in on the police radio,” Harry said, waving a hand in the air. “Had to be kids. Who else would want old bones?”

The front door had remained open when Harry had come in and Clint came up behind him then. “Hi, Harry. Why, you old geezer! You look like a million bucks.”

“Thank you, young sir,” Harry said, and went on to explain that they were discussing the bones—and the fact that they'd been stolen.

“That's friggin' bizarre,” Clint said.

“Clint, mind the language,” Penny said.

“Yes'm,” Clint said, rolling his eyes. “You should hear her swear when she's got a bee in her bonnet.”

“Not true at all.”

“What's not true?” Carter had arrived as well. Entering behind Clint, he too looked Harry Smith over, and whistled. “Man, you look like the real thing.”

“So do you, once you're in uniform,” Harry reminded him.

“So what's going on? Why would Penny be swearing? What bee is in her bonnet?” Clint asked, and once again, Harry Smith went through the explanation.

“Probably was frat boys,” Carter said, shrugging. “And those bones will show up somewhere again. Maybe on the field on one of the college campuses.”

“Matt isn't taking it as a prank,” Harry said. “He's going after the offenders, with a vengeance.”

“Sure, right now, because he's really pissed off,” Clint said. “But I know Matt. If he doesn't get them right away, he'll know that it's more important to protect and serve the living, and go after the real criminals. Then the bones will show up.”

“I don't know,” Carter mused. “I can see how a thing like this might make him look bad to all the big boys he knows up in the D.C. area.”

“He must be running on empty, too,” Penny said. “After last night…well, the rest of us have all slept really late. He has to be exhausted.”

“He'll be fine, you know Matt,” Clint said. “That is some
thing, though, isn't it? We're all feeling this incredible elation, this triumph, because Darcy found the skeleton. And here we are—bones all gone in just a matter of hours. Easy come, easy go. Sadly, that's life. Hey, Harry, what are you doing all dressed up today? The reenactment isn't until tomorrow.”