Haunted

by Heather Graham

  “I did. Shoot.” He indicated the table.

  She sank another ball.

  “Did you ever really love her?”

  He shrugged.

  “Come on, you called it—truth or dare.”

  “I was absolutely infatuated with her. Did I really love her? I don’t know. We didn’t give ourselves time.”

  Darcy sank another ball.

  “Did you ever hate her?” she asked.

  “Yes. Go on, play.”

  This time, Darcy missed. Matt picked up his cue. It didn’t seem that he even took the time to check his angle; he sank his first ball with an absolute minimum of effort.

  “My turn. You swear that you aren’t feigning when you take on another voice?”

  “I swear that I’m not feigning,” she said flatly.

  “Maybe without even knowing it?”

  “Excuse me, I answered the question, shoot!” she said.

  He sank another ball. She wasn’t even sure he looked at the table.

  “Why were you so strange on the porch last night?” he demanded.

  “Strange?”

  “You were afraid of me.”

  She hesitated. “Yes, because I—I thought that I’d been followed out.”

  “Why did you lie?”

  “That’s another question. Shoot another ball.”

  He started to protest, then shrugged. Again, his ball seemed to slide into the pocket effortlessly.

  “Why did you lie?” he demanded again.

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. I supposed I thought that you’d followed me. Maybe to scare me, or something. I don’t really know.”

  “That’s the truth?” he demanded.

  “We are playing truth or dare,” she said dryly.

  A flicker of something passed through his eyes. To her amazement, he missed his next shot.

  She quickly took up her own cue, and made a shot.

  “Where is Lavinia now?” she asked.

  He looked puzzled. “How the hell should I know? Maybe Paris, maybe London. If she’s in D.C., I haven’t heard about it. Why?”

  “It was my question, not yours,” she informed him, and made another shot. She stared at him a long moment.

  “Well?” he said impatiently.

  “Did you kill your wife?” she asked quietly.

  “What?”

  “My question!” she grated.

  “No, I didn’t kill my wife.”

  She looked at the table quickly, took aim, and missed her shot. Matt walked past her with his cue. He made his shot, but didn’t ask a question. He cleaned the table, and set down his cue.

  “Last question. So that’s it. You think that I killed my wife. You think that the ghost is Lavinia—that I strangled her in the Lee Room?”

  Darcy opened her mouth, and closed it. “I…no, not really. I just thought that I should make sure. Matt…did you…did you push me into that grave today?”

  “What?”

  “You keep saying that!” she told him, irritated. “I asked you—did you push me in that grave today?”

  “No. No, a thousand times no. And why the hell didn’t you tell me you were pushed into it?” he demanded.

  Her eyes fell. “Because I don’t know that I was pushed.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It could have been the wind, it could have been a hand.”

  “Darcy, that’s ridiculous.”

  “No, it’s not. The rain had started. The wind was howling. I was running, not watching where I was going, and suddenly, I was toppling into the grave.”

  He walked around to where she stood, crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned against the table. “Great. You think that I would push you into a grave, and that I killed my ex-wife.”

  “No…not really.”

  “But the suspicions rose in your mind?”

  “A little.”

  “Want me to call you a cab?”

  “What?”

  “I think that we actually both hear each other just fine. I said, do you want me to call you a cab. Meaning, are you afraid to drive back with me.”

  She shook her head, swallowing hard. “No.”

  “Are you afraid of me?” he demanded.

  Again, his eyes seemed very dark, very intense. She shook her head. “No.”

  A small smile crooked his lips. “But you think that if you weren’t somewhat taken with me, you would be. You don’t want to be a fool, right?”

  “I’m not afraid of you, Matt.”

  “Hm,” he murmured, still watching her. “The suspicions tore at the back of your mind, but they were just teasers, huh?”

  “More or less.”

  “Come on, then. Let’s see if we make home.”

  He took her cue from her hands and set it on the table.

  “Mae!” he called out.

  “I know!” she shouted back. “Bill you!”

  “Thanks, good night!”

  Every once in a while, the very idea that Darcy had even so much as an inkling that he might have actually killed Lavinia made Matt so mad that he was tempted to stop the car, get out of it, and slam a fist into the windshield.

  Somehow, he refrained.

  He had the feeling that she wanted to speak, but she didn’t.

  Not until they reached the house.

  “We’re here,” he said.

  She nodded, still not making a move for the door.

  “Whatever it is, say it, Darcy?”

  “How did you find me?” she asked, and it wasn’t an accusation, but a question.

  A little voice whispered in my ear.

  He couldn’t say it. He just couldn’t.

  “Darcy, you weren’t with us, and the last place we saw you was the churchyard. You have to admit yourself, it was the obvious place to look.”

  “I guess…but you found the freshly dug grave—even with the tree over it.”

  “You shouted out. I heard you.”

  She nodded, then flashed him a sudden smile. “Sure.”

  He shook his head. “Darcy, that was no great mystery.”

  “Right. I agree,” she told him. She was still smiling.

  “Darcy, don’t go getting weird ideas that you don’t share with me. Why on earth would you suddenly have a suspicion that I had killed Lavinia?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “She left here alive and well.”

  “Wasn’t she supposed to do some kind of a fund-raiser or something at Melody House, even after you two divorced?” Darcy asked.

  He sighed, and looked at his hands. “Darcy, it’s really so cut-and-dried it’s boring. We met, we were attracted, whirlwind, we got married. She thought that I was ready to enter her world. Here I was, the heir to a small Virginian dynasty, founding fathers, all that rot. She thought that she could turn me into what she wanted. I had mistakenly believed that she was done with party after party, and so on. We argued like cats and dogs, and then I knew I’d made the biggest mistake in the world. She’d thought she’d get me into politics, with my heritage and the house, and being a cop and a sheriff. At this particular phase of my life, my interest is here. Keeping the place afloat, taking the town into the future. My fund-raisers are for this place, and then civic—we need money to keep the kids off drugs, even here, and for awareness, and everything else that society faces. We were finally amicable, both realizing that we’d made a mistake, seeing what we wanted to see in one another, and not what was really there. But I really don’t hate her anymore. I feel rather ambivalent toward her. That’s all. Hunt her down, if you feel the need.”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t mean to pry so much…sorry, yes. Maybe I did.”

  The front door to the house opened while they were still sitting there. Penny came out on the porch. “Matt? Everything all right? There’s a phone call for you on the main line. Jason Johnstone. Should I tell him to call back?”

  “No, we’re coming in,” Matt called.

 
; Darcy quickly exited her door, asking Penny where Adam was as she walked by her into the house. Matt followed more slowly, telling Penny he’d pick up the line in his upstairs office.

  Darcy had disappeared by the time he reached the second-floor landing. He walked into his own room, to the desk in the office area of the suite, and punched in the line on the phone.

  “Jason, hi, Matt. Sorry to have kept you waiting.”

  “That’s all right. I could have called back. I just wanted to let you know that I did write up what happened today. But I think you’ll like it.”

  Matt inhaled on a deep breath. “Look, Jason, I know I have a chip on my shoulder about the whole ghost thing. But I mean it—you are a journalist, and a good one. Don’t let me influence what you write.”

  On the other end of the line, Jason laughed. “Matt, honestly, I wrote what I saw. I think you’ll be fine with it. The only thing is, of course, Max Aubry will see it, and write what he wants to the following day. We are at rival papers.”

  “Doesn’t matter, Jason. Don’t worry about it.”

  “I thought you should be forewarned.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’ll see you at the reenactment.”

  “I’ll be working.”

  “They’re not making you play your famous ancestor?”

  “Can’t. I’m still the sheriff here.”

  “Great. I’ll see you, then.”

  “Thanks, Jason.”

  As he hung up, he thought he heard another click that preceded his own.

  He frowned. Who the hell would be listening in on his conversations?

  And why?

  Darcy dropped by Adam’s room and was dismayed to find him sneezing. Since he had been old for a parent when Josh had been born, she feared for his health now that he was twenty-five years older.

  “You caught a cold today!” she said.

  “Never mind me,” he said, waving a hand in the air. “What on earth happened to you in that cemetery today?”

  “Believe it or not, I really don’t know.”

  “How can you not know?” he asked.

  “Because it was pouring, and the wind was howling as if a sudden hurricane had popped up. It was really strong, and you know it. What I said in the Wayside Inn this afternoon was the truth, the whole truth. I was running to jump a wall and get to the cars, and suddenly I was in the hole.”

  “So the wind blew you in?”

  “Maybe,” she said.

  “You were pushed?”

  “I might have been, but I really don’t know.”

  He sneezed again.

  “Adam, you’re getting sick.”

  He shook his head, but he looked worn and tired as well.

  “I’ve taken some cold stuff, and I’m going straight to bed,” he told her. “I was just waiting up for you to come in.”

  She smiled. “I swear to you that I’m just fine. But I am worried about you.”

  He shook his head. “There was that incident in the library. And now this. I don’t like any of it, Darcy. We’ve had problematic ghosts before, but…there’s something here that’s just not right.”

  She shrugged. “Adam, did you ever meet Lavinia Harper?”

  “Once or twice. Why?”

  “Just curious, I suppose.”

  “Ah, the ex-wife. Rich, stunning, always throwing parties for some cause or another, but underneath it all, not a truly generous or nice woman,” Adam said.

  “But a living one, right?”

  He frowned. “You’re suggesting she might be dead?”

  “No,” she said quickly. Too quickly. “I mean…Matt is truly a decent guy. Hardheaded and heavy-handed at times, but ethical, I would swear. Still…”

  “You think your ghost might be his murdered wife?” Adam sounded very skeptical.

  “No. I really don’t think that. But I don’t want to be an idiot, either. People say she was supposed to show up here…but that no one heard from her.”

  “I see what you mean. And very difficult when you’re so infatuated with Matt,” Adam said flatly.

  She cast him a frown.

  “You don’t believe in him?” Adam asked, a slight smile curving his lips.

  “I do.”

  “Ah.”

  “Too much, Adam.”

  “We’ll check into Lavinia’s whereabouts,” Adam promised her. “Oh, ye of little faith!”

  “I do have faith!” she protested.

  “Cover all the bases, Darcy. I’m teasing you. I’ve always told you to cover all the bases, right?” Adam said, smiling at her.

  “Adam,” she began, then hesitated, and started again. “I’ve seen too many women fall…fall in love. And lose their minds and their senses because of it. I don’t want to be an idiot because…” She shook her head and threw her hands up. “Because I am so infatuated!”

  “Good girl!” he said. Then he sneezed again.

  “Get in bed!” she chastised, giving him a kiss on the cheek and then walking to the door. “Good night!” she called to him.

  “Darcy.”

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll find Lavinia,” he told her. “And Darcy, you’ll get me immediately if you need me!” he commanded. Then he sneezed again.

  “Absolutely,” she promised.

  In her own room, she paced awhile, wondering if Matt would come that night.

  Probably not. He was offended that she had suspected him of foul play in the nonappearance of his wife. She started to put on a T-shirt, then opted for her lacy white gown instead, thinking wryly that, if she did go down the stairway that night, she could convince any onlooker that she was the lady in white.

  Restless, she watched the late show. But then she fell asleep. She tried very hard to clear her mind before she did so, since the day’s events had prevented Adam from trying hypnotism again.

  The dream came again.

  Not the violence of it, or the murder.

  Just the woman, a haze of white, staring down at her at first where she lay in the bed. She heard a single whisper. “Please!”

  Then the woman moved to the door, and slipped through it.

  Awake, Darcy rose, and hurried after her.

  Once again, she waited on the stairway. Halfway down, she waited again. Darcy followed. At the front door she hesitated, remembering all the warnings she had received, and the fear she had felt herself.

  But she wanted so desperately to get at the truth.

  There were umbrellas in an old stand near the door. She took one, then let herself out.

  The ghost waited on the porch steps. Then she started moving again, drifting toward the smokehouse.

  Tonight, she went in.

  The old building was in sound repair, and from the scent within, was obviously still used. Darcy opened the door, and stood there, looking into the darkness.

  Great. She had an umbrella. No flashlight.

  And still, with only the moonbeams hurtling down for illumination, Darcy could see the ghost. Standing in the middle of the small space.

  “Please!” she said again.

  A rustling sound came from behind Darcy. She swung around with her umbrella, ready to strike. She thought that she saw a shadow, disappearing against the stable wall.

  A feeling of cold wrapped around her shoulders and she heard the whisper again, right against her ear, urgent and quick. “Please!”

  Suddenly, she knew. Exactly what the ghost was trying to say, and exactly what she wanted. There was an old call bell for the plantation hands on the porch. Darcy ran like a maniac to clang it, then raced back to the smokehouse again.

  She ignored the darkness, burst into the center of it, and began to dig, using the point of the umbrella. She’d gotten down no more than a foot, and was so involved in her task, that she screamed when she felt hands on her shoulders.

  She spun around.

  Matt.

  “What the hell are you doing?” His words sounded like an angry growl.
She took a step back, aware of his size, and of the darkness.

  But she had rung the bell loudly enough to wake the dead. Naturally, he was out here. And yet, in the small room, it seemed that he was staring at her with malignant eyes.

  “What’s going on?” The shout came from the house. Penny was running on out. Adam, with a slip cap and robe on, was hurrying along behind her.

  “She’s here!” Darcy said. “She’s here, I know it!”

  By then, Sam Arden, Clint, and Carter had come from the stables. They were all barefoot, dressed in nothing but hastily thrown-on jeans.

  “What the hell…?” Clint demanded, rubbing his five o’clock shadow.

  Carter stared at the scene. “She thinks she’s found something,” he murmured to Clint. “Hey, should I get a shovel?”

  “Yes, please!” Darcy said.

  Matt threw up his hands. “Hell. Sure. Get a shovel. Let’s dig in the middle of the night.”

  Sam disappeared with Carter. They were back in a minute with two shovels, a portable floodlight, and a pick.

  “Darcy, move, let me at it,” Carter said, entering the little room, and starting right off with the pick. He loosened the earth, and Matt joined him to start digging, swearing beneath his breath as he did so.

  The others looked on. Minutes ticked by, and mounds of dirt came out of the smokehouse.

  Sweating despite the coolness of the wee hour, grimy with dirt, Matt wiped his brow. He glared at her. She forced herself to stand firm, wishing that she didn’t note that his physique remained exceptionally imposing, tanned biceps and chest glistening with sweat, streaked with mud.

  “Darcy, we’re down several feet.”

  She let out an impatient sound and started for the smokehouse herself. He raised a hand to her. “All right, all right!”

  He went back to it with a vengeance.

  Still, it was Carter who gave a sudden cry.

  “Damn!”

  “What, what?” Darcy cried.

  “He probably shoveled his own toe,” Penny murmured.

  Matt hunkered down with Carter. Clint nosed his way in. Darcy couldn’t get past them.

  “What is it?” she cried out.

  Matt rose, tossing down his shovel, glaring at her once again as he started to walk by her. “Don’t anyone touch anything else. I’m getting a team out here.”

  “A team?” she said.