Haunted (3 page)

"Huh?"

He explained about Ferd Cox's term for the New Age center.

"High Hooey," Amber said. "I like it."

"Me too," he replied. "It's direct and to the point." The New Agers' buildings were beautiful constructs of redwood and glass, the central building traditionally churchlike, the rest low and nearly hidden in a plethora of pines and ferns. A moment later, they rounded a bend, and came upon the modem split-level ranch house that Theodora Pelinore owned. Sprawling didn't begin to describe the place. He turned the truck into the circular drive, pulled up and parked.

Pelinore Realty: 7:29 P.M.

"This is an office?" Amber asked as she got out of the car and stretched her stiff muscles. What was supposed to be a fifteen-minute trip had taken almost an hour; no one could get lost like her dad. Their cross-country trip, for instance, had taken twelve days instead of the planned eight, mostly because of his creative shortcuts. When he did give in and read a map, he usually read it wrong.

Not that she really minded, at least not when she wasn't in a hurry to get somewhere, because they always discovered weird places where she could acquire truly unique souvenir T-shirts. On this trip, her father's creative driving had uncovered tacky wonders (and T-shirts) like Marjoe's Alligator Farm in Ohio, The Amazing Petrified Caveman in Colorado and The Whistling Caverns of Jesus in Utah. There, the guide had told them that if they listened closely they'd hear the caverns doing "Onward Christian Soldiers." Of course, she'd never admit to her friends that she enjoyed these side trips, or that she did any more than endure her father's quirks. She wouldn't even admit it to her father, who probably knew, but had the good sense not to say so.

"Yes, this is it. It's a private home, too."

"I knew that," she said quickly.

"The office is at the far end of the house. Wait'll you meet Theo, you'll like her."

He’d said that several time during their trip here, which wasn't good
. Any time her dad told her she'd like some female, it was a bad sign. He couldn't read women any better than he could read a road map. She didn't know about her mother--she'd died when Amber was only three--but ever since she could remember, he'd dated bimbo after bimbo, until he'd met Melanie. After a while, Mel had moved in with them and, for a couple of years, things were pretty great. Then they broke up, just six months ago, right before their wedding. Her dad would never say much about it, except that it had to do with business, and that sounded like major bull to Amber. As Annie, one of her girlfriends, pointed out, Melanie was a fox and knew how to flirt, big time. Maybe, suggested her friend, Melanie was screwing around on her dad and he was so hurt he couldn't talk about it. Amber thought that might be true, mostly because it made more sense than "business differences."

Old Melanie could be a lot of fun, even if she was sort of shallow; she was a literary agent and had a lot of that Teflon glitz about her that sometimes made Amber wonder if Mel would have known a deep thought if it bit her on the butt. That didn't bother Amber; what did matter was that, though she called herself an agent, it was possible that maybe she was nothing but a writer groupie. Amber guessed she probably screwed anything that could put two words together. Her dad never noticed, and no wonder: judging by the noises, old Mel was a hell of a lay. Amber liked her because she was really protective of her dad, was usually in a good mood, and she didn't treat her like a little kid.

The only time Melanie had seemed really upset was once when she tried to talk her dad into firing his agent and hiring her. But Amber knew he wouldn't dump Georgie any more than he'd dump his own daughter. Her dad was the loyal type--something Melanie couldn't understand. So, six months ago, Melanie had moved out of the condo and back to Manhattan. In retrospect, maybe her friend Annie was wrong.

Maybe it really was all about business. What a stupid reason to break up!

"Here we are," he said as they approached a door displaying a discreet plaque that read "Pelinore Realty." He knocked, but there was no answer, so he tried the door, found it unlocked, and they walked in.

The office was a study in antiseptic
monochromatics: beige carpet, cream walls, white wood blinds over the windows. Two large southwestern landscape watercolors supplied the only color with muted swipes of peach, sage, and turquoise while the furniture consisted of bleached bentwood and woven rush chairs and a low-slung white oak desk. The only things on the desk were a modem white plastic lamp-thing that looked melted, and a buzzer, also cream and white. Her father pushed the buzzer.

"Nice office, huh kiddo?"

She hated its sterility, and it reeked of rich bitch, so she just shrugged. "It's all right, I guess."

"Okay, you're the artist
. What's wrong with it?"

She opened her mouth to tell him, then shut it again. For almost two weeks, they'd been together every waking moment and they were starting to get on each other's nerves. She could tell he was trying to be patient, so she decided not to be too blunt. "It looks like everything should be covered with plastic slipcovers."

He glanced around, considering. "I hate it when you're right."

"Right about what?" The door behind the desk had opened silently and a woman dressed to ornament the room stood there smiling at them.

"Nothing," her dad said, his face coloring slightly. "Nothing at all. Amber, this is Theodora Pelinore, our real estate agent. Theo, this is Amber, my daughter."

Not my realtor,
Amber thought as Pelinore swept across the room in her expensive burnt-apricot Santa Fe skirt and soft western shirt. One was denim, the other, sand-washed silk. Terribly stylish, terribly elegant, terribly shallow. The outfit was belted with turquoise-encrusted silver conches that must have cost her thousands. Her dark hair was pulled away from her pale skin in a stylish twist held with a silver and turquoise comb that probably hurt like hell. Just a little something for around the house, Amber thought. Creativity always impressed her, but this southwest yuppie look was as magazine-like and boring as the office.

Amber noticed that her father's eyes were practically bugging out of their sockets as the woman approached. Probably the big boobs, she thought, then felt guilty. For all his faults, her dad wasn't a pig. Probably, he was taken in by the whole package, the air of success, the elegant cheekbones, the husky voice, the air of dominance. And the big boobs. Amber could imagine Theodora Pelinore in black leather underwear whipping poor, unsuspecting, drooling males into submission.

Probably, she'd do a few women on the side, she had that look too. Predatory. Pelinore gave her the creeps.

Her dad, who never showed any preferences for any particular physical types, was consistently drawn to predators, to vampire women who'd suck him dry, whose expectations he couldn't possibly fulfill. The poor man never knew what was good for him. Ditzes, ballbreakers,
gold-diggers, and power freaks, he loved them all. Nice women didn't tum him on.

"David, how nice to see you. I expected you a little earlier." Pelinore snagged him and did the Huggy Thing. The Huggy Thing, made famous by Hollywood, was an overly familiar, insincere embrace which included meaningless mutual patting on the back. Her dad was doing it too and they looked like they were burping each other.

After about a century, Theo Pelinore released him and looked at Amber. "What a beautiful young woman you are," she said, extending her arms and stepping forward, sort of like the Bride of Frankenstein. Amber quickly moved back and stuck out her hand. Pelinore didn't falter, but took it graciously. Her hand was soft and damp. "Are you looking forward to living here, dear, with your famous father?" She smiled ingratiatingly.

Her father was watching her intently, waiting for her to say something obnoxious, like she had done to the old man in the store. She decided to surprise him and just do a little valley girl. "I guess so. Where's the mall?"

Pelinore laughed, all cultured and polite. "Well, dear, there's no mall, per se, but we have some magnificent shops and boutiques. And our performing arts center is just fabulous. They host lots of concerts. It's just over the hill." She pointed toward one of the watercolors.

"Concerts?" Amber asked hopefully.

The woman smiled again, too widely. "Oh yes. They're doing an updated version of Hair right now. You'd really enjoy it."

Amber rolled her eyes, but before she could say something the woman really deserved to hear, her father's hand landed gently on her shoulder and squeezed, not as gently-
-sign language for "Be quiet."

"Theo," he said. "Is everything ready? You have the keys?"

"Certainement," she said and sailed from the room.

"Better watch out, Dad," Amber whispered. "She's bilingual and I think she wants you."

"Don't start," he whispered as Pelinore returned dangling a set of keys in one hand and clutching a manila folder in the other.

"Here you are, David," she said grandly. "The keys to your dream house." She gave them to him, letting her hand brush familiarly against his, then opened the folder and turned, standing close to him so he could see the papers within. "I just need you to sign a couple more items, then we can go. Nothing to be concerned about."

"You're going with us?" David asked, as he took the folder and sat down in one of the chairs.

"It's customary. I like to walk my clients through and make sure everything's just right. If you'd prefer I didn't ... "

"No, no. I'd like that. I'm, ah, just surprised you're willing to come out to the house."

"Why?" she asked, fishing and flirting.

"The ghosts," Amber said, smiling sweetly.

"Oh, you aren't afraid of ghosts, are you, dear?"

"No. But I'll bet you are." The words popped out unbidden.

"Amber." Her father glared at her.

She looked meek, then tried not to flinch when Theo Pelinore's arm snaked around her. "That's all right," she said, imposing a one-armed, sideways Huggy Thing. "Amber said nothing wrong. Don't those old stories frighten you, dear?"

Don
't call me dear. "They frighten most people," Amber replied, covering nicely. "That's why I thought they'd scare you." Her dad glanced up, then went back to reading. Carefully, she pulled away from the woman. Then she heard herself add, "Of course, since you're trying to sell the house, you couldn't admit it even if you were afraid, could you?"

"That's enough." Her father sounded seriously pissed.

"Sorry."

"Nonsense," Pelinore said. "David, your daughter is refreshingly honest. Don't be angry with her. Amber, maybe some real estate agents would sell a house they didn't believe in, but I won't. If I thought there was anything dangerous in Baudey House, I'd never represent it. It wouldn't be ethical."

You lying bitch. Amber masked her evil thoughts behind a gentle smile. "So you don't believe Baudey House is haunted?" she asked, determined to end the conversation without pissing off her father any further.

The woman hesitated, fiddling with a thin silver chain around her neck. "If there are spirits in your new home, they won't be dangerous," she said finally. "Spirits are just poor misguided souls who need help finding their way into the light."

Amber resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She glanced at her father, but he wasn't paying any attention--he never did when she wanted him to--so he hadn't heard that darling Theo was one of those--a New Ager. She turned back to Pelinore and saw the polished quartz crystal dangling from the end of the chain. "What a pretty stone," she said sweetly. "What kind is it?"

The real estate agent smiled, pleased. "It's a quartz crystal. Do you know anything about the power of crystals?"

"No." Damn, her dad still wasn't picking up on this. "They have powers?"

"Oh, yes. To heal, to protect." She let the stone drop back under her shirt. "I wear it against my skin for complete protection."

Panty liners work just as well, Amber wanted to say. Instead, she smiled again. "Does it protect you against ghosts?"

"Does what protect you from ghosts?" Her father had finally zoned back in. Better late then never. "All done," he added, holding up the folder.

"Oh, Daddy, Miss Pelinore has-- "

"Call me Theo, dear."

"Theo has a quartz crystal," she said, doing Dorothy in the Land of Oz. "She says it can protect you and I wondered if it keeps ghosts away since we're moving into a haunted house and everything."

He stared hard at her, obviously wondering what she was up to. She tried to look innocent
.

Theo broke the silence. "I think Amber's a little nervous. Have you ever seen a ghost, dear?"

Don’t call me dear. "Daddy says there's no such thing."

"Enough," said her father, rising. He meant it, too. "You'll have to forgive Amber," he continued. "She's having a little fun at your expense."

"Oh, David, can't you see she's frightened? Sometimes it's hard for adults to understand children's fears, don't you think?"

"Amber has experienced a variety of ghostly phenomena," he said dryly. "She's not your average child."