Your Magic Touch (8 page)

Frannie made appropriate notes. “I’d be afraid the only sounds I’d pick up would be my stomach rumbling.”

“When your stomach growls or you make other unexpected noises, you should mention it for the recording—something like, ‘That was me.’ Any comment will do,” answered Thomas.

“Because of the acoustics in this room, it’s not a good place for an EVP session. Perhaps we should set up in the library instead?”

“Sounds good,” said Maury.

He seemed a little less timid this morning, which was a good thing, in Frannie’s eyes. He really needed to see a wizard about some courage.

“Does anyone know how to find the library?” she asked.

“Follow us,” replied Willie Jo. “As we set up our equipment, we got a good feel for the lay of the land, so to speak.”

Several hallways, two staircases—one up and one back down again—and about two miles later, they arrived at the library. So much for the three scientists knowing their way around.

Frannie tucked her notebook back in her pocket and drew out her recorder instead. “Do you mind if I try it, too?”

“That’s a great idea,” said Willie Jo. “If one of us picks up something with our recorder, you can verify it with yours.”

Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves covered the library’s walls. By Haliday Hall standards, it wasn’t a large room, but it was still larger than Frannie’s entire apartment. Until now she’d considered her place a spacious one-bedroom, but her standards were, apparently, modest.

Haliday Hall served as a flagship model for outrageous conspicuous consumption. At least in the library she didn’t see one iota of gold leaf. She could even picture herself seated in one of the comfy side chairs reading a book.

Maury held a device he’d called a K-II EMF meter, which measured fluctuations in the electromagnetic field. Willie Jo held a recorder and Thomas moved around the room with another device. Frannie couldn’t remember its name, but it looked like a glorified thermometer.

“Let’s get started,” said Willie Jo, turning on his recorder.

Frannie quickly turned hers on as well.

Willie Jo continued, “We’ll begin by introducing ourselves to any spiritual energy here with us. I’m Willie Jo, and I would very much like the opportunity to communicate with you.”

“I’m Thomas, and I want you to know that none of the devices we are using are in the least bit harmful. They will merely let us know you are present.”

 “I’m Mau—”

Just as he began to say his name, the library filled with the sound of laughter, the kind of loud mwha-ha-ha laughter people made when they were trying to sound wicked.

The laughter hadn’t come from the ghost hunters. Frannie looked around to see who else could have made the sound, but the room was empty except for the four of them.

“Did you hear that?” asked Willie Jo.

“Yeah,” said Frannie.

Maury and Thomas said they had, too.

Frannie spun around the room, looking for any source for the laughter. She couldn’t spot anything. “Do you think there’s a hidden speaker or recorder playing that sound?”

Again the evil laughter pealed out.

By now Maury was hiding behind Thomas’s back.

“I thought you said we can’t hear the ghosts,” she said.

Willie Jo cleared his throat. “Sometimes we can.” He tilted his chin out. “If that is you, can you give us some sort of sign besides laughter? Can you knock on a wall, dim the lights or do some other physical thing to let us know you are with us?”

At that moment, the overhead chandelier flickered out and a succession of doors in the hallway slammed shut.

Frannie froze in stunned silence. Sure, she’d been assigned to cover the ghost hunters, but she hadn’t expected to find specters at Haliday Hall. And didn’t believe for one moment she actually had found them.

She ran into the hall to try to catch sight of whoever was taunting them, but the corridor was empty.

When she returned to the library, she jiggled the light switch and the chandelier turned on again. She bit back a giggle when she noticed Maury had ducked his head under his arms. If she believed for one minute that true spirits were in the room, perhaps she’d be ducking as well—or maybe running for her life.

Perhaps that’s what was going on. Maybe someone at Haliday Hall was trying to scare them off? She wouldn’t put it past Sin Boy.

Sinclair pushed back his files,
unable to concentrate. Although he was away from the university for the summer break, his research never took a vacation. He’d battled most of the day to stay on target rather than go seek out Frannie.

How ridiculous of him to feel like a teenager mooning for his first crush. It must have been the situation, finding himself locked in a dark room with Frannie during a storm, that had him acting so out of character. He was far too experienced, far too knowledgeable to allow a snoopy reporter to get under his skin.

So why wouldn’t she stay out of his thoughts?

Despite her bravado, in some ways she reminded him of himself. He could tell by the way she put up a tough front that life had not been handed to her on a silver platter, either.

They’d both worked hard for whatever they’d achieved, although attaining a position at the
Spy
wasn’t something he personally would aspire to. But then, she probably wouldn’t think much of his position at the university, either.

He needed to check on her to make sure she wasn’t prying when she was supposed to be ghost hunting. She was capable of anything, including having ditched the men to search for the family safe. Right now she could be up to her elbows—digging through family heirlooms, photos or personal papers.

It was his mission to protect the family, so he rose from his chair and went to find out what she was up to.

It was his job.

It had nothing to do with wanting to be near her.

Absolutely nothing.

Within minutes, hushed voices drew him to the dining room. He checked his watch and saw it was only half-past four, not exactly the dinner hour. As he entered the room, he stopped in his tracks. The foursome was seated at the table, where a sumptuous afternoon tea had been served.

Afternoon tea?

What was Mrs. Drundyl thinking? He wanted to be rid of the meddlesome group, not have them linger for the delicious food. Then his gaze zeroed in on Frannie. She was stuffing her face with some sort of sweet adorned with whipped cream, and the fluffy white substance was smeared across her upper lip. In her opposite hand she held a voice recorder.

He gulped. All he could think of was how much he’d like to lick the whipped cream off her. Thankfully he had years of experience tamping down his emotions, so it was with a studied, nonchalant aplomb that he sauntered into the dining room, took his seat at the table and addressed Frannie.

 “So, that licks delicious.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realized what he said. His jaw clenched at his Freudian slip.

“You’re right. It does lick delicious,” she said before he could correct himself.

She licked at the sweet and shot him a mischievous grin.

Apparently she was unaware of the effect she had on him—or perhaps too aware. Either way, it took him a moment to regain his composure. He turned to Willie Jo. “Come up empty handed in the ghostie department?”

“Far from it,” the older man replied. “We’ve been working for hours and hours. This afternoon our efforts have been concentrated mainly in the library. We’ve had disembodied voices, slamming doors and other paranormal phenomena. I can’t wait to go over the evidence we’ve collected.”

Sinclair didn’t bother pointing out that Willie Jo apparently
could
wait to go over it, or he wouldn’t be imbibing afternoon tea. “I’m surprised you had so much success. In my years at Haliday Hall, nothing like that has ever happened to me. Especially not in the library.”

“Listen to this,” said Frannie, pointing her tape recorder in his direction.

The sound of maniacal laughter filled the room.

Sinclair’s brow shot up and he couldn’t help the cynicism in his tone when he said, “Sounds like canned laughter to me. Which one of you did it?”

“None of us made that sound,” insisted Willie Jo, with support from the other ghost hunters as well as Frannie.

“If anything, I rather thought it might have been
you
having a little fun with us,” said Frannie between sips of tea.

“Hardly. I’ve better use for my time.” Sinclair turned up the teacup at his place setting and reached for the teapot. “I’ve been busy with research today.”

“Then one of your staff members?” suggested Frannie.

“They are too busy to waste their time on nonsense.” He took a sip of hot tea, then grimaced because he’d forgotten to sweeten it. “If they want to keep their jobs, that is.”

As he pulled over the sugar bowl and took two cubes to drop in his tea, Frannie pushed back her plate.

“I think it’s time we go back and see if the activity is still continuing,” she suggested to Thomas.

“Wait,” Sinclair said. “You left while the activity was ongoing?”

“It was a little—” began Frannie.

“Disconcerting,” Maury finished for her. “We thought it best to take a small break.”

Sinclair could only assume this meant they’d been frightened by whatever had happened. He hadn’t expected them to find anything at the mansion, but he supposed that, however unlikely it was, something was going on.

“Would you like to join us?” asked Willie Jo, standing and collecting his ghost-hunting tools from the table.

Sinclair didn’t want the foursome thinking he would continue ignoring them. They might believe they could snoop while he was otherwise occupied. But after his physical reaction to watching Frannie revel in pastry, spending more time with her might be a poor choice. “I’ll finish my tea and perhaps join you later.”

As the group trooped from the room, Maury signaled to Frannie that she had something on her lip. She grabbed up her napkin and wiped her face, then shot him a sheepish smile.

Once they left the dining room, Sinclair was surprised by how quiet he found it to be. He’d taken his meals here alone quite often without even noticing the lack of company.

A distant commotion shattered the silence.

It sounded like—no it was—someone, or several someones, yelling and running this way.

What on earth? There was no telling what had gone wrong now. Had they broken another statue? Smashed priceless antiques? Started a bonfire in the library?

He pushed back his cup and stood, waiting to learn the worst.

Frannie was the first to reach the room, her face red from running and her eyes wide. “You won’t believe it.”

“Believe what?”

Thomas leaned into the room. “The furniture. In the library. The chairs and tables have been violently thrown around.”

Frannie added, “It’s all scrambled and upside down.”

Sinclair’s brow creased. The furniture in the library was massive and heavy. Turning it over would be anything but easy, and he doubted the group had the time to do it before he’d heard the screams.