“Jackson, this may be overkill, but...”
“Not to worry. One of us will go up and wait outside her door.”
“I’ll be there soon.”
“Just meet us at the Murphy house.”
“Will do.”
Dallas hung up. And even though Jackson was with Kristi, and Angela was there, he felt uneasy. He still felt a growing sense of urgency to get back.
* * *
I will not panic. I will not panic! Kristi told herself.
She had looked at the piece of paper way too long.
She went quickly into motion and began gathering her clothing again. Dressed, she ran back down the stairs, and almost right into Claire Danson, who was just heading up.
“Kristi! Hey, high excitement, huh?” Claire said.
“High excitement,” Kristi replied.
“Carl is seeing so many promo opportunities,” Claire said.
“And I told him we’ll talk later,” Kristi said. “Excuse me, Claire.”
She hurried past the woman and out back, wondering vaguely if Lacey Knox had Carl Brentwood off somewhere private again, and if her parents even suspected.
But that didn’t matter, not at the moment.
She hurried out, smiling as she passed Murray and Shelley, and startled when she saw that Angela was already heading toward the house—and her.
“Angela, I need you,” she said simply.
“Of course!”
“Upstairs. Please.”
Angela followed her immediately. Kristi led the way back up to her room. Angela entered behind her and closed and locked the door. Then Kristi handed the note to Angela. “This was on my bed when I just came up here,” she said.
“Just now—and you’re sure it wasn’t here before?”
“I’m positive. Dallas was up, and I made the bed before I left—and I locked my door. I always lock the door to my room. Jedidiah taught me if you’re going to run an open bed-and-breakfast like this, you must always lock your own door. I don’t forget, and I... It’s rote for me, but I never forget.”
“But Jonah and your housekeepers have keys.”
“Yes, but—I swear to you, I’d know if this was from someone in my household staff.”
Angela was silent for a minute. “Do you have an envelope in here? We can check it for prints—they might be in the system. Or other DNA—these letters were pasted on, so some type of transference might have occurred. It’s just that...”
“What?”
“It’s obvious. It’s paper, and it is evidence, and the thing is, someone obviously did this to threaten you.”
“And there was the whisper when I was in the bathroom,” Kristi said. “It could have been for me, and it could have been...an accident. Or, it could have been...someone dead! I just don’t know.”
“And they could be unrelated,” Angela said calmly. “Take your shower. I’ll be right here. You’ll be safe,” she promised. “We’ve received a little more information I’ll share with you once we’re out of here. But enjoy your shower—I’m here, and I promise you, no one will be getting by me.”
“Thanks,” Kristi murmured.
She collected clean clothing and went into the bathroom, let the water run hot, and long, and thought about the bones in the ground.
Was finding them really going to be the catalyst for something? Had it already begun? Had the note been a real threat? It felt real.
She felt herself stiffen beneath the water; she was suddenly angry. She’d been threatened—by the living, certainly. From what she’d learned so far, ghosts didn’t write notes, or create them out of words chopped out of magazines.
She had been an idiot. She should have screamed. The lights had gone out in the ladies’ room, and then she had heard the whisper.
Someone wanted her to stop.
Stop what?
* * *
Dallas held the letter carefully in his hand, and looked at Kristi, and then at Jackson and Angela.
He was concerned, because she was concerned. But she didn’t appear to be scared; she seemed strong, if anything—and mad.
“They were in my room. My room,” she said angrily.
“I’m not making light of this situation, but this looks like...it looks like something someone who watches a lot of movies might do. I think we will find fingerprints, because I don’t believe whoever did this is sophisticated enough to have pulled off a murder that could be made to look as if a fit man fell off a curb.”
Kristi frowned. “Perhaps this is something different, but I think we need to look into it,” she said.
They were up in Ian Murphy’s office with Jackson and Angela; while the others dug into the rest of the books, Dallas had intended to read the book he’d been keeping in his jacket pocket.
He didn’t want Kristi being alone.
She wasn’t alone, of course. She was with Jackson and Angela, two of the most competent and wary people he had ever met. But now, he determined that he needed to find out just who had set the note on Kristi’s bed—and why.
He also wanted to talk to Murray Meyer.
“Isn’t your social hour about to start over at McLane House?” he asked Kristi.
She nodded. He glanced over at Angela; she was at Murphy’s desk, trying to get around the passcode on the computer there. Jackson had been combing the bookshelves, focusing on the books that had to do with the Civil War.
“I’m going to leave you all to this. I’m going back to McLane House and see what I can discover.”
“You want to call Joe Dunhill on the letter?” Jackson asked him.
“Not quite yet,” he said, looking at Kristi. “I’m going to take this for a minute. Are you okay with that?”
She nodded solemnly.
“I’m probably going to have Angela and Kristi keep working here, and start with the ground-penetrating radar in the yard,” Jackson told him. “It’s dark out, but the machine doesn’t care.”
Dallas nodded. “I’ll be back—after social hour, which won’t, of course, be anywhere near as charming without the hostess there.”
Kristi smiled.
“Ah, not to worry—you’ll have a movie star to gape at—and I’m willing to bet Shelley is still hanging around, happy Trinity has been found, and certain she has contacted her many times.”
Jackson headed down with Dallas. He waved as Dallas turned the corner to head across Johnson Square and back toward McLane House.
Dallas’s return hit the middle of the social hour. He found Carl Brentwood and Claire in the front parlor, talking about future filming in the house, and what a full-length documentary might mean for his popularity as a hands-on, go-places, down-to-earth kind of actor.
Lacey Knox was hanging on his every word.
“Mr. Wicker!” Carl said, standing as Dallas entered. “Anything to tell us?”
“Nothing new,” Dallas said. “It will take time.”
“Still—it’s amazing. Amazing. I mean, we booked this place on purpose,” he said, glancing at Claire. “But I never expected anything like this. So much!”
“Carl did find the house, and forgive me, Mr. Wicker, if I seem callous,” Claire said. “Being a celebrity isn’t such an easy thing, and, well, the more popular we make Carl with fans, the better chance we have at keeping him on a growth chart, so to say. Far too many people fly—and then crash and burn. We have to be grateful.”
“I’m grateful you’re here,” Lacey murmured.
“Good that you’re all happy,” Dallas said. “However, I would let a little of the dust settle before you come on too strong to Kristi.”
“Oh, yeah, I got it,” Carl said.
“She has to understand just how important it is!” Lacey said passionately.
She was so young—and so obviously in love.
Not when it came to murder.
“Well, I’ll let you get back to it,” Dallas said, moving on.
Granger and Janet were in the back parlor, deep in conversation with Murray Meyer over the state of the world. Dallas pulled up a chair, joining them. Murray glanced his way with a little half smile, and then continued addressing Granger Knox. “We definitely need a better system, but who is going to manage it, I don’t know. As far as I can see, right wing, left wing, all our politicians have blown it. But now, here is a question. These days, by the very nature of the beast, don’t you agree that politics just about corrupt a man from the get-go?”
“Not a good man,” Granger argued.
“Good men seem to go by the wayside,” Dallas said. “By all reports, the fellow who just disappeared—Simon Drake—was one of the good ones.”
“Probably, a guy who shouldn’t have had enemies,” Murray said.
Granger sniffed. “Just as you were saying, Murray, by the nature of the beast, a politician has enemies. Someone is always going to have a different policy.”
“You’re about to run for a seat in Congress, Granger, isn’t that right?” Dallas asked.
“I am, sir, and I am middle-of-the-road, but mainly, pro-America. Pro the people, and pro the Union and a government that does worry about all the people. The working guy—the man who does his nine-to-five, and hopes to keep a house, and his health, and, well, the pursuit of happiness.” He waved a hand in the air, indicating the back of the house. “We’re too divided. We fought a great war—borrowing from Lincoln there. And, we did prove that a house divided cannot stand. Hey, by the way, you find out anything more about those bones?”
“So far—definitely a woman. They’ll get exact dates and specifications and all that—it just takes time,” Dallas said.
Granger sniffed. “They’ll find out that it is, indeed, Trinity McLane out there. Stories don’t come through the decades unless they’re true.”
“Truth can often be what we’ve been taught—what we’re led to believe,” Dallas said, standing. He excused himself, heading into the kitchen. Genie and Sydney were talking about the bones as they worked on fresh trays of pastries and crudities.
“Hey, you’re back—what can I get for you?” Genie asked.
“I think I’ll just have a bottle of water, and please don’t let me interrupt. I can open a refrigerator door.”
“What did you find out?” Sydney asked anxiously.
“So far, nothing we don’t know, or think, already. The bones definitely belonged to a woman, and they’ve been in the ground a long time,” Dallas said.
“Creepy, so creepy,” Sydney said.
Dallas leaned back against the counter. “Sydney, I’m curious. You have a skeleton key that opens all the rooms, right?”
“I do, sir, of course—for housekeeping, and emergencies,” Sydney said, frowning. “But you told me to leave your room alone. I have done so, sir, I swear it!”
“Oh, no, Sydney, I didn’t mean anything by that—I know that you’re very good at all that you do,” Dallas said. “But who has access to the key?”
“There are actually three of them,” Genie said, stepping in with a frown. “I keep one, Sydney keeps one and we keep one in the drawer—right there. That way, if they needed it, either Jonah or Kristi would have access. It just sits in there, though—thank God! We’ve never had an emergency where we had to break-in or anything. A wild crowd usually books at a bigger chain hotel. While we attract families, students, people who love the old and historic—and ghost hunters, apparently.”
“Why?” Sydney asked, frowning. “Do you think someone was in your room?”
He smiled. “Just curious,” he said.
Dallas glanced out the back windows and saw that Jonah was outside, seated at one of the courtyard tables—with Janet Knox. He smiled at the women, and headed out back.
“Evening!” he said.
“Nice night—nice night to settle over...a big hole in the ground,” Jonah said.
Janet smiled. “Jonah doesn’t like digging up the dead—I find it fascinating,” Janet said.
Jonah shook his head. “No surprise—we knew she was there. Now Shelley Blake will be raising Trinity every time she comes in here—and going on and on about the poor woman’s spirit being locked on the grounds—even if she is reburied in a family plot.”
Janet laughed softly. “Oh, Jonah—you should have been part of that séance. That Miss Stewart—she did see something, though what... Maybe in her mind’s eye. I mean, I do more or less believe that there is more to this world than we can possibly understand, but then again... I don’t know. I didn’t get to see whatever she saw.” She stood and smiled at them both. “Well, let me go see if that husband of mine wants to go out for the evening. Nice to talk to you,” she said, and hurried on back into the house, leaving Dallas alone with Jonah.
They were silent for a minute, and then Jonah said, “Well, I don’t think that I can stay out here all night.”
“You were thinking of staying out here all night?” Dallas asked.
He shrugged, as if unhappy. “No bones about it, and no pun intended. I don’t like that we dug up the dead. But we did. When I came out here, that woman was snooping around the hole. She said that she thought that we might see something else—a belt buckle, something. A great artifact—which, of course, she’d have handed right over to us, but...the liability! Damned woman could have fallen in and hurt herself!”
“Okay, Jonah, I guess you’re right. You hang in for a while, and I’ll get someone out here. My friends and I can switch around through the night. We’ll get Dr. Horvath back out here as quickly as possible, and then we’ll get it filled in.”
“That will be fine,” Jonah said.
Dallas left him and went back into the house.
No one was in the back parlor. The Knox family and Carl, Murray and Claire were all in the front room. Claire was talking to Carl about the importance of his appearing to his fans and appearing before them alone.
Janet Murray was being short with Lacey, telling her that they were on a family vacation.
Dallas had barely gotten into the front parlor before Lacey said something angrily to her mother, brushed past him and headed up the stairs.
“Teenagers!” Granger said, shaking his head. “Can’t live with them!”
“She’s a good girl,” Janet argued. “Just...” She paused, glancing over at Carl. “She just has a puppy crush,” she said softly to Dallas. “But you mark my words. We will keep her on the straight and narrow, and she’ll wind up being even more famous than him.”
“Fine—I need a real dinner,” Granger said. He nodded grimly to Dallas and headed for the front door. Janet followed him.
Dallas turned and hurried up the stairs after Lacey.
“Miss Knox!”
She stopped, just about to enter her room. “I’m not going with them, Mr. Wicker, if they sent you up here to tell me that I should love and honor my parents.”
He smiled. “I don’t care if you go with them or not.”
“Is that reverse psychology?”
“No,” he said. And he produced the baggie with the letter than had been left on Kristi’s bed. “I want to know about this.”
* * *
Angela was deep into her work on the computer.
Kristi was proud; she’d actually helped Angela figure out Ian Murphy’s password, which turned out to be Jamie’s birthday along with the name Rufus.
Rufus had been Ian’s favorite pet, a massive Irish wolfhound. Rufus had led an outstanding
long life, especially for his breed, but Ian had never wanted a pet after Rufus had passed.
Kristi’s back was actually hurting her—she hadn’t realized her own concentration after going through book after book for content.
She stood, glancing over at Angela. “I’m going to run down and see if Jackson has found anything, if that’s all right,” she said.
Angela looked up, confused for a moment, her concentration had been so intense. “Oh, okay. Let me know if he thinks he might have found anything.”
“For sure.”
Kristi hurried on down the stairs, and then, at the entry, she paused.
It hadn’t seemed so bad upstairs, in Ian’s office.
But here...
She felt it again. The terrible darkness, the haze, the fog—whatever it was—that seemed to weigh so heavily on the house. She wanted to run outside, but she paused, as if compelled.
And then, she knew why.
Something seemed to be forming in the middle of the haze and the mist. It wasn’t distinct, but she knew... Eliza Malone was there. Trying to reach her.
The woman stared at her, big, entreating eyes clear within the wavering face.
She reached out to Kristi. Her lips moved, but no words formed, and then her eyes looked downward, to the floor.
She disappeared again, swallowed into the haze and the dark fog of dust motes that seemed to cover the room like an eerie, ethereal blanket.
Kristi found energy, and she moved, flying out of the house, and racing over to Jackson, who was working near one of the yard’s big magnolia trees.
“Jackson!”
“Yes?” He looked up at her. “You found something?”
She shook her head. “No, I mean, not upstairs. Angela is still working. No, no... I need to know, can you use that in the house—in the basement?”
“Yes, we could use it there. Do you know something, or suspect something?”
“Logically? We all think that someone has been in the house. Still looking for something—or, maybe checking on something. In the basement, some of the floor is poured concrete, and some of it—where wood and coal and all are stored—is just earth, basic ground of the foundation from the time that the house was built. Not logically? I just saw Eliza—and she’s not at McLane House, she’s here.”
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