by Kat Martin
“Sí, sí, I will try to find out what I can. Thank you, Elizabeth. Thank you so much.”
“We’ll figure this out, Maria. Try not to worry.”
“I will call you.” Maria hung up the phone and Elizabeth sighed. The wheels were in motion. Surely something would turn up.
It was late in the afternoon when Zach called. She clamped down on the little thrill she felt at the sound of his voice.
“I’m out at Teen Vision. I’ve been using one of their computers to access the Internet.”
“Find anything interesting?”
“You won’t believe the stuff I’ve found.”
She adjusted the phone against her ear. “What kind of stuff?”
“Well, I thought I’d start with the basics. I went to Google and typed in ghosts. There are over two million sites on the Internet that deal with ghosts. On one site alone, fifteen hundred people have sent in stories of personal encounters they supposedly had with one or more ghosts.”
“I figured there’d be a lot of information on the subject. Still, it’s pretty amazing when you think about it.”
“Yeah. So I guess we aren’t the only ones crazy enough to think there might actually be a ghost in that house.”
“Maybe not, but you’ve got to wonder if any of those stories are really true.”
“I’m sure some of them are purely fiction. But the quantity alone is staggering. And most of these people actually believe they saw something supernatural.”
“What about ghost hunters? Did you see anything about them on the Net?”
“Sure did. When I typed in the words ghost and research, more than two hundred thousand sites popped up, all sorts of groups involved in researching the existence of ghosts. Listen, I’m going to print some of this stuff and bring it over. We can go over it and figure out our next move.”
“Our?”
“In case you’ve forgotten, I was in that house with you last night. It’s not an evening I’ll soon forget. Like it or not, I’m involved in this, too. Besides, the house is on my father’s property. I may not be involved in the day-to-day business of running Harcourt Farms, but as long as my dad’s still alive, I feel a certain obligation to keep an eye on the place.”
“I can certainly understand that.”
“I’ve got a couple of things to do here, then I’m on my way.” Zach hung up the phone and a half hour later, she heard his knock at the door. A little frisson of awareness went through her as she turned the knob to let him in and he brushed past her into the living room. No matter how many times she saw him, she couldn’t quite get over how handsome he was, or the way his presence seemed to fill a room.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi.” He smiled, his dark gaze lingering a moment on her face. She tried to read his thoughts, but his expression was carefully guarded.
He held up a manila folder stuffed with papers. “I pulled this off the Internet. I figured we could go over it, but on my way over here, I remembered you saying you had a computer in the apartment.”
She nodded. “I use the second bedroom for an office.”
He followed her in, heading for the desk in the corner where her computer was set up, checking out her exercise equipment along the way. “No wonder you look so good naked.”
Her gaze flew to his face and she saw that he was grinning.
“Sorry, I couldn’t resist. What I meant was, it’s obvious you take care of yourself. I think that’s really important. I do so much legal work sitting at my desk, I try to get as much exercise as I can. We’ve got a gym in my office building in Westwood. I try to get in there at least three times a week.”
It shows, she thought, remembering his lean, hard-muscled body when they had been in bed. Her cheeks burned at the memory and Elizabeth glanced away, hoping Zach wouldn’t see.
“Why don’t you sit at the desk,” he said, “since you’re familiar with the machine.” He waited while Elizabeth sat down in the chair, then took a seat in the chair next to hers.
Elizabeth flipped on the computer, moved the mouse to the icon for Internet Explorer, brought up Google.com and typed the word ghosts in the search box. A few seconds later, she was staring at pages of Web sites that all dealt with spirit phenomenon.
“Just prowl around a little,” Zach said. “I think you’ll find it interesting.”
She started clicking away, a little surprised to discover how many people were seriously involved in the study of hunting ghosts. Apparently, Maria Santiago was just one of millions who believed in spirits. She scrolled down another page, surveying the dozens and dozens of sites, clicking on one that looked interesting now and then. Shadowlands; Ghosts and Hauntings; History and Hauntings; All about Ghosts; Ghosts Online; Photos of Ghosts and Apparitions. The list seemed endless.
She clicked on one of the sites that claimed to have actual photos. White spots and eerie distortions—some even looking like transparent faces, but with the way film could be manipulated today, the evidence wasn’t convincing. Still, as Zach had said, millions of people seemed to believe ghosts actually existed.
“Check this out.” Leaning over, his hand covered hers on the mouse, moved it up, returned to the search engine, and typed in ghost research.
Aware of the heat of his touch and the loss she felt when he pulled away, she read the list on the screen in front of her. As he stood behind her, his chest brushed lightly against her shoulder and a tremor of warmth slid into her stomach. Elizabeth ignored it and started to read the sites on the page.
American Ghost Society; Ghost Research Foundation; GhostLabs Research Society; Toronto Ghost and Hauntings Research Society; Paranormal Investigative Research and Information Training. She clicked on one of the groups, skimmed some of the information.
She clicked on another and another. “These people are deadly serious—pardon the pun.”
Zach laughed.
“Look at this. They not only believe in ghosts, they go out and try to prove they really exist.”
“Yeah. And check out the equipment they use.” Zach punched up a site. “Digital cameras, 35mm cameras, video cameras, audio recorders, electromagnetic field detectors, temperature sensing equipment.”
Her eyes widened at the long paragraphs under each item naming the different brands and models of the various equipment available. “Unbelievable.”
“After reading some of this stuff,” Zach said, “believing in ghosts doesn’t seem nearly as far-fetched as it did before.”
“I guess not.” But Elizabeth still wasn’t convinced. She turned to look at Zach, found his eyes once more on her face. For an instant, she saw the heat, the hunger, then he looked away. She ignored the sudden pounding of her heart and the clutch in her stomach.
“What…what do you think we should do?”
Zach cleared his throat and returned to the business at hand. “Well, according to most of these sites, we need to research the history of the house.”
“Which Maria is trying to help us do.”
“Right. And if a little girl did die there, it would validate Maria’s vision and the voice you think you heard.”
“At least we’d have something.”
But when Maria called on Tuesday, she grimly reported that as far as the workers knew, neither a child nor anyone else had ever died in the house.
“Thanks for trying, Maria. You didn’t…haven’t had any more visits?”
“Not since she came before.”
“That’s good to hear. I was thinking, maybe if you told your doctor you were having trouble sleeping, he might give you something that would help.”
“Sí, I was thinking that, too. At night I worry that she will come and I am too afraid to sleep.”
“You mustn’t get discouraged. I’m still working on this and so is Zach
ary Harcourt.” Though he was back at work in L.A. “We’ll let you know as soon as we find something.”
The moment Maria hung up, Elizabeth dialed Zach’s office number. His secretary rang her right through, which made her wonder if Zach had left instructions she be given special treatment. It was ridiculous to hope that he had.
“Sorry to bother you,” she said when she heard his deep voice, “but I thought you’d want to know. Maria called. She says, as near as she can find out, there hasn’t been any sort of death in the house, a child or anyone else.”
Zach sighed. “I really didn’t think there had been. I haven’t spent much time on the farm since I left San Pico, but I figured I would have heard if something like that had happened.”
“So we’re back where we started.”
“Not exactly. I didn’t want to mention this—not until we heard from Maria. I was hoping the answer might be simpler.”
“What is it?”
“There was another house in the same location before the new one was built. I remember it being there when I was a kid. The place wasn’t worth fixing. My dad had it torn down to make room for the new house he wanted to build.”
A shiver raced down her spine. She’d been reading up on ghosts, soaking up information from the sites on the Net. Houses might change. People might change, but for a ghost, time was eternal.
“What you’re saying is that a child might have died in the old house. Which means it could have happened years ago.”
“’Fraid so.”
“What’s our next move?”
“I’ve got a couple of ideas. I’ve been asking around, talking to some people I know. They think I should call someone, an expert on this kind of thing.”
“Who—Ghostbusters?”
“Sort of. There’s a woman…a friend of a friend. Her name is Tansy Trevillian. She’s got a good reputation, as far as I can tell. She’s supposed to be what they call a sensitive.”
“Let me guess…for a nice fat fee, she’ll come up and do a séance—talk to the ghosts in the house and tell them to leave.”
He chuckled into the phone. “Actually, all she wants are her expenses, meaning gas and meals. She’ll meet us there whenever it’s convenient…that is, if you’re interested.”
“If she did come, I imagine she would have to come at night.”
“That’s what she said.”
“So how do we get rid of Maria and Miguel?”
“Good question. Maybe Maria can come up with something.”
“Maybe. She wants this resolved even more than we do. Will you be coming up this weekend?”
He paused for an instant. “I figured I would.”
“If I can manage to get the two of them out of the house, I’ll call and you can set up the meeting with the Trevillian woman.”
“Sounds good. I just hope you don’t hold it against me if this turns out to be a crazy idea.”
“Any idea is better than no idea, which is exactly what I have at the moment.”
“Let me know,” Zach said and hung up the phone.
* * *
After catching a quick bite at Marge’s Café, Elizabeth spent a frustrating afternoon of seeing semicooperative patients, including Geraldine Hickman’s daughter, who still couldn’t quite believe that a date did not automatically include having sex; and the attorney, Richard Long, who was pissed at his wife for some imagined crime and proud of himself for not knocking the crap out of her.
“She never does what I tell her. You can’t blame me for getting angry.”
Elizabeth sighed. “Marriage is supposed to be a partnership, Richard. Do you really believe that because you’re Jennifer’s husband you should have complete control of her life?”
“I pay the bills, don’t I? I work my ass off so she can buy expensive clothes and drive around in a fancy car. And does she appreciate it? Hell, no.”
Elizabeth wanted to ask him, if he was so disgusted with his wife, why he didn’t just get a divorce? But Jennifer Long was pretty and sexy. Richard didn’t want to divorce her—he just wanted her to submit to him, totally and completely. The real question was, why didn’t Jennifer divorce Richard? But Elizabeth knew the man had destroyed the woman’s self esteem to the point where she didn’t believe she could make it on her own.
Elizabeth wished Jennifer sat on her couch instead of Richard.
It was nearly five o’clock before she got a chance to phone Maria. She was a little uneasy about mentioning the “sensitive” Zach had told her about, but Maria seemed nonplussed.
“You think this woman—Señora Trevillian—you think she will be able to see the ghost?”
“I have no idea. I don’t think these people actually see them. I think she’s supposed to be able to sense their presence, though. I thought it might be worth a try.”
“Oh, sí. If she can come on Saturday night, I will get Miguel to take me out. He is off on Sunday so he can sleep late. I am too fat to dance, but I like to listen to the music.”
“That would be great, Maria.” Elizabeth thought of the young Hispanic woman, too far along in her pregnancy to enjoy an evening of nightclubbing on the town, but desperate to resolve her frightening situation. Maybe Tansy Trevillian would make a discovery that would make Maria’s sacrifice worthwhile. Elizabeth hoped so, but she had her doubts.
* * *
Zach worked on his Themoziamine case until late Thursday night, then returned to work early Friday morning. At two o’clock in the afternoon, he left his Westwood office, his suitcase already packed and loaded into the trunk of his car. He had a stop to make before he took off for San Pico.
Pulling onto the 405 Freeway, he slogged along in the heavy Friday traffic, heading for Culver City, then took the Washington Boulevard exit and headed east. His mother’s apartment was on Wilson, a side street on the south side of the road.
Though Zach didn’t see his mother all that often, he tried to stop by whenever he could. Years ago, after Teresa and Fletcher Harcourt had gone their separate ways and Zach was living in the house at Harcourt Farms, his mother had gotten married. The marriage had ended in divorce and a few years later, she had married again.
Teresa had always liked men. Her current husband, Harry Goodman, was a beefy car salesman who worked at Miller Toyota just down Washington Boulevard. Harry took up most of Teresa’s time and that was the way she wanted it.
Zach wasn’t sure why he felt the need to see her today, but here he was, pulling up next to the curb in front of her two-story, gray stucco apartment building. Carrying a two-pound bag of her favorite coffee beans, he climbed the stairs to the second floor, and knocked on her apartment door. A few seconds later, his mother pulled it open.
“Zachary—come on in.” She took his hand and pulled him forward, closing the door behind them. “I was surprised when you called this morning.”
“I was thinking about you. I haven’t stopped by in a while.”
She gave him a brief hug—something she had only lately begun to do—then stepped away, a woman in her early fifties who still wore her shoulder-length black hair loose around her shoulders, still wore her skirts above her knees, though she was at least thirty pounds overweight. When she smiled, she remained attractive, but she was rapidly losing her looks, which bothered her immensely, since she had pretty much survived the years by being a sexy, desirable woman.
“You usually like to get out of town early on Fridays,” she said. “You’re not going up to San Pico?”
“I’m going. I just thought I’d stop by before I left town.” He handed her the bag of coffee. He usually brought her some little gift or gave her some pocket money. He sent her a monthly check to help cover her bills, but the extra was just for her.
He tapped the bag of coffee. “I figured you’d be running out of the goo
d stuff by now.”
She opened the sack and inhaled deeply, let out a contented sigh. “Costa Rica Royale. My favorite. Thank you, honey.”
She led him into the kitchen to brew a pot, lit up a cigarette, and they sat down at the kitchen table. Teresa drank coffee and smoked all day. As a kid, he had hated the smell of stale cigarette smoke and still did. He’d tried to get her to quit, but he didn’t think she ever would.
She inhaled deeply, let the smoke trail out slowly. “You look a little tired today. Everything all right?”
The question took him by surprise. Teresa had never been much of a mother. While other kids’ mothers baked cookies and attended PTA, Teresa enjoyed San Pico’s limited nightlife. And satisfied Fletcher Harcourt’s demands, which came before everything else.
“Everything’s fine. I’ve just been working hard lately, is all.”
“Well, then, let’s have a cup of coffee and I’ll tell you about the party down the block that Harry and I went to last night.”
They chatted for a while, saying nothing much really, Zach mostly listening, since Teresa generally did the majority of the talking.
Half an hour later, as he wove his car back into the vicious L.A. traffic, heading north to San Pico, he wondered again why he’d felt the urge to see her. As a boy, he had yearned for her love and attention, ached for the love of his parents but never really got it. Over the years, he had taught himself to live without that kind of emotional attachment. He had learned to take care of himself, learned to make the most of life without ever letting anyone get too close.
Lately, he had begun to understand that the distance he put between himself and others was a defense mechanism, a way of protecting himself. He didn’t want to need anyone the way he had as a boy.
Perhaps he had gone to see Teresa to remind himself of the painful life he had lived before he had learned to guard his emotions, to rely only on himself. Before he had learned how much it hurt to care when the other person didn’t, or at least not nearly as much. Maybe he had needed the reminder.