Harrison Investigations 1 Haunted (16 page)

"Darcy! Darcy! Are you all right dear?"

Jostled from the dream, Darcy winced, bolting up. The rapping on
her door sounded like thunder, and she rued the interruption with a
deep dismay. She'd begun to see so much so clearly. And if only,
she thought, she could see these images through, she would have the
answers.

"Darcy!"

"Penny, I'm fine. Just overslept, that's all!" she called
out.

"Thank God! I thought that maybe the ghost of the Lee Room
had...well, never mind. I don't mind telling you that it makes me
quite nervous, you sleeping in there alone at night!"

Darcy stared blankly at the door, wondering if Penny would feel
better if she realized that she hadn't actually been sleeping in
there alone last night.

"I-I'm fine," she repeated.

' 'Want me to bring you up a tray?'' Penny asked.

"No, no, I'll be right down, thanks."

' 'Darcy?'' Penny persisted beyond the door.

"Yes?"

"I just had to tell you. You were so right-and so
ingenuous! The skull you found was the poor younger sister.
You're incredible! Well, we assume it must be her, of course, I
mean, I think that's the only story we have about a young girl of
that age. We have some other female ghosts, of course, but they all
have their heads. You're amazing!"

"Thanks, Penny."

"We'll get her buried-well, we'll get her head buried with her
body!-and she'll be able to rest in peace, or something like that,
right?"

"Something like that, yes," Darcy called.

"Well, I'll be down in my office if you need me. I'll leave
fresh coffee in the kitchen for whenever you want it."

"Thanks, Penny."

She heard the housekeeper walk away as she closed her eyes. She
opened them again. She wasn't going to be able to fall back asleep,
and it wouldn't matter anyway, she didn't think. She had lost the
slender cord of just exactly whatever it was that she could
sometimes hold.

Darcy looked around the room and held still.

The presence was there, but...

In the background. Watching. Not coming forward. Waiting?

For what?

Josh, where are you? Why can't you help me in here?
She
thought.

No answer. She spoke aloud. "Josh?"

It wasn't that she'd ever had complete control of finding him.
He was her spirit guide. John, a Shoshoni friend and another of
Adam's employees, had once tried to explain to her. There beside
her, with her, because he had loved her so dearly as a friend when
he had lived.

And because, somehow, with his death, he had passed his strange
gift-or curse-on to her.

"Josh, you helped me in the forest, why not here?"

But she knew. The sense of violence and bitterness that lingered
in this room was too strong. Suddenly, she was anxious to get out
herself.

Strange, Matt just being in the room had changed it so
much....

She wasn't here to feel secure and safe. She was here to solve
the puzzle.

She rose, unnerved, and wondering why. She had long ago
accustomed herself to ghosts.

It was the living who could hurt you!

She bad beard that often enough. And she had believed it, still
believed it.

But then again...

She had never experienced things quite the way they were
happening in the Lee Room.

There was no way not to talk to Max Aubry. Though Matt didn't
return the call, Aubry caught him at one o'clock sharp, right when
he was heading out to the Wayside Inn to get some lunch.

"Matt! Hey, I've been trying to get you on the phone."

"Yeah, sorry, I had a late night," Matt said. Aubry
reminded him of a weasel. The guy was an inch or so taller
than he was, which made him around six-four, but he was so skinny
he appeared taller. Maybe because he couldn't seem to get an inch
of either fat or muscle on his bones, he shaved his head for a
fiercer look. Didn't help. He just looked like a hungry ferret.

"Tell me about the skull."

"I'm just heading out for some lunch."

"Great. I'll join you."

Max stared at him.

"Business appointment, huh?" Aubry said. He knew Matt didn't
like him. It wasn't really a personal thing. Matt just thought that
journalists were supposed to report the news, and not make up what
they'd like to be the story that went with it.

"Give me something. I'm going to head out and interview
that young lady working for you. I just thought that you might want
to give me a word or two first."

"Sure." Matt stood still, feeling the summer sun. "Miss Tremayne
is working for a firm called Harrison Investigations. They
look into so-called
hauntings.
They do research on
an area-and reveal when those who call themselves psychics
are using fog machines to create ghostly images. We have a lot of
folklore around here, which is usually based on fact. Every
schoolkid in the area has heard about the headless girl in the
forest. Miss Tremayne made use of the library to investigate the
murder, determined where it must have taken place, and found
the missing skull."

"So the ghost will no longer haunt the forest, is that right,
Sheriff?"

"I was never of the persuasion that a ghost
did
haunt
the forest," he said firmly. "And if you write anything different,
Aubry, you'll have a lawsuit on your hands."

"Ah, come on, Matt!"

"I mean it, Aubry. You caused a poison scare here when Julie
Cristopher had a stomachache one afternoon. The do-nut shop nearly
had to shut down because you stated it was the last place she had
eaten."

"It
was
the last place she had eaten."

"But she hadn't been poisoned! She told the doctor at the
hospital that she'd drunk milk she probably shouldn't have because
her brother had left it out on the table overnight!"

"Kids! What are you going to do?" Aubry said, brushing the
complaint aside.

"I'm not a kid. And if you print a bunch of fiction, Aubry, I'll
see you in court."

"All right, all right! You sure have got some hang-ups, Sheriff.
Ghosts are good for a place like Melody House."

"Why in hell does everyone believe that?"

"Because the rest of the world has a sense of romance! But
excuse me, go have your lunch. I'm sure your Yankee investigator
will be a lot nicer. Sheesh!"

Aubry turned and walked away. Matt was tempted to call him back
and somehow tell him not to go after Darcy.

But he couldn't.

Aubry had every legal right in the world to interview whoever he
wanted.

He watched Aubry go, damning himself. He should have given the
man some time, given him a better story, and he might have left
Darcy alone. He considered calling Darcy to warn her. Tell
her...what? Tell her that no matter what the hell she really
believed, she had to tell Aubry that she didn't believe in
ghosts?

Swearing, he headed for his car. As he slid into the driver's
seat, he was startled to feel a strange urge to head somewhere,
other than the Wayside Inn.

Library.

His fingers froze around the keys in the ignition. He could have
sworn that he heard the word as clearly as if someone had spoken
out loud to him.

Matt groaned, leaning his head against the steering wheel. They
were all going to make him crazy. Had to be something on the back
burner of his mind coming forward. And now, for some stupid reason,
he kept hearing it echo.

Hell, no, he wasn't getting caught up in all this.

Angry with himself, he started to drive toward the Wayside
Inn.

Then turned.

Darcy hadn't intended to go back to the library that day, but
Penny was so determined to talk about the skull that she didn't
think she could stay in the house. It wasn't that she didn't like
Penny, and like her very much. She simply didn't want to try to
explain just what her "extrasensory" perceptions were. She didn't
understand it all herself- how on earth could she explain it all to
another person?

Then, as well, both Clint and Carter had been in the house. And
they
had wanted to talk. Clint had been charming,
but too curious, winking and asking her if she could help him find
the cuff links he had lost last Christmas. Carter had simply wanted
to talk, to know her past, what other mysteries she had unraveled.
Both had seemed to want to probe her mind, and though she liked
them both so very much, she had wanted equally to escape.

She had enjoyed the library and Mrs. O'Hara, and decided
to take refuge there where she could research Amy Clayton's family.
She was sure that someone in the area had to know where the family
graveyard could be found, but the library, she was
certain
,
would have local records
.

She knew the minute she saw Mrs. O'Hara that the woman had heard
she had found the skull. It was a small town. News traveled
quickly. But Mrs. O'Hara didn't question her, other than to ask if
she wanted tea. Darcy decided to accept a cup. Mrs. O'Hara had a
nice sense of perception herself-she found the record book Darcy
wanted behind the desk, as if she'd searched for it as soon as
she'd heard the news.

"If you're looking for anything else local," Mrs. O'Hara told
her, "just head up to the loft level." She pointed to stairs which
led to the walkway that circled the perimeter of the upper floor.
The intricately carved railings made it seem almost as if the
library had originally been built as a grand old home, rather than
as a public facility. Mrs. O'Hara grinned, seeing her look up and
around. "Originally, this
was part
of an old plantation.
It belonged to a man named Geoffrey Huntington, and he was very
good friends with Thomas Jefferson, among other notable men. But he
was a Loyalist, and the main house was burned during the
Revolution. Luckily, he had this structure planned as an
outbuilding, his own private retreat, and the furious Patriots were
happy to keep his book collection alive and well, since he was
forced out of the country. It's beautiful, isn't it? And everything
is original. Except for some of the books, of course. Thankfully,
the place was very large, because over the years we've accumulated
many fine collections of books.''

"It's an extraordinary library," Darcy told her sincerely.

"On the National Register of Historic Buildings," Mrs. O'Hara
said proudly. "We may have to add on soon, though."

"I imagine that it's far better for a library to have too many
books than too few," Darcy said.

"Naturally!" Mrs. O'Hara agreed.

With her cup of tea and the old book Mrs. O'Hara had already
found for her, Darcy curled up in one of the stuffed armchairs on
the ground floor and began to read.

The Clayton family had left the area in the late-eighteen
hundreds. They had, however, arrived in the mid-seventeen hundreds,
and had maintained a family plot in the Christ's Church burial
ground. The record book-a horribly boring tome-listed family names,
occupations, marriages, baptisms, deaths, and little more,
but it actually offered a plot map of Christ's Church and the
surrounding graveyard. It wasn't far from Melody House at all. Once
the skull was deemed ancient by the proper authorities, Darcy
assumed there would be no difficulty seeing that it was buried
along with the rest of poor Amy Clayton.

She set the book down and looked up the stairway, noting
again just how exceptionally fine the building was. Naturally,
since a wealthy and influential man-who had apparently loved
reading and books-had planned it for himself. But still, few towns
could possibly have such a gem of a library. The stairway was
winding, the wood old and polished, and it appeared that even the
runner on the stairs was as old as the facility.

She decided that it was time to set the record book aside and
head up to see what else she could find.

At the top of the stairway she discovered that the
flooring of the loft was really little more than scaffolding.
The runner extended only up the stairs, then curved into an arch at
the landing, while the flooring itself then became polished
wood, apparently very well tended.

Darcy began to peruse the different books. Some would be of
little interest to anyone other than people who found their own
family names, and yet she thought that it was quite wonderful that
so many people from the area might come here and find out about
ancestors. There were books with nothing more than family names on
them, or titles that explained their contents exactly, such as
Marriages
among the Grangers of Stoneyville,
and
The Murtons Who Attended Grace Church.
She smiled,
slipping out a volume now and then, and finding most to be very
old. It seemed that people hadn't kept such simple record books in
a very long time. Or maybe, life just hadn't been that simple in a
very long time.

A book on a high shelf caught her eye.
The Stones of
Melody House.
She was delighted to see it, and once again,
touched by the people of decades past who had found every little
detail of life worthy of recording.

Deciding it was one volume she definitely needed to read, Darcy
started to reach up for it. She was tall but she really had to
stretch.

As she balanced on both toes, she heard a sudden creaking
sound from the boards under her feet. Even as she frowned, the
floorboard directly beneath her suddenly gave.

She grabbed frantically for the shelf in front of her. Too late,
because it had all happened too quickly. For a second frozen in
time, she staggered where she stood, knowing that the wood beneath
her had failed, and that she was going to crash into a sheer drop.
She was disbelieving, even as the simple rules of physics tore at
the weight of her body.

She cried out, a whoosh of air escaping from her lungs as she
felt herself suddenly plunge downward.