Haunted (5 page)

"The house must be at the very end
."

"Not quite. The lighthouse is at the very end
. We hit the house about five hundred feet before that."

"The fog's getting so thick, we probably will hit the house." The sifting white mist and the muted roar of the ocean on either side of them made her feel lost and vulnerable. A wisp of fog threaded in front of her face like a beckoning finger. Shivering, she closed the side window.

"There," said her dad. "There it is. Baudey House." It rose out of the fog, the steep, gabled roof speaking of severity and discipline. The house, a Richardsonian Romanesque mansion, seemed to glower at them from beneath its two sharp-browed gables above the third floor windows. The heavy crossbeam supporting the front portico looked like a grim mouth.

"Well, it sure looks haunted," she said as her father pulled up next to the Volvo.

"Yes, it does." He turned off the engine. "Home, sweet home?" he asked lightly.

He is nervous, she thought. She was, too. Usually, a house that looked haunted, wasn't, and she knew the mansion's imposing appearance should be a relief. But it wasn't.

As she climbed from the truck, ocean air kissed her face, chill and moist. The house watched and waited, silent and still as death.

She heard a sound like distant laughter, cruel and feminine. Startled, she glanced at her father. He just shrugged, and looked at Pelinore, who stood beside her Volvo. Again, the

laughter, more distant, just as cruel.

"Birds," the woman said,
her voice not quite steady. "It's only the birds. You'll hear them all over Red Cay at night."

You're lying, Amber thought.

"According to my research," her dad said, "one of the hallmarks of the Baudey House haunting is disembodied feminine laughter."

Pelinore cocked her head and gave him a brown-nosed smile. "Pish posh," she said
.

Pish posh? Amber rolled her eyes for her father's benefit.

"Just a silly old wives' tale." the realtor added.

"Boy," Amber said innocently. "You really want to unload this place, don't you?"

"Amber, please. Theo, you don't have to be coy about the house's reputation. Remember, I bought it for its phenomena, not in spite of it."

"Well, I hope you won't be disappointed then, David, because I think you'll find this house will be a wonderfully peaceful and quiet place to live."

"Gee, I hope not." He grinned boyishly. "I'd be very disappointed." With that, he turned and walked across the dirt road then turned, arms folded, and stared up at the old house, a thoughtful smile on his face.

Body House: 8:19 P.M.

Monolithic, stone cold, the Mephisto Palace seemed to grow out of the ground, its towers stretching up, like tortured fingers grasping at the moon.

"Is your father all right, dear?"

Pelinore's concern amused Amber. Her dad had been standing back there, staring at the house and wearing his goofy smile, for about five minutes now. She'd seen him space out like that about a gazillion times, but people who didn't know him sometimes thought he was having a fit or something. "He's fine," she said. "He's just writing in his head, he does it all the time."

Their words made David's cheeks warm with embarrassment, and he gave the two women a sheepish smile. "It's very impressive," he said, his eyes already drawn back to the huge old house.

Tonight, in the muted moonlight, it appeared to be breathing, sucking the oxygen from the air to make him lightheaded, then wrapping him in its foggy exhalations. Built of squared rough-cut stone and trimmed in dark brick, the pale gray mansion the Mephisto Palace of his upcoming novel--was the archetypical haunted house, with its tall tower, cross-gabled roof, and dark, fathomless windows. Softening the severe lines of the house was a graceful wrought-iron railing that edged the second-story balcony situated on top of the heavy stone arches of the shadowy front veranda.

"Well," said Theo Pelinore as she tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, "I'll have to speak to Mrs. Willard first thing tomorrow morning."

"Mrs. Willard?" David asked.

"She's the housekeeper I hired for you. I specifically instructed her to leave the lights on when she finished up for the day." Theo smiled apologetically. "I'm afraid there isn't
much to choose from around here... Mrs. Willard is usually quite reliable, though she has a little bit of a, you know, small-town attitude. And she does gossip a bit much for my taste."

"Don't worry about it," David said
. "I'm sure she just forgot. This place could rattle anybody."

"Or maybe she's still in there," Amber added darkly, "splattered all over the walls."

"Knock it off, kiddo," he said mildly. Chances were, she was talking like that more to bolster her own courage than to get under Theo's skin.

David brandished the keys. "Shall we go in?" He took one step toward the house and halted as the soft sound of laughter filtered through the air. "What kind of bird did you say that was, Theo?"

Her grip tightened on his elbow and her laugh was artificial. "You know, I'm not sure what they're called. Night birds of some sort. I think they're a sort of whippoorwill. Sounds like laughter, doesn't it?" she added nervously.

Amber took his other elbow and he could practically hear her eyes rolling. "I studied ornithology in my natural science class last quarter, Mrs. Pelinore," she said sweetly. "Whippoorwills are not common to the western states. I think it's a blue-throated pacific night warbler. It belongs to the condor family."

Theo paused a long moment. "You know, I think you're right. Please, call me Theo, dear." To David, she said, "I'm not married."

"Come on," David said, pulling the women attached to his arms along with him. "Let's go in."

As they mounted the sweeping stone stairs and stepped onto the shadowy porch, the air chilled perceptibly. Theo's fingers dug painfully into his forearm. "I have to find the lock," he said as he gently reclaimed his arm and felt for the keyhole.

"I've got a flashlight." Theo rummaged in her purse and brought out a penlight. She aimed its weak beam at the door.

"Take a look at this, Amber," David said, inserting the key in the lock, which was the eye of an ornate brass peacock. The latch plate was a foot long and the tail plumage flowed halfway across the front door.

"Beautiful." Amber reached out and trailed her fingers over the molded brass.

"Utterly charming, don't you think?" Theo asked.

Instantly, Amber withdrew her hand, acknowledging the woman with a bare grunt. David resolved to talk to her about her hostility toward Theo later as he slipped his hand around the pull hidden in the peacock's breast and pressed the thumb latch. The door creaked and opened inward on perfect blackness. Chill, antiseptic air assaulted his nose.

"The switches are just inside," Theo said.

The little kid he kept buried deep inside him screamed Don’t put your hand in there
--it it’ll get chopped off! and he hesitated for just an instant before he reached in and flipped a switch. Dim yellow light illuminated the porch, revealing the dull tarnish on the peacock, and several pieces of plywood--a two-foot square in the center of the door, and long strips at either side of the entryway.

"Is the door broken?" Amber asked
.

"No," Theo said
. "We kept the panels up to keep the stained glass safe." She turned to David. "Wait till you see what's under there."

"It's in good shape, then?" When he'd seen the house, all of the stained glass art had been hidden under layers of paint, the
first no doubt dating back to 1917, when Baudey House was converted into a home for retired seamen. Though it cost him dearly to have the paint removed, David was glad it had been there: otherwise the erotic art beneath it would never have survived.

"Virtually all of it is intact," Theo said, "And it's beautiful. Utterly beautiful."

"I can't wait to see it." David flipped the upper switch and light blossomed within the house. "After you." He stood back and gestured to Theo to enter. She barely hesitated before stepping inside. Winking slyly at his daughter, he extended his arm. She took it, grinning approval, and they stepped inside.

"Wow!" Amber let go of David's arm and stepped forward
. She slowly turned, taking in her surroundings.

The foyer opened into a spacious parlor. That room and what he could see beyond looked very different from the way it had the first time he'd viewed it. David smiled to himself. The damp, musty scent of mildew that had permeated the house had surrendered to fresh paint, wax, and Pine-Sol. Not a speck of dust or string of cobweb remained
. Instead, the walls and woodwork were pristinely coated with eggshell white paint and the Arenberg parquet floor gleamed, richly golden, under a fresh coating of wax.

"All the outside repairs have been completed, except for some touchups where the plywood panels are protecting the
first story windows." Theo gestured toward the protected stained glass. "They'll take care of all that tomorrow."

Nodding absently, David examined the careful job the painters had done on the wood trim in the foyer. "My compliments to the workmen," he said
. "And to Mrs. Williams."

"Willard, Dad," Amber called over her shoulder. "You know, like the rat."

"Thank you, dear," he said dryly.

"Here's something we found in the storage room off the kitchen, of all places." Theo led them to a cove across the room which contained a huge upright piano. "We cleaned it up, but didn't have any repairs done. It used to have a player action, but I'm sure it doesn't work."

The oak body badly needed refinishing, but the eight-inch tall stained glass mirror that depicted nude fairies cavorting the entire length of the instrument was in fine shape. Delighted, David lifted the key cover, revealing yellowed ivory keys stained here and there with dull dark-red spots. "Looks like somebody shot the piano player," he said, running his fingers over the keys. It needed tuning in the worst way, along with a few new strings, but the richness of the off-key tones told him the soundboard was intact. He resolved to get it refurbished immediately. "It's wonderful."

Theo had moved to the center of the room and was examining everything with a critical eye. "Hiring the painters was difficult," Theo said. "The locals are so superstitious, but we finally hired Mr. Willard and a young man from town, Eric Swenson." Theo paused to push a stray strand of glossy dark hair from her face. "Eric also helped Mrs. Willard with the heavy cleaning. He'll be here tomorrow to finish the work around the windows and to help you in any other way you desire. I think he'd be happy to do the gardening and odd jobs for you. He does excellent work."

"He sounds perfect," David told her.

"Well, not perfect, but close to it."

"Not perfect?" he asked doubtfully.

Theo smiled disarmingly. "Who is? Intellectually, Eric is a bit slow," Theo said
. "You might need to explain unusual jobs more thoroughly to him. But he's well worth the trouble." She paused. "He also has a very vivid imagination."

"And he's willing to work here?"

"You know, it's funny. Sometimes, he talks about ghosts as if he can see them, but he's so matter-of-fact that I don't think he believes in them at all. He certainly isn't frightened of them. He's a sweet boy. I think you'll like him."

David glanced at Amber, who was examining the ribald stained glass doors fronting a series of cabinets and lawyer's cases built in to the far parlor wall, near the central stairwell. He turned back to Theo. "How old is Swenson?"

"Twenty-one or-two. You do still want the agency to find you extra help, don't you?"

"A housekeeper and a handyman, yes."

"As I told you before, it's difficult to find anyone willing to work in this house," Theo explained. "Mrs. Willard and Eric are both amenable, and they come with my recommendations." She frowned slightly, the corners of her full lips pulling down in an alluring pout, and shook her head. "This is a small town, David, and, well, people here are superstitious. Frankly, I was surprised that Mrs. Willard was agreeable."

"What about Mr. Willard?" David asked, thinking that if he could get a married couple, they might be willing to live in the house.

She shook her head. "No, we just talked him into helping with the painting. He owns the hardware store in town. They have a lovely little cottage on Gull Road."

"Oh."

"Eric refinished the dining table for you." Theo turned and walked through the parlor into the dining room, glancing back to make sure he was following.

The Tiffany chandelier in the center of the rectangular room blazed to life, illuminating one of the pieces of original furniture, a narrow, fourteen-foot-long walnut table with matching
ladder-back chairs. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is." David cleared his throat. "Theo, may I ask you a question?"