Logan looked at Kelsey. “Buggety-Boo?” he repeated.
“He was a one hit wonder—you know that song, Tell It Like It Is!” Nina said. “He was found lying on one of the old tables in the embalming room.” She shivered. “Total creep. He held parties down there where he had people drinking blood and all kinds of weird stuff. Well, I heard that the last of the Fogarty family of morticians was found down there, too. Totally eerie. And through the years … during the Civil War it was often used for injured soldiers—and after the battle of Olustee there were a lot of soldiers who had to be somewhere to recoup. I love the house—I just can’t go back.”
“Well, thank you,” Kelsey told her, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand. “We understand.”
“Who are you exactly?” Matt asked.
“Trinity Ainsworth and I are old friends,” Kelsey said.
“But you’re some kind of law enforcement, right?”
“FBI,” Logan told him.
“You’re going to arrest a ghost?” Matt asked.
“We’re actually on vacation—headed to my home in Key West,” Kelsey said.
“But, you’re staying at the Ainsworth House?” Matt asked.
“For a few nights,” Kelsey said. “Excuse me, I’ll just go and get our check—and thank you so much for your time.”
Kelsey rose to head to the counter.
“Kelsey, wait—if you all find out something, you’ll let us know, right?” Nina asked, hurrying after her.
With both women gone, Matt looked directly at Logan. “Well, a word of warning—watch it. If the guy hadn’t had a bullet hole in his forehead, I’m not sure Nina would have screamed.”
Logan lowered his head, trying not to smile. He looked back at Matt with a straight face. “She seems like a lovely girl—and it really is a compliment to you, you know? She thought it was you.”
“Yeah, maybe that’s what galls me. It wasn’t. Still, ghost or no, watch out for that guy!”
By the time they returned to the Ainsworth House, Martin Crypton and his crew had arrived.
The “santa” side of the house had opened as well; employees dressed as elves moved about the parlor or salon and adults and children were here and there—stuffing and creating their own reindeer and playing with toy trains and coloring. Trinity was smiling as she welcomed them. “Thank God! I mean there are so many things in the world to worry about, but if I don’t make all the mortgage payments, well … I’m out. And I owe people for helping me—and all these people working!”
“I’m glad to see that things are going so well,” Kelsey told her.
Logan was silent. On the one hand, he wanted to say, wow, all was good—he and Kelsey could head on to Key West. On the other hand.…
He just felt uneasy. There was nothing like TV ghost hunters to really piss off a ghost.
He saw Kelsey looking at him. She felt the same—and there was a “please” in her eyes.
“I guess we should meet Martin Crypton,” Logan said.
Before they could, however, there was a loud, panicked scream from just up the stairs; it had such a blood-curdling quality that every child in the room went silent and one of the “elf” employees let out a shriek as well.
Logan started toward the stairs but before he could reach the steps, Santa—his beard half on and half off—came tearing down them. He was followed by two sexy little elves, one a blonde, and one a brunette.
“Sir!” Logan called to Santa, but Santa wasn’t stopping. Logan hurried after him as he headed out the door, tripping on the stairs and landing on his butt at the bottom, hair and hat and beard all askew.
One of the elves tripped over him, the other gasped and kept running down the street.
He saw that Kelsey already had her cell phone out to call a paramedic; Santa was obviously hurting, groaning as he gripped a knee and rolled.
Trinity and most of the people in the house were outside as well, having followed them. While Kelsey helped up the fallen elf and tried to get everyone to give Santa air, Logan knelt down by Santa.
“Sir, stay still. Paramedics are on the way. What happened in there—what went on?”
Santa groaned and closed his eyes, gasping. “My knee—my knee!”
“I saw her—it was horrible!” A woman cried from the crowd.
“Ma’am, please, what happened?” Kelsey asked.
“It was Timmy’s turn to see Santa—but she was there, sitting on his lap!” the woman said.
“She who?” Kelsey asked.
“She—the corpse! She was horrible, rotting and stinking and … oh, my God!”
As Logan tried to get Santa to stay stabilized and still, Martin Crypton and his two co “ghost-hunters” and a cameraman and a sound man came out, trying to interview people and get it all on tape. “Get over there, Gary, get the shot of Santa!” Crypton called.
Then the man hurried toward Logan and Santa just as they heard the sound of sirens. “This is it, people, the real thing as gruesome ghosts invade this haunted bed and breakfast and attraction for Christmas!” Crypton said, sliding down on his knees by Santa.
As he did so, he had to catch himself by bracing against Santa’s shoulder—he had come with such an impetus that he nearly careened into the downed man.
“Mr. Crypton, please get that microphone out of Santa’s face,” Logan said firmly.
“Santa, tell us—who is the ghost? Who did you see?” Crypton demanded.
Santa groaned; he’d shattered a kneecap, Logan thought.
“Sir, I insist you get away from Santa,” Logan said, trying to contain his anger.
Crypton was in his mid-thirties or early forties, a big guy with a pretty face who could have used more time in a gym. He looked at Logan and lowered his voice to a harsh whisper. “What are you? Some kind of a half-breed mystic trying to hone in? This is my gig tonight and you are not calling the shots and ruining the best show I might have all season!”
All the training in the world didn’t stop Logan from wanting to clock the man. Somehow, he managed not to. Maybe because the paramedics chose that minute to arrive and asked that they both step aside.
And Logan saw Kelsey looking at him. He was lucky, he knew. Damned lucky. He’d lost his first wife under horrible circumstances, and when he’d first met Kelsey as a professional associate, he’d thought they’d never make it. But he’d learned that she was amazing and competent—and still so filled with heart and soul that she could change the world. She looked at him with beautiful sea-colored eyes he’d long ago gotten lost in and arched a brow with a smirk toward Crypton.
She’d heard. And she knew that he was making an effort not to explode.
She sauntered over to Crypton. “Kelsey O’Brien, Mr. Crypton. I’m here with the director of my unit, Logan Raintree. We’re Federal officers. We’re not the least interested in your show, so, please, you needn’t feel threatened in any way.”
“Feds?” Crypton said, confused.
By then, Logan was standing. He was glad at that moment that he was nearly six-four. He towered over Crypton.
“Uh, sorry for the half-breed crack, Agent,” he said. “It’s just that—these are bona fide ghost sightings! A whole mass of people saw this creepy woman. This is—this is mammoth!”
“People are hurt,” Logan said. “Their welfare comes before a camera.”
The cops had arrived along with the ambulance. Trinity Ainsworth—nearly in tears now—had pointed Logan out to the officer in charge.
He walked by Kelsey on his way to speak with the policeman. She touched his fingers and briefly squeezed his hand.
“I owe you big time when we get to the beach,” she whispered.
His temper cooled; she had that power.
He walked on over to speak with the officer.
Ainsworth House was shut down while the incident was investigated. Logan wasn’t sure just who Crypton knew to get his way, but he and his crew were going to stay in the house that night to invest
igate. The police had already gone through the place by the time night fell.
Crypton had his cameras and recorders and screens set up across the house. Their own Krewe of Hunters units often used the same equipment—except that they were capable of going a lot further. Apparently, Crypton hadn’t read much about the Krewe of Hunters and Logan was glad.
He wanted to observe.
He and Kelsey were keeping the “Spa Room,”—which was where Nina and Matt had been staying when she’d had her ghostly visitation in the whirlpool. They’d watched a great deal of Crypton’s set-up, and they’d stayed out of the way. But when midnight rolled around and Crypton’s assistant knocked against a wall and Crypton turned with wide eyes to say, “What was that?” it became too much for Logan.
“Let’s leave them,” he told Kelsey softly.
“What if we re-create what happened?” Kelsey asked him. “I could use a lovely soak in the tub with all that nice whirling going on.”
“Sure,” he said. He held her shoulders and looked into her eyes. “But lonely lascivious ghost or no, I don’t want the jerk fooling around with you.”
Kelsey laughed. “Let’s just see if we can lure him out.”
He agreed. He turned on the television just as Matt had done. Kelsey teased him, grinning, and doing a mock striptease on her way into the bathroom.
“Quit that—or the ghost won’t have a chance!” he told her.
She grinned at him and headed in and in a second he heard the water running.
Five minutes later he heard Kelsey call out, “Ahha! Got you!”
Leaping out of bed he walked into the bathroom. And there he was—the man Nina had described to them.
He saw Logan and began to fade away. “No, no, please!” Kelsey said.
“We’re here to help.”
The ghost appeared confused for a moment. He looked at Kelsey.
“Hey, my wife, if you don’t mind!” Logan said, reaching for a towel and handing it to Kelsey as she stepped from the tub.
“You both—see me?” the ghost asked.
“Easily,” Logan assured him.
“You’re—sights,” the ghost said.
Logan arched a brow—he hadn’t heard the term before.
“Sights—the living who see the dead,” the ghost said.
“Yes, we both are,” Kelsey told him gently.
“But no one can help me,” he said. And as he stood there, the bullet hole disappeared and the blood stain left his white cotton shirt.
“Try us—maybe we can,” Logan said. “Who are you, for starters?”
“Brent McNamara,” he said.
“Brent, of course,” Kelsey said softly. “But … why…?”
“Because she’s here, but I can never see her!” he said.
“She—you mean Grace?” Logan asked.
He nodded, looking miserable. “It was one thing to be murdered, and then … the bastard who killed me practiced some kind of strange rite.”
“Who killed you? The law has no record,” Kelsey said.
“Can you imagine?” the ghost asked them. “A bitter war—I was a Northerner, the Ainsworth family was hardcore Southern. But as the war came nearer to a close, we all just wanted it over and we realized that what we were fighting for wasn’t worth killing love for—or one another. Oh, I’m not a fool—prejudice and hatred lasted long after the surrender and long after my death, but Grace and her family and I and mine … we loved one another. Grace and I were married. I survived Cold Harbor and Gettysburg and battles you couldn’t imagine to come to—this. But, at least, I had Grace.”
“But who killed you?” Kelsey demanded.
“Burt Olmsby, the banker. He wanted the house; he had a buyer for it—old man Fogarty. Oh, and he wanted Grace, too. She foiled him on that, but she took her own life. So he saw to it that some ritual kept her to one half of the house—and me to the other. I can see her sometimes, down the hall. But when we come close … we’re both just gone.”
Kelsey, wrapped tightly in her towel, just looked at him. “Ritual?” she murmured. “I can get on line and see what I can find. But, honestly, perhaps he just made you believe that you couldn’t cross the line. That’s possible.”
“No, he told me he’d see to it that—dead or alive—I’d never hold my wife again,” Brent McNamara said. “He told me that when he’d stabbed me in the gut and was holding the nozzle of his gun dead against my forehead.”
“I’ll get on it,” Kelsey promised him. She headed into the bedroom. The ghost started to follow.
Logan stepped in front of him and cleared his throat. “Really? You’re in love—so you attack women in whirlpool baths?”
“Only those who are here with men who are supposed to love them,” McNamara said.
“What?” Logan asked.
“She’s beautiful; you’re a lucky man. You should never forget it,” McNamara said.
“But—I don’t,” Logan told him.
“But too many people do,” McNamara said softly. “Like that jerk who’s running around the halls. Bet you didn’t even know that the young woman he’s with is his wife—he treats her like an indentured servant. It’s not right. I can’t see the woman I love. We never got to have our first Christmas as man and wife—I’d give so much for that!”
As he spoke, a scream tore through the hall.
“The ghost hunters!” Logan said, hurrying into the bedroom. Kelsey was dressed in a long skirt and soft sweater. She was already at the door, opening it.
“It’s old man Fogarty,” McNamara said. “He learned how to move things and—”
They were already out in the hall.
Kelsey dead stopped, a puzzled expression on her face. The ghost hunters appeared to be just fine. Martin Crypton was shouting out commands at his crew of assistants and camera personnel.
“Get the lights right!” Martin told the thin, shaggy-haired man holding a lantern. “We need it eerie … I can see on the screen that we all look lousy. Get a better gel!” He turned to his pretty young assistant. “And what the hell kind of scream was that? I’m going to show you how to do it right and then get it straight!”
He walked down the hall and dramatically jumped back. “What was that? What the hell was that? Something touched me.”
The girl sighed. “Okay, okay,” she murmured.
“Your scream sucked!” Crypton told her.
Kelsey shook her head and turned and went back into the room. Logan and the ghost of Brent McNamara followed her.
“Who is old man Fogarty?” Kelsey asked, spinning around to look at Brent. “The last mortuary owner?”
“Yes, he’s here. He’s fine—nice old guy, really. But, he likes to bug the guests now and then. I think he wants them to know that they’re lucky to be alive.”
“Does he hurt people?” Kelsey asked.
“None of us hurts people,” Brent McNamara said indignantly.
“None of us?” Logan asked.
“There are a number of us here,” McNamara said. “We don’t mind. That poor rock-star boy—he just couldn’t resist his booze along with pills. But he’s not a bad guy; just got to famous too fast and couldn’t handle it when things went to hell. There are some kids … Joey, who died of pneumonia when he was about five in the 1920s. Sissy—polio in 1890.”
As he spoke, there was another scream from the hallway. Kelsey waved a dismissive hand in the air. “Crypton again,” she said.
“It is Crypton,” Logan said. “But … he sounds different.”
He opened the door to the hallway again. He started—the ghost-hunters were almost in front of the door.
And the scream was different.
It was real.
Crypton lay on the floor. He was screaming and struggling and the cameraman and his assistant and the sound men were all running around—tilting at the air, trying to save him.
“Where? What? What the hell is it?” The cameraman demanded.
“There’s nothing,”
the assistant said. “Stop it, Martin, you jerk—we can’t see anything.”
“How can I run the camera when you’re being this dramatic?”
“Help me, help me!” Crypton babbled. “Help me, help me, help me, get me out of here!”
Logan slowly saw the figure attacking Martin Crypton appear. It was an elderly gentleman; he wasn’t really doing anything to Crypton. He was seated on the “ghost-hunter’s” chest, grinning.
Logan would have tried to act—but he didn’t need to do so.
Brent McNamara strode by him to stand by Crypton and the elderly gentleman. “No hurting people, Mr. Fogarty!”
“He’s a jerk!” the elderly apparition on top of Crypton said belligerently. “He was saying that I haunted the place because I embalmed the living—he was saying that you were a two-timing carpetbagger!”
“You still can’t hurt him!” Kelsey said softly. “People say awful things—but you can’t hurt them. Dead or alive,” she added.
“You can see something here?” the cameraman asked Kelsey.
She whispered in reply. “Crypton is a bit of an ass; I’m just humoring him to get you all out of here!”
Crypton continued to blubber and beg for help.
“Up now, Mr. Fogarty, up. Enough is enough,” Brent McNamara said.
“Yes, please, Trinity—who owns the place now—is a really nice woman,” Kelsey told him.
“Please,” Logan added.
Mr. Fogarty got off of Crypton. Crypton lay there stunned for several minutes. Then he leapt to his feet. And he was headed down the hall to the stairs and Logan knew that he was gone.
“Might as well pack up,” Logan told the pretty girl who was, according to Brent McNamara “the love of his life” as well as his assistant. “And you might want to move on; my friend, the ghost here, says that you shouldn’t settle for less than being really loved.”
“I didn’t exactly say that,” Brent McNamara murmured. “You said it really well—and I guess it’s what I meant.”
The “ghost hunters” were quick to leave.
“How do we fix this for Trinity—and for Christmas?” Kelsey asked quietly.
“A medium? We convince everyone that … the ghosts are gone?” Logan suggested.
A Fantastic Holiday Season Page 20