by Sonia Singh
21
Scott hit stop on the TV remote, and the footage of the Chang case disappeared. “So what do you think?”
Coulter yawned and stretched his arms so they rested along the back of the sofa. “Could have used a soundtrack.”
“Besides that,” Scott said.
“I can’t believe you guys go after ghosts and spirits and all that Halloween stuff.”
“It’s about the search for truth,” Scott said.
Coulter grinned. “Okay, Mulder.”
Anjali giggled.
Coulter looked her up and down, his gaze appreciative. “How do you say your name again?”
“Un-ja-lee.”
“I’ll just call you Angel.”
She giggled again.
Scott rolled his eyes. The three of them had gathered in the den after coming straight from the Rockin’ Rodeo. He’d been eager to quiz Coulter about his abilities but decided to show him the recordings from the Lynne Michaels and Rosie Chang cases. To demonstrate what The Cold Spot: Paranormal Investigations was all about.
“So,” Scott said. “Any other thoughts? Questions about the firm?”
“Just one,” Coulter said. “Isn’t The Cold Spot 7-Up’s logo?”
“Oh my God!” Anjali exclaimed. “It is!”
Scott rubbed the space between his eyebrows where he most often developed a headache. “Besides being a soft drink, The Cold Spot also refers to an area of psychic energy, relating to a spirit or entity.”
“Speaking of spirits,” Coulter said. “Got any whiskey?”
“Drinks. Right.” In automatic host mode, he went to the bar and poured a vodka tonic, handing it to Anjali without her asking.
“I’m impressed,” she said. “How’d you know my drink?”
He smiled. “You hang around with psychics long enough…”
Instead of whiskey, he offered Coulter an alternative. “Try this. I’m partial to it myself.”
Coulter took a sip and groaned, closing his eyes. “I think I see Jesus. What is this?”
“Single malt Scotch.”
Scott declined to take a drink for himself and leaned against the bar. “Do you have any idea where your powers came from?”
Coulter waved the Scotch under his nose. “Off the back of a cereal box?”
Scott continued to study him. Coulter looked up and with a resigned shrug, set his glass aside.
“I know nothing about the good ol’ family tree. Hell, I don’t even know who my daddy is.”
Scott had to ask. “Ever have a near death experience?”
A lazy smile spread across Coulter’s face. “Well now, the Grim Reaper and I are good friends, text each other on a regular basis like a couple of teenage girls. But I’ve never walked into the light—if that’s what you mean.”
“What about a blow to the head?” Anjali asked. She looked at Scott. “Do blows to the head really cause psychic ability?”
“If that were true, Mike Tyson would be channeling spirits in the ring.” Scott pushed himself away from the bar and walked to the center of the room. “So you don’t know where or how your abilities originated. That’s fine. Anjali’s not too sure of hers either.”
“And I’ve got my family tree traced back for generations.” She frowned. “I’m not sure how accurate the information is though. I don’t think I’m a direct descendant of both Buddha and Gandhi.”
“What would be interesting,” Scott said, “is seeing if your children and your grandchildren inherit your ESP.”
“If that happens,” Anjali said angrily, “I definitely won’t make them feel like science experiments because of it.”
Coulter gave her a speculative look. “I think the first words I learned to say were demon and spawn, seeing as how my mama said them to me often enough.”
“So you also grew up feeling like there was something wrong with you?” Anjali asked.
Coulter looked surprised. “Not at all. I felt pretty superior actually.” He looked at Scott. “Hey Spock, what’s your thing? What can you do?”
Scott saw Anjali trying to hide a smile.
He cleared his throat. “Nothing actually. I’m not psychic.” The topic was a sore spot for him. He would give anything to touch the other side, to fully experience it as someone other than an observer.
“Well, are ya’ll gonna ask me or what?” Coulter said.
Scott and Anjali looked at him.
Coulter stood up. “For a demonstration? I’ll start with a little spoon bending.”
Coulter bent spoons, bent them back into shape, made them dance in the air, and then moved on to dishware.
Scott stood in front of Coulter, the EMF meter raised and pointed.
“What is that thing?” Coulter asked.
Scott stared at the readings. “Just what I thought! The amount of energy you’re giving off is incredible!”
Anjali crossed to his side. “I couldn’t tell an electromagnetic wave from a sound wave but the meter is definitely getting excited.”
“Now this is just my opinion,” Scott began (and since his opinion had been quoted in a well-known scientific journal, he believed it held sufficient weight). “Coulter is absorbing the electrical energy from the air around him. He’s soaking it up…storing it if you will. I’m sure he does this even when he’s sleeping.”
Anjali smiled at him. “You energy hog.”
Scott took a few more readings, then plugged the meter into his iPAQ PDA, storing the data. He turned around just as a plate swept through the air and stopped barely an inch from his face, making him flinch. Several more plates circled around his head. “Very nice,” he said in a flat voice. “Can we move on?”
Flying objects landed safely on the coffee table, and Coulter sat back down on the sofa.
Demonstration over, Scott got down to business and addressed Coulter. “What I want to do is put you in—for lack of a better word—a haunted house and see what happens, see how the house reacts to you and how you react to it.”
“See what the spirits make of him?” Anjali asked.
“Exactly.”
Coulter leaned back, resting his foot on his thigh. “Sounds easy enough to me. How much you payin’?”
“First let me say that this is a nonprofit business. People would be less inclined to seek out our help if we charged.”
“You’re doin’ this for free? Ever hear of doctors? They help people too and don’t bat an eye when it comes to their fee.”
Scott sought to explain. “For me, it’s not about the money—”
Coulter swept his hand in indication of the flat-panel TV, the leather sofa and chairs. “People who have money always say that.”
Scott was in no mood to justify his business practices. “The amount I’m offering,” he began just as Anjali stood up.
“That’s my cue to split, guys. Negotiating really isn’t a spectator sport.”
After she’d left, Coulter raised a brow. “So you and she…”
“Let’s get back to the matter at hand,” Scott said. Wilders rarely discussed their personal lives with family members, let alone strangers. He mentioned a monetary sum, purposely low-balling it.
Coulter’s gaze was mocking. “And here I thought my talents were in demand?”
After a bit more haggling they finally agreed on an amount and shook on it.
“You’ve got quite a grip there, Wilder,” Coulter said. “Must be from squeezing blood out of all those turnips.”
Scott grinned. “Must be.” His family didn’t get rich by paying full price, ever. “So, if you could come by tomorr—”
“Is there a place around here I could crash temporarily?”
“I can get a list of motels for you.”
Coulter rubbed his chin. “You could do that. Only I need a place to stay tonight.”
Scott knew where this was going. Damn his polite upbringing. “You’re welcome to stay here. For a night or two,” he added.
Coulter’s lips curved i
n a slow grin. “Well, that’s mighty nice of you…roomie.”
Scott needed a drink. He poured himself an ounce of single malt, and when Coulter proffered his empty glass, refilled that too.
“Say boss, seeing as how you’re an expert on all this ESP and me stuff, tell me why I can suddenly move people with my mind when I couldn’t before.”
Scott had been thinking about this. “This may sound simplistic and unscientific but you never had the proper motivation. People do things they never thought they could while under severe stress. You had the capability all along. There was just no need to call it forth.”
“I wonder what else I can do,” Coulter mused.
Scott lifted his glass in a toast. “That’s what we’re here to find out.”
22
Sunglasses shading her eyes from the morning sun, Anjali gazed out the window as they entered Napa Valley. The Golden Gate Bridge was an hour behind them, now hills carpeted with lush vineyards stretched out on either side of the winding road.
Their destination was the Adagietto Inn, and that was pretty much all she knew. Instead of briefing her on the case during the drive up, Scott had let loose a volley of complaints against Coulter.
Anjali had sat quietly, listening to the rant. She knew Scott wasn’t a complainer. It took something big for him to lose his cool, and the fact that Coulter was God-knows-where, instead of in the car with them heading to Napa, was big.
“And for someone who can move things with his mind,” Scott continued. “He has a hard time picking his wet towels off the bathroom floor.”
Anjali turned away from the window and smiled. “Sounds like you’re winding down.”
The corner of his mouth curved up. “I think I finally got it out of my system. Thanks for letting me vent. You want to hear about the case now?”
Her smile widened, and she turned back to gaze out the window at the view. “So, this job came your way because your parents are Garrison and Penelope Wilder of the San Francisco Wilders, founding family, supporter of the arts, regular appearances in the society pages, personal friends of the governor?”
Scott shot her an amused glance. “Mother ran into Lance David at a museum showing last weekend—”
“And just happened to mention that her oldest son is a paranormal investigator?”
“I’m not clear on how the subject came up, but Mother can make conversation with anyone on anything. As it turns out, Lance and his partner, Ian—”
“By partner you mean—”
“Business and otherwise. Lance and Ian have owned and operated the inn for about four years now. I’ve never stayed there but I’m told it’s quite the place. Rooms are booked six months in advance. That’s why they decided on a new addition.”
“Ah…the new addition. Ominous music builds.”
“A month ago they began digging to put in the new supports and that’s when they found the bones.”
“Indian burial ground? And by Indian I’m referring not to myself but to a much taller race of people—Native Americans.”
“Close but no. The bones were European, old, about four hundred years—according to the people from Berkeley. Lance and Ian wanted to give the bones a proper burial, but the Berkeley team wanted to take them back for examining. And since the bones were uncovered, strange things have been happening at the inn.”
“Like what?”
“Mysterious lights, furniture rearranged or broken, bedcovers flung off. Both men have been locked out of the house, twice while not wearing any clothes. The situation became bad enough that Lance told the Berkeley team to forget the respectful burial, take the bones and be done with it. But they can’t.”
“Can’t? You mean won’t. They prefer to study the bones in their burial place?”
“No, I mean can’t. They’ve tried removing the bones several times. The first time a heavy ladder fell on the lead member of the crew, giving him a serious concussion. The second time a swarm of red ants prevented them from getting anywhere near the bones.”
“The third time?”
“The third time they said to hell with it and went back to Berkeley. Lance and Ian are currently staying in town. So it’s just you and me.”
Outside, clouds passed before the sun, plunging the countryside into sudden gloominess. Anjali shivered. “Versus a pile of bones.”
The Adagietto Inn overlooked manicured vineyards and the nearby Napa Valley hills. Anjali imagined standing under a garden trellis or sitting on the deck in the morning, watching the sun rise over the mountains.
Surely a complimentary suite was the standard exchange for successful ghost-busting activities?
Before exploring the inside, Scott wanted to check out where construction of the new addition was taking place. They crossed the grounds, heading toward the back of the inn and walking through gardens bursting with color.
The ground was gutted at the site of the construction and partly covered by a tarp. Anjali peered into the pit, but it was hard to see anything.
Scott climbed in to get a closer look. The ground was wet in certain spots, and he nearly lost his footing. Stepping over a limp bag of cement, he crouched down in front of what looked like a pile of brown brittle twigs. “Nothing but a pile of bones,” he called out.
He reached out his hand, and Anjali gasped. “Don’t touch them!” Scott looked up at her, hand shielding his eyes. She was getting a peculiar feeling. Almost like a buzzing. Her skin felt tingly.
In a matter of minutes, he was back beside her and pulling out a set of keys. “Let’s check out the inside.”
But the back door was ajar. Scott frowned. “The house is supposed to be locked up tight.”
“Do you feel that?” she asked as they walked in.
“What?”
“A vibration, sort of like a humming.”
“No.” He looked at her curiously. “Sense anything else?”
She shook her head.
Scott peered up at the landing thoughtfully. “I’ll take the second floor. Why don’t you—”
“There are only nine bedrooms,” she said firmly. “We can check them out together.”
As they moved slowly up the stairs, Anjali gazed around her. Under normal circumstances, she would have been charmed by the interior of the inn. Old original woodwork antiques mixed in with modern artwork and gorgeous European accessories. Checking out the bedrooms, she ran her hands over the exquisitely soft sheets—at least nine-hundred thread count—and took note of the fireplace and two-person whirlpool tub—one for each room
Her mind continued to catalog the decadent details while the air grew dryer. Her arm brushed against Scott’s, and the sparks of static electricity snapped between them.
There was something here all right, but she couldn’t isolate what or who it was.
Downstairs a door slammed shut.
Anjali was positive they’d left the back door closed.
The humming intensified and rose to a loud buzzing.
She covered her ears, but it didn’t make a difference. The sound pounded and echoed inside her head.
Scott grabbed her arm. She could see his lips moving, but it was as if he were speaking underwater. The words came to her garbled.
The chandelier above her head began to swing. In unison, each one of the bedroom doors opened and then slammed shut.
“Let’s go.” Scott pulled her down the stairs. He grabbed the handle of the front door but it wouldn’t budge. He fiddled with the lock, but this time the door really was being held shut by an unnatural force.
“I saw a pair of French doors,” Scott said. Quickly, she followed him into some sort of study. The moment she stepped into the room, the buzzing in her ears stopped.
She took a deep breath. “The noise—”
Her words were cut off as a tremendous force swooped down on her, pressing against her chest. She couldn’t breathe.
The pressure intensified. Gasping, she tried to draw breath. Darkness circled the edge of her
gaze, and she fell to her knees.
“Anjali!” Scott made a move toward her, and a stack of thick, leather-bound books and heavy metal bookends spilled off the top shelf of the bookcase. He dived to the side, narrowly missing being hit.
On the floor, Scott reached for one of the bookends, raised himself on his elbow, and heaved it toward the glass door, shattering one of the panes. Jumping up, he reached through the opening and turned the handle. Mercifully, the door opened.
He pulled Anjali to her feet, and they raced through the door and into the garden.
Instantly, the pressure vanished and her lungs filled with air.
She took a few deep breaths, Scott stopping to look at her. “Are you okay?”
“Less talking,” she gasped. “More running.”
They sprinted through the garden and back to the car.
Anjali was panting, her hands on her knees. “What the hell was that?”
Scott leaned against the car hood and brushed his arm against his damp forehead. “I should have seen it when you mentioned the buzzing and humming. Not to mention the static charge in the air.” He shook his head in wonder. “Pure electricity.”
She straightened and shot him a look of annoyance. They’d nearly been killed or at least severely injured, and Scott sounded almost dreamy. “Evil electricity. There was a definite personality there. I never met a light bulb that wanted to kill me.”
Scott’s expression turned serious. “Well, now you have. We’ve got poltergeists.”
23
The ringing of the doorbell startled Coulter out of a deep sleep.
The afternoon sun streamed into the room, and he covered his eyes and groaned.
He’d spent the previous night and most of the morning carousing, and stumbled into Scott’s place a little after ten A.M. with a bag full of donuts, a large coffee, and a vague sense he was supposed to be somewhere else.
Right. Working.
Then again, he’d never held an honest job in his life and couldn’t expect to get into the swing of things right away. With that justification he’d fallen into the deep sleep of the innocent.