Ghost Walk

by Laurel Pace

  Ghostwalk

  Laurel Pace

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue

  She entered the Provost Dungeon

  The subterranean chamber felt even clammier than Dani recalled, its dark cavities even less inviting. Even if she had not been eager to conclude the night's work, the dungeon offered plenty of incentive to make short order of her cleanup.

  Before she had even reached the Redcoat mannequin, a shuffling sound stopped her cold.

  For a second, she could only listen to the throbbing of her heart as it futilely cast itself against the rib cage that held it imprisoned. Her shaking knees threatened to lock as she slowly turned. Dani could see the door, but what stood between her and it? She could scream, but would anyone hear her? These terrifying questions fastened her with an ice-cold grip.

  Dani hugged the brick column, pressing herself into its shadow. Suddenly, hands seized her from behind, but her scream was cut short by the cord wrapped around her throat...

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  A native of Little Rock, Arkansas, Laurel Pace attended New York University and the School of Visual Arts in New York City. She worked for several years as a producer of radio and television commercials. Her transition to professional writer came when she was asked to write copy, in an emergency, for the advertising agency where she was employed. While living in West Germany, where her husband was directing a student exchange program, Laurel started writing fiction. She now lives in Atlanta with her husband and their five very loving cats.

  Books by Laurel Pace

  HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE

  112-DECEPTION BY DESIGN

  HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

  192-ON WINGS OF LOVE

  220-WHEN HEARTS DREAM

  312-ISLAND MAGIC

  370-MAY WINE, SEPTEMBER MOON

  Don't miss any of our special offers. Write to us at the following address for information on our newest releases.

  Harlequin Reader Service

  P.O. Box 1397, Buffalo, NY 14240

  Canadian address: P.O. Box 603,

  Fort Erie, Ont. L2A5X3

  For my wonderful Low-Country friends, Jackie and Dee, who introduced me to old Charleston and her many charming ghosts

  Harlequin Intrigue edition published November 1991

  ISBN 0-373-22174-6

  Copyright © 1991 Barbara M. Wbjhoski. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage pr retrieval system, is forbidden without the permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

  All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

  ® are Trademarks registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office and in other countries.

  Printed in US.A.

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Danielle Blake—The ghosts of the past kept intruding on her present.

  Kenneth McCabe—When blackmail turned to murder, his job was to find whodunit.

  Richardson Whyte—The host of the gala engagement party was in for a nasty surprise.

  Derek Cannaday—Was he more than a business partner?

  Powell Boynton—Was he only a sailing teammate?

  Theodore Boynton—Like father, like son?

  Rebecca Pope—The only niece of Richardson Whyte—what did she stand to inherit?

  Beatrice Lawes—Was she more than a loyal secretary?

  Steven Lawes—Would his mother do anything to help him get ahead?

  Sapphira and Adele Whyte—Richardson's aunts ruled the family with an iron hand.

  Chapter One

  From Battery Park, the house could be seen clearly. Even among its illustrious neighbors, it stood out—a great white-porticoed monument to Richardson Whyte's affluence and his heirs' good fortune. Tonight, every window lining the ground-floor piazza blazed with light. Figures darted behind the sheer curtains like shadow puppets. Everyone in the household would be in a frenzy now, making last-minute preparations for tonight's gala. No one would have time to pause, to part one of the curtains, to glance out at the darkening park. No one would know that they were being watched.

  The person began to walk toward East Battery, slowly, with the placid gait of someone with nothing more to do than relish the refreshing salt air blowing in off Charleston's harbor. Who would guess that the leisurely stroller had a mission? Tonight, it would be just as simple. The house would be swarming with guests, its bright chambers overflowing with the orchestrated chaos of the celebration. The person would pass easily among the revelers, welcomed as one sharing their common purpose. Not one of them would suspect.

  Elation and fear flooded the person's mouth with a sour taste. Inside the coat pocket, the cold hand flexed, fighting its own trembling. Then it closed over the hard steel. TheGhostwalk fingers traced the short barrel, lingered on the blunt silencer and were still.

  Tonight, a ghost would walk among them, leaving only death in its wake.

  DANIELLE BLAKE OPENED the oven door a crack and frowned at the rows of herbed cheese tarts arranged on the baking sheet. She cautiously poked one golden brown surface, testing the custard's firmness.

  "No fingerprints on the finger food!" a teasing voice reminded her, right over her shoulder.

  In spite of herself, Dani jumped and let the oven door abruptly spring shut. When she turned, she found her assistant, Elaine Brewster, grinning sheepishly.

  "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you," Elaine apologized.;

  "That's all right. I just didn't hear you come into the kitchen." Dani adjusted the bib of her blue-and-white-striped apron in an attempt to recover her dignity. "I suppose with Halloween only two weeks away, I should expect a few spooks. How's the party going?"

  Elaine playfully elbowed Dani's arm before lifting a tray of canapes from the marble-topped kitchen island. "Great! Thanks in large part, I might add, to the sumptuous buffet provided by the Moveable Feast Catering Company. You should hear Mr. Whyte raving about you to his friends."

  Dani smiled modestly. "Richardson is such a generous-hearted person. I'm sure he would sing our praises if we served up peanut butter and jelly on white bread." In response to Elaine's skeptical chuckle, she conceded, "But it's a relief to know things are running smoothly—for now, anyway." She rushed to hold the swinging door open. Before her assistant could scoot through with the hors d'oeuvre tray, however, Dani caught her. "By the way, is that new bartender doing okay?"

  "Well, he's kind of slow," Elaine hedged, trying to squeeze through the door. "But he seems like a decent guy."

  Dani blocked the opening with her outstretched arm. "Be honest, Elaine," she warned. "Is there a problem I need to see about?"

  "I don't think Ken's ever handled a crowd this large, that's all. Where did Mr. Whyte find him anyway?"

  "I don't know. All Richardson told me was that he was new in town and looking for work as a bartender. Appa
rently, he had some sort of hard-luck story and Richardson felt sorry for him." Dani shrugged, giving Elaine the chance to maneuver the tray through her barricade.

  "I'll give him a hand as soon as I restock the buffet," Elaine offered. "Don't forget the cheese tarts!" she called over her shoulder as she hurried down the hall.

  Elaine's reminder sent Dani rushingg back into the kitchen. But as she pulled the baking sheet from the oven and arranged the tarts on a silver tray, visions of a crisis developing at the bar filled her mind. If only she could have used one of her tried-and-true bartenders! But Richardson was always trying to help people down on their luck. Perhaps too often for his own good, Dani reflected.

  As a child, she had heard her mother utter that good-natured lament many times. Now Dani suspected that the generosity her mother had in mind had frequently been directed toward their own family. After all, Richardson Whyte and Dani's father had been close friends. In the years following Dan Blake's tragic death, Richardson had probably felt responsible for his longtime sailing partner's widow and child. He had certainly always remembered them at Christmas and on birthdays, even during the many years when he was living in Brazil.

  Dani took a last anxious glance around the kitchen before gathering up the tray. No, she simply was not going to let anything spoil. Richardson Whyte's party—even if she had to roll up her sleeves and mix drinks herself. The catering service was her business; it was her responsibility to anticipate glitches and to smooth them out. Pausing only to reanchor a barrette in her thick, auburn hair, she shoved through the door and headed for the banquet room.

  Despite the grand scale of the ballroom, Dani had to pick her way to the buffet tables, taking care not to nudge any of the elegantly dressed guests. Richardson had told her he was planning a party for two hundred people to celebrate his niece's engagement. To judge the throng assembled in the vaulted Federal Period ballroom, very few of them had declined the invitation.

  While she rearranged serving dishes and made mental note of those that needed replenishing, Dani kept an eye on the bar. No, it was not her imagination; a bottleneck was definitely in the making. She could make out the tawny head of Richardson's bartender, frantically ducking and turning behind the wall of guests he was attempting to serve.

  Reminding herself to be tactful, Dani was moving toward the bar as fast as she gracefully could when Richardson Whyte intercepted her.

  "Dani! I'm so glad you've decided not to hide in the kitchen all night." The craggy lines of his face softened as he greeted her.

  "You know what they say. A good caterer stays in the background." Dani smiied, redirecting her attention for the moment to the tall, aristocratic-looking man.

  "Well, now, I've never put much stock in anything 'they' say. Come, let me introduce you to some more of the guests. Powell! Theodore!" Richardson hailed two men dressed in dinner jackets.

  Dani smiled and nodded graciously as Richardson introduced her to Theo Boynton, his niece Rebecca's fiance, and to Theo's father, Powell. Every time Dani had emerged from the kitchen that evening, Richardson had seized the opportunity to bring her into contact with as many of his guests as possible. In truth, the gathering was a fledgling caterer's gold mine, peopled as it was with the cream of Charleston's wealthy and influential society. Richardson, bless his heart, seemed bent on making the most of the occasion to introduce heir to potential clients.

  "Everything is superb, Miss Blake," Powell Boynton was saying. "I'm certainly grateful to Rich for recommending you to the Hospital Auxiliary. I know you'll put together a splendid spread for our Halloween benefit."

  "Thank you. I'm really looking forward to catering a costume ball." Dam" smiled again, but as her gaze drifted back to Richardson, she sobered. Despite his jovial conversation, the spare patrician features looked drawn, the hazel eyes distant and preoccupied. Something was troubling Richardson. When she noticed him glance nervously toward the bar, her anxiety surged anew.

  Dani was waiting for the chance to excuse herself and make a break for the bar when a syrupy drawl intruded on the conversation. "Theo! I've been looking all over for you!" Rebecca Pope, Richardson's niece, feigned a little-girl pout as she descended on the gathering. But the crystal blue eyes that met Dani's carried a calculating glint. "How marvelous to see you again, Dani. I've been dying to tell you, your little snacks are quite nice."

  Dani clenched her hands inside the apron's copious pockets and ignored the "little snacks" snub. Although she and Rebecca had attended the same college, they had never been good friends. They had moved in different circles, and what little contact Dani had had with Rebecca had only confirmed her impression of a snobbish and spoiled girl. The blond debutante now appeared intent on monopolizing the conversation as well as Theo's attention.

  "Congratulations, Rebecca." Dani forced out the words. "I hope you'll all excuse me for a moment." Giving Richardson her most genuine smile, she nodded cordially and then headed for the bar.

  To her relief, the crowd had dispersed somewhat, save for a few latecomers just collecting their drinks.

  "How's it going?" Dani surveyed the chaotic assortment of bottles, shakers, jiggers and garnishes strewed across the wet tablecloth.

  "Just fine," the bartender told her through clenched teeth. The corded sinews tensed beneath the tanned skin of his neck, and he did not look up from the row of glasses he was filling.

  Dani glimpsed an open copy of a paperback bartender's guide peeking from beneath the table's edge, but she pretended not to notice as she slipped behind the bar. In response to a guest's impatient request, she reached for a bottle of Zinfandel and began to dispense two glasses.

  "Thanks." The bartender shot her a glance. He looked as if he were uncertain whether to smile or not.

  For some reason, Dani hastened to give him a smile of her own. Her eyes lingered on Ken McCabe's strong profile for a moment, the straight nose cut in an uninterrupted plane from the broad brow to the wide, firm mouth.

  "Hey, I said vodka, straight up." A young man, no doubt one of Theo's old law school cronies, thrust his glass across the bar.

  Dani caught the twitch in McCabe's lean neck just as she grabbed the glass. "Sorry about that," she apologized. Dumping the iced drink into the basin beneath the bar, she poured a portion of vodka into a fresh glass and handed it back to the man.

  "Thanks. Again," McCabe murmured under his breath as soon as the man was out of earshot. This time, he paused long enough to give her a full-blown grin.

  "Anytime." Dani eased from behind the bar. She started when he suddenly reached out and caught her elbow.

  Just as quickly, he released his hold. "Say, have you seen Mr. Whyte?" he asked. Grabbing a towel, he began to blot the bar, but his dark blue eyes traveled the room with the intensity of a minesweeper.

  "Just a few minutes ago. Why? Do you need to talk with him?"

  The bartender hesitated, his cobalt blue eyes narrowing as if he were considering her question. "No, not really." He folded the towel into a neat, deliberate rectangle and then stuffed it beneath the bar.

  Dani regarded him quizzically, but he was already arranging a row of glasses on the bar, preparing to fill the next order. "You should be able to take a break soon. When the stops here, everyone will head for the piazza to watch." She frowned, searching the crowd for a glimpse of Richardson's iron gray head.

  "The Ghostwalk?" McCabe's gently arching eyebrows rose in interest.

  "It's an old Charleston tradition," Dani explained, still scanning the room for Richardson. "Every year around Halloween, a drama group stops at various houses in the historic district—houses that have a ghost in their history, that is. They reenact the ghostly legend at each place. It's a lot of fun."

  "I bet. And this house has a ghost?"

  Something in the bartender's tone caused Dani to turn to face him. "I suppose it must, if it's part of the walk this year."

  McCabe only nodded, but when he smiled, Dani sensed he was doing it for her benefit. Feel
ing strangely ruffled, she excused herself and followed the stream of guests moving toward the piazza. When she spotted Richardson standing alone to one side of the crowd, she waved.

  "Are you going to watch the Ghostwalk?" Dani asked as she joined him.

  Richardson's weary smile made him look much older than his sixty-three years. "Only if you'll join me."

  "Of course, I will! It's the caterer's job to see that everyone has a good time—and that includes the host!" Dani took the arm that Richardson offered her in his courtly fashion. But as they walked onto the torchlit piazza, she was struck by the melancholy cast of her companion's face, its deeply lined contours heightened by the fuzzy yellow light.

  The drama troupe, dressed in elaborate eighteenth-century costumes, had already assembled on the steps of the piazza and in the courtyard. The crowd's collective voice sank to a murmur as the narrator stepped forward and began to relate the legend associated with the house. It was a complicated tale, harking back to a murder that occurred in the house's earliest days. As she listened, Dani tried to pick out the soon-to-be murdered husband, his faithless wife and her blackhearted lover from among the costumed actors.

  "I suppose the fellow with the sword is the villain," Dani whispered, leaning toward Richardson. When she glanced up at him, however, he was staring blankly across the piazza, bis thoughts focused elsewhere. Even when the players began their performance, he scarcely seemed to notice; his eyes remained fixed on the dark harbor just visible through the palmettoes. Something was definitely preying on the man's mind, Dani thought, something far more burdensome than a novice bartender.

  "Mr. Whyte? Excuse me, sir."

  Dani felt Richardson start. They wheeled in unison to face the uniformed housekeeper leaning through the doorway. "I'm sorry to interrupt, Mr. Whyte, but you have a telephone call."