by Stuart Jaffe
In one corner, a video camera sat on a tripod. Behind the camera, a man waved. Jack lifted his chin in acknowledgment as he cruised by on his way to the kitchen.
Libby placed a hand on her hip. “Carl. I didn’t notice any holes outside. Did you bury the stones like I asked?”
Carl stepped from behind the camera. Max saw right away that Carl was a man at odds with himself. His thick, bottom lip protruded in a permanent pout and his clothing — ratty jeans and an orange t-shirt half-tucked-in — made him seem like a petulant fool. However, his face and hair were groomed with impeccable care. He spoke with a thick, wet voice that sounded dull-witted, yet his eyes sparkled with intelligence.
“Sorry, Ms. Broward. I haven’t got to it yet.” Carl did not look sorry at all. “I figured it was more important that I maintain the equipment. Right? What’s the point, if we fail to capture any evidence because the cameras don’t work properly when we need them to?”
“Your main focus is the cameras, but your job is to help us in our investigations. That means in every way.” Libby clamped down any further words before throwing her briefcase on the sofa. “Fine. I’ll take care of the stones. You come meet Max and Sandra Porter. They’re consultants. Give them a tour of the house.”
“Be happy to do so.” Carl smiled broadly.
Libby picked up the box on the coffee table and checked its contents. Max gave a quizzical look. With an annoyed huff, she showed him the box. “Four stones. Rose Quartz attracts loving things. Black Tourmaline fights off negative energy. Hematite acts like a shield and citrine clears the negative and attracts the positive. I’m not a big proponent of stones, but I’m also not taking chances in this case.”
“You bury these?”
“One in each corner of the property. If there’s any truth to it all, the stones will help protect the house.”
Max frowned. “I thought we were protecting the Darians.”
Sandra slapped his shoulder hard. “I apologize for my husband. Sometimes his mouth gets the better of him. Go take care of the stones; we’ll be fine in here. We’ll take the tour with Carl.”
Libby shot holes into Max with her glare as she walked outside.
“I’m gonna like you,” Carl said. “Follow me.”
He led the way through a small, modern kitchen and down a narrow staircase to a dusty basement. Wooden shelves lined the tiled floor as well as the walls. Moldy cardboard boxes filled every shelf. Old clothes and empty bottles and rusting cans filled with rustier screws crammed every available space. A new washer and dryer sat on bricks in the back with a hose running to an open drain in the floor.
Scratching his nose, Carl gestured with his elbow. “Here’s the basement, if you couldn’t guess. Any spookiness going on down here?”
Sandra ignored Carl as she walked up and down the two aisles. Drummond swept through the area and shook his head at Max.
“Y’know, I thought this job was going to be a bit more interesting,” Carl went on. “Not that I believe in any of this, but I mean, come on. You’d think there’d be a creaking door or a thump or something.”
Max blew the dust off an old album — Chubby Checker. “Why take this job if you don’t believe in any of it? I can’t imagine the money is any good.”
“The money sucks. I could make a ton more filming weddings and birthdays. But then I’d be stuck filming weddings and birthdays.”
They went back upstairs through the kitchen and living room and up to the second floor. All the while, Carl drolled on about the doldrums of filming things people wanted to pay him for. “I mean, why should I spend my days filming corporate training crap just to make a few bucks?”
“You’re more of an artist.”
“Nah. I don’t do all that fru-fru stuff.”
The second floor consisted of a straight hallway with three doors — one bathroom and two bedrooms.
Max paused at the top to let Sandra and Drummond poke about. To Carl, he said, “Then what is it you want?”
“Me? TV deal, man. That’s where it’s at. If this gig can land me a deal on some ghost-chasing reality show, I can use that to leverage my way into a real gig — The Bachelor or The Real Housewives or best of all, Survivor.”
“Reality TV. I would never have guessed.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s the life. Get paid to film crazy people doing crazy things all over the world. No script to worry about, no shots to spend all day setting up. Just point the camera and get paid.”
“I guess that would be cool.” Max doubted any of it would be so easy. From what he knew, all that make-believe reality required a tremendous amount of work.
Before Carl could start talking again, Max walked down the carpeted hall. He found Sandra in the smaller of the two bedrooms. It had been decorated as a nursery with an animal-themed crib and animal-themed wallpaper. A glider/rocker, changing table, dresser, and little bookshelf completed the room.
Sandra held a stuffed elephant. She looked odd as Max entered.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I haven’t seen anything. Not a single ghost.”
Drummond floated in. “Me neither. This place is empty.”
Max glanced back toward the stairs and Carl. “We heard that recording. You think they would’ve faked that?”
“I think people have always liked to play this game.” Drummond peeked in the crib and thrust his head through the closet door. “Even in my time, there were always charlatans trying to convince anyone willing to pay up that they could talk with the dead and see the spirits and such.”
“Hey, what about us?”
“Obviously, there are some people who are the real deal. All I’m saying is that people like you and Sandra are the exceptions. I don’t know what’s happened here to get the Darians all frazzled, but this place is empty.”
“You’re thinking this is a hoax, then? Libby and Jack and Carl are just trying to get on television?”
“That’s my guess.”
Sandra carefully placed the stuffed elephant back in the crib. “Then why did the Magi group send them to us? You think Mother Hope gives a crap about charlatans?”
Drummond leaned closer to his pocket and listened with care. “There ain’t anything here,” he said to his pocket. “What good would that do?” He dug into his pocket, and when he pulled back out, he cupped his hand as if carrying something delicate. “Okay, okay.”
Though Max couldn’t see Leed, he imagined the little globule of soul as a glowing drop of light in Drummond’s palm.
“What’s he want?” Sandra asked — she could see Leed, just as she saw all the dead, but only Drummond could hear the soul.
Drummond narrowed his eyes on the wall with the closet door. “He wants me to put him against the wall. Says he can sense something there.”
“Well, you and I can’t see anything. Might as well let the little guy give it a try.”
Drummond inched toward the wall as if he expected the wood to burst out into flames. When he finally placed Leed up close, a burst arrived but not flames. Drummond and Sandra both grasped their ears and fell to the floor. Sandra cried out, her eyes shut like vices, and she curled into a ball. Drummond bellowed, his eyes bulged out, and his chest spasmed.
Max turned in a circle, searching for the cause. Though clearly his wife and partner suffered, he did not hear a thing. With no other way to help, he wrapped his arms around his wife and held her tight. Even as he whispered to her that he loved her, he wished for something more meaningful to do. From the hall, he heard footsteps stomping, and in rushed Libby and Jack.
The second they crossed the threshold, Sandra and Drummond stopped yelling. Sandra looked up at Max and lowered her hands. Breathing hard while tears dried on her cheeks, she hugged Max.
“What happened?” Libby asked while Jack pointed some type of sensor wand around the room.
Drummond thrust Leed back in his pocket. “I’ll tell you what happened — this house attacked us.”
As Sandra regained her composure, Max looked around the room again. He still saw nothing out of place — except, no Carl. When did that guy leave?
“Anything?” Libby asked Jack.
“I don’t know what to make of this. No sounds or anything but there’s an electrical pulse in the air. The kind of thing I’d expect if this was an office filled with computers and phones and all kinds of electronics.”
“Get it all in the records.”
Max shot to his feet. “The records? My wife was attacked by this house and you’re worried about the records?”
“Honey, it’s okay,” Sandra said, getting to her feet with his help.
“No, it’s not. You said there were no ghosts in this house. You saw nothing, yet somehow you get attacked by some super-sound. That doesn’t make any sense. That sounds like a trick to me.”
Libby reared back. “A trick? Are you accusing us —”
“Fraud? You bet. I don’t know how you did it, but I find it interesting that the moment we get here you go off to plant magic rocks while Jack, the sound guy, disappears from sight and Carl takes the long way round so that we don’t end up in this room until last. Then we’re left alone and having seen not a single speck or sign of ghosts, suddenly my wife and my partner are attacked by some special frequency audio thing. This reeks of a set up.”
“I will not have my integrity slandered.” Libby’s eyes burned as she snapped her fingers in Max’s face. “Get the hell out of this house.”
“Gladly.”
Libby stood at the top of the staircase. “I better never see you again at any house. You don’t come into my work and call me a fraud. I’ll see that nobody wants to hire you.”
Max escorted Sandra back to the car. She resisted a bit, but the attack had left her too weak to argue. Drummond floated in the back seat before Max had turned the engine over.
As they drove away, he could still hear Libby shouting.
Chapter 5
Max turned onto Silas Creek Parkway and wound his way around the city toward Wake Forest University. They had bought a beautiful home in the wealthier neighborhoods nearby, and Max wanted to get Sandra into bed for some rest. Both she and Drummond had their heads arched back and their eyes closed. Sweat beaded on her brow.
After only a few minutes, Sandra’s attention perked up. “Where are you going?”
“Home. You can take it easy for the rest of the day.”
She groaned as she shook her head. “Turn around. Go back to the office.”
“Why? We’re off the case.”
“Like hell we are.”
Sandra’s harsh tone snapped against Drummond. He popped forward and said, “I’ve got no intention of listening to you two bicker. It’s worse than getting a lecture from an old schoolmarm. I’ll be at my bookshelf, if you need me.”
Before Max could utter a response, Drummond dissipated.
“I mean it,” Sandra went on. “Turn around. We are not dropping this case.”
Max pulled into the Parkway Presbyterian Church lot and stopped the car. He flexed his fingers against the steering wheel. “I didn’t want to take this case from the beginning, and I’m pretty sure Drummond didn’t want it, either. You accepted it before we even had a chance to talk as a group.”
“I’m sorry about that. But we did accept the case, and we can’t back away simply because it became difficult.”
“That’s not it at all. I don’t trust this Libby Broward and her friends. The whole thing stinks.”
“That attack was not a hoax. Something is in that house.”
“I believe you, but that doesn’t mean Broward is legit. Besides, don’t you think haunted houses are a bit pedestrian for us?”
“You think we should sit around and wait for the next Hull calamity to strike?”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“It’s exactly what you mean. It really bothers you that Cecily Hull is out there plotting the takeover of her family and the demise of Tucker Hull, and you’re not a part of it.” Max tried to protest, but Sandra shut him down by raising her index finger. “You’ve been fighting them for several years now. It’s hard to let that go. But Cecily doesn’t trust us any more than we trust her. She paid us for our work and thankfully, we haven’t heard from her since. As long as the Hulls are fighting each other, we should be thrilled to stay out of it.”
Max peered outside. “I know. I really do. And I have no death wish. I’m not waiting around hoping for the Hulls to need us. But there is a weird thing about them — a draw to the danger, maybe.”
“Forget about them. We have a chance right now to help a couple of decent people survive the dangers they're living inside of daily — danger that isn’t the result of some nasty plan gone awry or anything else a Hull might have conceived. We can help the little guy.”
Max grew silent. Cars zipped along the parkway and he remained still. Maybe Sandra was right. Maybe, if he could be honest about it, maybe the danger of dealing with the Hulls brought with it so much adrenaline, so much suspense, so much excitement, that he had become addicted to it.
Sandra rubbed the side of her head. “Be careful, honey. You’re changing.”
“What are you talking about? How?”
“I mean, the Max Porter I fell in love with would never hesitate to take the side of the little guy. Anything to thumb his nose at the one percent.”
“Getting older and having responsibilities changed both of us.”
“Not like this. I think it’s the money that got you.”
“What money? You mean what we earned from Cecily?”
Sandra nodded. “We’ve never had so much in our life. Look at us. New house, new office, new car. But I can see your wheels turning every time we spend anything. You’re not worried about helping the little guy anymore. You’re starting to worry about holding on to all that money.”
“You want to be poor again? Go back to living in a trailer?”
“I don’t want to sell out ourselves for a flatscreen and good air conditioning.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Besides, doesn’t it make more sense to make a little money now, instead of waiting around for a big case that might never come?”
Max’s hand touched the keys but then pulled back. “What’s this really about? You’ve been strange lately. Withdrawn. Then suddenly you want this case, and now you want it so bad, you’re not even worried that we’re being conned. Something’s going on with you.”
“It’s nothing. No need to be concerned.”
“I’m your husband. I love you. Of course, I’m going to be concerned.”
“Look at it this way — if Libby Broward is pulling off a hoax, then the Darians don’t know it. You saw the fear when they visited us. That wasn’t fake. Shouldn’t we debunk Broward to protect the Darians from being exploited? But if this is not a hoax, the Darians are in serious danger and Broward has already admitted she can’t handle it alone. The Darians need us. Either way, hoax or not, we’ve got to stay on the case for them.”
Max turned the ignition, the keys rattling an unmistakable anger. Despite his frustrations, he drove back to the city and their office. He could feel Sandra suppressing a victorious smile. No — she never would gloat other than as a jest. Yet he had a wriggling sense of it that he couldn’t pinpoint down like a shifting movement in his peripheral vision — there but not there.
By the time they reached the office, he had looped and wound and twisted his thoughts into a spaghetti of suspicions — none of which added up to anything useful. Their tactic when faced with such a confusing situation had often consisted of shoving their way forward. But he didn’t know what path could be called forward — work for Broward, work against Broward, help the Darians at all costs, question if the Darians are in on it, if there was an it to be in on.
When they entered the office, Drummond swept out of the bookshelf with a cautious but expectant enthusiasm. “You two kids work everything out?”
“Of course, we did,
” Sandra said. “We’re all still working on the Darian case. But we’re keeping our eyes open for any irregularities, anything that might suggest Libby Broward is running a con on these people.”
“You got it. What’s our plan?”
Max slumped behind his desk. “Nothing for you, right now, unless you want to help with doing the research.”
“Think I’ll pass on that one.”
Sandra brought her hand to her cheek with a ridiculously overacted move. “Oh, dear, I completely forgot. I’m sorry, hon, but you’ll have to start the research alone. I’ve got an appointment.”
“For what?”
“Just an appointment. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
Max watched her pull together her things, grab her keys, and walk out. He faced Drummond. “I’m not crazy, right? She’s acting strange.”
Drummond crossed his arms. “She’s definitely not being herself.”
“You don’t think —”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Drummond scowled. “Don’t you dare start thinking ill thoughts of that gal. She’s the most loyal person I’ve ever met.”
“I know, I know. It’s just ... well, things at home have been rather cold lately.”
“What in the world makes you think I want to know about that?”
“Because we’re worried about her and I think you should know that her behavior has been different at home, too. And frankly, it’s been my experience that when things start slagging off in the bedroom, it’s a sure sign that you got problems elsewhere.”
“Yeah? It’s been my experience that a husband shouldn’t be talking about his wife’s bedroom habits with anybody but his wife.”
Max smacked his desk causing the pens to rattle. “Stop being a prude and pay attention. I’m telling you things aren’t right with her. I’m not saying she’s cheating on me. Lord knows that better not be it. But something is off. So, do me a favor, please. Go follow her. Find out what this secret appointment is all about.”
Drummond acted as if warding off an attack. “That’s a really bad idea. Remember, I spent many years as a PI before I was murdered. I’ve been hired by countless jealous husbands, and I’m telling you for a fact, no good will come to your marriage by following her.”