Haunted (25 page)

In 1953, the house went up for sale, but again there were no takers. Two years later, in 1955, then-famous ghost hunter Henry Gunn wrote a book about the place, playing up the notion that the house was cursed because it was built on a lost Chumash burial ground--an out-and-out fabrication, David knew. Gunn also claimed to have exorcised a few demons and a succubus or two. The book was a bestseller, but Gunn was full of shit.

The windows were boarded up for good and the house closed, then, sometime in early 1968, a hippie commune clandestinely moved in. They were largely ignored since no one went near the old place, but later that year, they were found viciously murdered in the house. The police reports stated that they believed the atrocious murders were committed by one of the commune members during a mass orgy. There were, according to Eric, at least two ghosts from that time, the fat guy on the table and the girl in the tub.

He paused, considering. Now he was getting into modem history. Eric had said that his uncle had been a rookie on the scene, so that was another thing to talk to him about. Wondering if anyone knew any of the commune members, he wrote another note to himself. '

In 1971 and 1984 the first real scientific investigations were conducted. Many anomalies occurred, but there were no conclusive results. David made one more note, to try to locate the head of either or both investigations and make sure nothing had been held back.

Nothing more had happened here, according to reports, until last May, when ten-year-old Matty Farmer had fallen to his death from the lighthouse. His companion, also ten, was a boy named Billy Galiano and David wondered if it would be possible to talk to the child. What first? He pondered a course of action until there was a light rap on the door. "Yes?" he called.

"I'm leaving now, Mr. David," Minnie twittered from behind the door. "That is, unless you need anything else. There's a macaroni and cheese casserole in the fridge."

He rose, stretching, and walked across the room. Turning the lock, he pulled the door open and smiled at Minnie. She looked rather sullen in a fat-cheeked chipmunky way; she had ever since the lock had gone on the door. He didn't care. "That's all for today, Minnie. I'll have the casserole for lunch tomorrow--I have an engagement tonight. So does Amber."

She waited for him to tell her his plans, but he waited longer.

"I'll be going home now," she said at last.

He walked her to the front door. She was nice enough in her way, he supposed, but she was the sort of woman who belonged in a book, what with her nosiness and non-stop chatter. He'd been controlling the urge to put her into Mephisto Palace as the 1915 bawdy house's maid: it was just possible she'd recognize .herself and that would give him trouble of some sort. He didn't need that.

She drove off in her dented white Civic and David breathed a sigh of relief because he could now roam his own house without having to hear another story about the Marvelously Lit'ry Calla, Bea Broadside's hormone shots, or why every pickle you eat takes seven minutes off your life span. He wanted to fire Minnie, but he needed the help, and until he found someone else--a difficult proposition--he didn't dare do so. He also had the sinking feeling that if he let her go before making friends with enough of the townsfolk, she'd make sure he was considered a pariah one way or another. Between the lock on his office and his continued avoidance of Calla, he was already treading on unsafe ground.

He walked out onto the front porch and set on a step, enjoying the summer saltwater breeze that ruffled his hair. So beautiful, he thought, staring out at the cliffs. Melanie would love it here.

He had tried not to think about her since he'd moved here, but it was hard. Hopefully, tonight's date with the sultry Theo Pelinore would help cure him of his longings for ambitious, childish Melanie Lord.

Lord and Masters. The thought made him smile but, swiftly, he wiped the expression off his face. Someone like Theo, despite her bizarre New Age notions, would be much easier to get along with. Every time he spoke with her, in person or on the phone, no matter what she said, the sound of her voice implied that she lived to please him and only him, that she'd do anything he wanted sexually.

A sudden memory of Lorna Dyke and her similar behavior, along with Amber's similar dislike of her, gave him momentary pause, but he dismissed it quickly: Amber was, quite naturally, jealous.

Except of Melanie. But Melanie bore similarities to the others. She liked to control things, in business and pleasure. Unlike Lorna and Theo, she never exhibited any of their sex-slave behavior, but she knew exactly how to drive him wild--not always in ways he expected, either, not always what he hoped for. He smiled despite himself. No, Masters, she was always better than you hoped for. Another pang of desire washed over him. Melanie was smart, strong-willed, sensual, and a royal pain in the ass. We were two peas in a pod, that’s what we always said. Lord and Masters. He shook his head, watching an arrow-shaped flock of cormorants pass overhead.

Melanie always made sure he knew what she wanted, too, and he liked that a lot. He didn't have to play guessing games with her--she was too blunt for such nonsense. And they talked, too. They talked for hours and hours, sometimes all night, and both would be surprised that it was already dawn and they didn't remember the time going by.

The one thorn in their relationship had been work. That was where her ambitions took control of her common sense, her vanity overcame her intellect. She had taken it personally because he wouldn't put his career in her hands and he wished she could have understood. She was young yet, only twenty-seven, he reminded himself for the millionth time, and she might begin to understand his notions about old loyalties in a few years. The romantic in him wanted to wait forever for this to occur, if necessary, but the other parts of him were uniformly angry with her. It would never have worked out. Theo Pelinore. He would date her and other women, and get on with his life, and some day he'd find the right woman.

He frowned, thinking that no matter what, the romantic seemed to win out. You already found her, that part of him asserted, and you left her behind cutting book deals in Manhattan. He told the romantic to shut up, but it wouldn't. Perhaps, it suggested, he should have let Mel represent him. After all, he was only one of a number of Georgie's big sellers--she didn't need him... But Melanie asking him to drop her was too much like crazy Lorna constantly wanting him to assure her he'd give up writing before giving her up.

He couldn't say it, though, not even to get laid. He couldn't even comprehend why Lorna felt she was in competition with his work--he couldn't not write, not for anyone or anything. It was too much an integral part of his makeup, and Lorna ended up infuriating him as no one else ever had.

Melanie was different. Even though she pissed him off, he understood her motives to some degree.

"Mr. Masters!"

David looked up as Eric Swenson glided up on his bicycle.

"Hi, Eric!" He was glad of the company. "Listen, we've already discussed this. Would you please call me David? Mr. Masters is my father."

"What do you want me to do today?" Eric asked as he got off his bike and flipped down the kickstand. "David?" he added awkwardly.

"Well, I thought we'd work together. Amber's been invited to the dance and she needs a costume. Frankly, so do I. Do you?"

"No, sir, David, I've got mine already. I'm going as a cowboy. If I ever lived before, that's what I would've liked to be."

"Good idea." David stood up and they walked to the front door. "I've been putting off exploring that old attic for weeks, but I need to see if there are any papers in there and if there are any old clothes Amber and I can wear to the dance. Are you up for it?"

Eric stalled, just inside the door, his eyes staring upward, as if he could see through the ceilings, right through to the third floor. "Well, I guess. As long as we don't go near that front bedroom."

David held up his hand, his palm facing outward. "You have my word."

Body House: 12:37 P.M.

David almost wished he could cancel this evening's date with Theo as he looked at the booty he and Eric had found in the attic.

Despite their trepidation when they first broke the lock on the door, they found that the cramped, dusty room that ran most of the length of the back of the third floor was utterly without ghostly laughter, cold spots or anything else more unnerving than a few spiders.

At first, the room appeared to be empty except for a few beat-up pieces of upholstered furniture draped in sheets that crumbled when touched. They uncovered a bergeré chair and an elegantly sloping méridienne lounge, both with cabriole legs of rich dark walnut and acanthus leaf and cockleshell extensions. They hauled both downstairs to send out later for reupholstering. David didn't notice the jagged rips and massive, ancient bloodstains until the pieces were in the parlor, but they only made the pieces more interesting to him, even though he planned to replace their decaying red velvet and tassels quickly and identically, so that they'd be ready for Jerry Romero's cameras.

But the furniture was only the icing. Back in the attic, as he was almost ready to give up the ghost, so to speak, they discovered the wooden crates. There were six of them, four feet tall and eighteen inches wide, filling the spaces between the beams and joists so perfectly that they were virtually invisible. If David hadn't tripped and put his hand against one to steady himself and, consequently, felt it move, they might never have noticed them.

Eric had gone downstairs and brought an aluminum handcart back up then, carefully, they'd moved the boxes down to David's huge office, where they lined them up against the wall near the desk. They spent the next hour prying them open. David felt like a kid on Christmas morning, and wished Amber had been home to participate. The first four were full of fancy clothing that could only have belonged to Lizzie's ladies. Nearly out of time, he only peeked in the upper layers.

The feather boas had gone to dust, but many of the dresses were perfectly preserved, and he knew Amber would be delighted. He thought he'd take them all to get cleaned, then hang them on old-fashioned hangers in the wall-to-wall wardrobe in the downstairs room that he and Amber had dubbed "Lizzie's Salon." They'd serve as decor and Amber could take her pick of costumes for the dance.

In the top of the third crate, he found two sets of men's clothing. One was a mariner's uniform, complete with captain's bars and hat, though it wasn't precisely military. Captain Wilder? he wondered. The man captained a spice ship, after all. Holding up the clothing, he was pleased to see that the uniform might fit him after the cuffs and trousers were taken up. That would solve his costume problem.

The other set had probably belonged to a fisherman. The clothes were considerably smaller, and the pants, watch cap, coat and sweater were all unadorned black. There was even a pair of crumbling black leather gloves. These belonged to a kinky fisherman, he told himself with amusement. Eric, briefly touching the gloves, pulled away, saying they had belonged to "a bad man." He refused to touch the clothing and David decided not to push.

But he did, eventually, get Eric's impression of the captain's uniform and, to his delight, the boy proclaimed it had belonged to Captain Wilder. The shallowly-hidden romantic in David was ecstatic. As silly as he knew it was, he just couldn't stop thinking that like the long ago captain, he didn't have his true love either... Melanie would make a great Lizzie, with her similar bone structure, coloring, and frank green-eyed gaze. You’re going with Theo Pelinore, Masters. Try to appreciate that instead of pining away for that selfish excuse for a woman!

They were running out of time. David needed to take a bath before going to pick up Theo, and though he would have liked Eric's impressions of some of the other items of clothing, it would have to wait. They opened the fourth and fifth boxes, saw clothing and opened the sixth.

The last box, by far the heaviest, which they opened hurriedly, was the true treasure. At first he thought it was full of hats, then, lifting them out, had found the books. He removed a few, finding journals and papers beneath them.

"Let's take this down to my office and lock it up," he told Eric.

Once that was done, he sent the young man home, and resisted the urge to call Theo and cancel. Instead, he forced himself to refrain from looking through the crate's contents, reminding himself that there would be plenty of time for that tomorrow. He went upstairs and showered and shaved, and was soon on his way to Theo's house.

Rusty Anchor Restaurant: 9:15P.M.

Without the interference of moving vans, paranormal manifestations, or a resentful teenager, Theo and David relaxed and got to know each other, starting with the twenty-minute drive to Morro Bay. It had been delightful, with the sun setting a romantic mood by dropping, jewel-like, into an ocean that reflected clouds colored salmon and lavender.

Once they reached the Rusty Anchor, things had gone from good to better. They shared a secluded candlelit table on the restaurant's glassed-in patio that rested on stilts above the bay. To the north loomed Morro Rock, a dark sentinel, and due west, the full moon cast silvery ribbons across the choppy water. Theo couldn't have asked for anything better.