The newlyweds were seated at the table with Penny. She had apparently moved like lightning, microwaving water and hurriedly supplying brandy, because they were all sipping out of huge earthenware mugs already.
They had been joined there by several of the other residents of the property, probably all awakened by the screaming. Matts cousin Clint, who, like Penny, lived in one of the apartments above the stables, was seated at the table. Clints eyes flashed with humor as they met Matts. Sam Arden, the caretaker, old, thin, and crusty, his white hair wild, was at the table as well. He shook his head and rolled his eyes when he saw Matt. Rounding out the group was Carter Sutton. He was actually an old college friend of Clints from the next town over. He owned a lot of local property, and had just bought a house nearby. Since it was still being held hostage by construction workers, hed taken a room over the stables as well. It worked well. Carter made his living off his investments, and was sometimes paper rich and cash poor, so he was happy to look after the horses and serve as stable boy and trail guide when they rented out the horses.
Matt silently offered the robe, and walked around to take a seat at the end of the table. Penny was happily talking about ghosts. Roger was convincing his wife that there had been nothing there at all, other than the excitement of the day.
And if there was a ghost, it was probably more scared than you, Clint assured the bride.
Hell, there are ghosts, Sam said sagely, nodding his old head.
Sam, Matt protested.
She meant to hurt me! Jeannie said with certainty.
I dont think that ghosts are supposed to hurt people, Carter said. His mustache twitched. He was as bearded as a goat, since he enjoyed a high military position in the Rebel unit in which he participated in many battle reenactments.
She meant to hurt me, Jeannie repeated.
Ive slept in that room, Clint said, and honestly, nothing ever happened to me.
I know the Lee Room like the back of my hand, Carter teased. It holds the fondest memories in my heart, he told the bride with a wink.
She flushed and laughed uneasily.
Matt, Penny said, Theres a cup of strong tea for you right there, end of the table.
Thanks, he said. Ill reheat it in a bit. Im going to get a few things out of the caretakers cottage, so you two can slip on over when you want.
Hey, Mr. Stone, II dont want to put you to any more trouble, Roger said.
I cant sleep in this house! Jeannie wailed.
Its no trouble, he assured them both.
All he wanted to do right then was get outhe didnt think he could bear to hear another of Pennys speeches on ghosts. He allowed her, on Friday and Saturday nights, to give a Legends of Melody House tour, during which she liked to go on and on about various stories involving the house, and how it was rumored to be haunted by different characters, including historical figures.
He had adamantly refused to let her call it a ghost tour. But since she did attract dozens and dozens of paying tourists, people staying as diversely far away as Williamsburg, Richmond, Harpers Ferry, and even D.C., he had to allow the endeavor. She served cider, tea, cookies, and pastries in the middle of the tour, and he knew that she was rightthey paid a whole lot of bills thanks to those tours. He still didnt like them, or anything that suggested that Melody House was really haunted. However, he tolerated it all, for the sake of the house.
Go on, Mattwell keep them entertained for you, Clint told him laconically. Matt arched a brow. Clint could be openly lascivious. He had surely enjoyed the spectacle of the bride, wrapped in the antique quilt and nothing more.
Thanks, Matt said dryly, and left them all to their arguments on whether there was or wasnt a ghost.
An hour later, he was moved back into his room at the main house, and he and Penny and Roger had packed up the newlyweds, who were now happily settled in the caretakers cottage. Penny returned to her apartment over the stables.
Matt had barely gotten back to sleep before he heard a ringing sound. He fumbled around to turn off his alarm, but it was the phone instead. One of his officers was on the other end, anxiously urging him to get moving; they had a domestic violence situation threatening to turn explosive.
Matt hurriedly dressed, his thoughts half on the night gone by, and half on the day to come. There it wasthe truth again. As his dad had once told him, when he had shivered at the sight of an old cemetery, the dead were the safest people around.
It was the living you had to watch out for.
That day was hell for Matt. He was so tired most of it, he could have toppled over. It began with the situation at the Creek-more house, old Harry threatening to kill his wife and kids, accusing her of sleeping around, claiming he didnt even know if the kids were really his or not. Thayer had kept the situation under control until he got there. Matt had managed first to get Harry to let him in, then pretended to share most of a bottle of whiskey with him, convince him he could do DNA testing on his kids, finally get the shotgun, and haul Harry off to jail.
Somehow, he endured the rest of the week, staying in the main house, hearing the honeymooners in the pool at all hours, day and night.
Jeannie came to thank him personally for not throwing them out. Her honeymoon, between the pool and the horses and the incredible Jacuzzi in the caretakers house, was bliss.
She had forgotten about the ghost. She admitted that shed had a lot to drink.
Penny kept insisting that there was a ghost, and he was being a blind fool to ignore it. Either something bad was going to happen, oron the bright side!were they to prove that a ghost existed, they could get so rich theyd never have to worry about the upkeep of the place again.
Finally the honeymooners departed and everything went back to normal. Then, Penny started at him again. She wanted to have a seance.
He said no.
She persisted.
He begged her to leave him alone. He had too much work on his plate at the moment.
At last, Penny backed off and contented herself with her tours. Matt thought that life was pleasantly back to routine.
Until she came to him with the letter from Adam Harrison, Harrison Investigations.
It was a month later that Clara Issy, one of the five daytime housekeepers, stopped dead in her tracks.
It was a sunny morning. The beautiful old bedroom in Melody House was as it always was. The bed she had just made with its shiny four-poster and quilted cover sat against the right wall. The polished mahogany bureau held the modern touch of the entertainment center within it. The television was off. The French doors to the balcony and the wraparound porch were ajar because it was such a nice day and the breeze was fresh and clean, causing the white draperies to stir and dance. That was natural, and she was accustomed to the smell and feel of fresh air. She loved it, and she wasnt at all fond of the air-conditioning that ran through the summer months. No, the room itself was just as it always was.
She stood near the open French doors, jaw agape, and stared.
Because she was alone in the room, yet something else was moving. Something that drifted from the bed. Something in a hazy form, something cold, something that felt threatening.
It approached Clara. She felt something touch her face, almost like the stroke of fingers against her cheek. Very cold fingers. Dead fingers. She thought she heard a whispering. Scratchy, against her ear. Something that pleadedor threatened.
It approached Clara. She felt something touch her face, almost like the stroke of fingers against her cheek. Very cold fingers. Dead fingers. She thought she heard a whispering. Scratchy, against her ear. Something that pleadedor threatened.
Her hands were frozen in a vise around her broom handle. Her body felt as if it had jelled into ice. Fear raced up and down her spine.
The coldwrapped around her. Tightly. More and more tightly.
At last, her jaw snapped shut. She broke the sensation of terror. She screamed, not a bloodcurdling sound, but one that barely held a gasp of air.
Then she found life, and ran.
Out to the second floor landing; there was no one there. Down the flight of stairs to the grand foyer, where again, the house was empty. She headed toward the second doorway to the right of the sweeping stairway. Surely, for the love of God, someone would be in the house officePenny, a tiny bastion against anyone evil, but someone, at the least.
Clara breathed a sigh of relief. Matt was there. Bursting out the doorway before she could reach it. He was in his work uniform, but he hadnt headed out for the station yet; it was still very early. Thank God.
He hurried toward her, as if he had heard her crybeing Matt, of course, he had heard it!and had been preparing to rush to her rescue. Except that she had fled the room upstairs with greater speed than a greyhound. And so she was here, spurting into his arms.
Clara! What is it?
She was fifty-five. Twenty years older than Matt, at least. But he was Matt; solid as a rock. A tall man in his prime with a way about him that commanded respect which in turn offered her a feeling of security that allowed her to speak when her mouth was still all but completely contorted.
IIquit! she gasped out.
Clara, what on earth? he asked kindly, holding her at something of a distance from himself and searching out her eyes.
Let me tell you, that bride was not crazy. Theres a ghost in that room!
Oh, Clara, please. We both know the silly stories about this place! Weve both heard them since we were little kids. But come on, weve also worked in this house, both of us, for years and years. Clara, I feel like a broken record here, but believe meghosts dont really exist. People want them to exist sometimes. Penny is dying to have a few authentic ghosts to give the place a greater reputation. Seems like being an historical masterpiece doesnt always cut it these days. He smiled, smoothing back her graying hair.
Theres a ghost in the Lee room, and it just touched me. Clara planted her hands on her hips. How long have you known me? Forever? Havent I always agreed with you, saying that it was just silly airheads who felt they had to make up ghost stories? But you have to believe metheres something in that room. It threatened me. Matt, it wasnt my imagination. It wasnt a memory of ghost tales told over and over. It was real. I could see it. Come up and see for yourself!
Matt sighed deeply. Still, there was concern for her in the depths of his dark eyes. All right, Clara, lets go take a look.
Clara edged behind him, then followed as he left the office and strode with long footsteps through the foyer, up the stairs, and to the Lee room.
Naturally, there was nothing there.
Clara walked over to her broom. I was standing right here.
Clara, maybe you saw the draperies drifting in. The French doors are open.
Clara indignantly straightened her five-foot-one frame. She could see that Matt felt as if he was living a repeat of a silly performance. He was trying to be patient; he felt like throwing his hands up as if the whole world had now gone insane. I know the difference between drapes and a ghost!
Matt ran his fingers through his ink dark hair, shaking his head. ClaraI dont know what to say. Theres nothing here at all.
Clara sniffed. Matt, its gone now. But there was something here! Why cant you believe me? You should. It wasnt all that long ago that we rented the room to the Thomases. She came running out of the room in the middle of the night, stark naked, and screaming! All right, I wasnt here when it happened, but I sure heard all about it. Clara paused, biting her lip. Okay, I laughed like hell, Ill admit, butMatt, theres something going on.
Clara, Jeannie Thomas herself said later that shed had a lot to drink that night. Her husband didnt see or hear a thing, and all it did was cause a big argument on the first night of their marriage. Clara, Jeannie drove me crazy and came here and specifically asked for this room, having heard that it was haunted. Dont you see? The bride wanted there to be a ghost, and so there was. History can be tragic, Clara. And there was some tragic history associated with the place. But come on, now! Youre a sensible woman. In your heart, you know that youre just letting your imagination run riot.
Matt, I quit.
Oh, Clara!
She knew that he couldnt afford to lose another maid.
How about this, Clara. You dont quit, but you dont clean this room. Hows that?
She reflected on his offer. Who is going to clean it?
Well let Penny come in here and take care of this room. Penny thinks its the greatest thing in the world that the place has a reputation for being haunted.
You know, Matt, I cant help it. I was definitely one of those to scoff at such absurdity, but I can tell you nowthis house is haunted!
Clara, maybe its haunted, and maybehm.
Maybe what?
Maybe Penny is playing tricks, she wants the house to be haunted so badly. Or maybe someone isI dont know. Breaking in here. Making things happen.
How? Clara asked incredulously.
Who knows, he murmured.
Clara again planted her hands on her hips, her eyes narrowing. Who the hell would break in here? Who would have the ballssince its your placethe town sheriff?
I dont know. But since you think there was someone in here, I intend to find out.
Clara shook her head. Were the ones who have been lying to ourselves, Matt. The whole darned house may be haunted, but this roomthis room is menacing!
Ghosts dont menace people, Clara.
She sniffed. You dont believe in ghosts, so how do you know what they do?
Clara, I dont believe in ghosts, but from everything Ive seen and read, Ive never heard of a ghost actually hurting anyone.
Clara shook her head again, appearing to be the one wise beyond all earthly knowledge. Well, Mr. Matt, Ill have you know, that isnt true at all! Havent you ever heard of the Bell Witch in Tennessee? They say that even old Andrew Jackson was afraid of her, that she pulled peoples hair and threw the children around and even caused the death of the master of the house. You refuse to accept anything that isnt cut-and-dried, and youre blind to things going on in your own house!
Matt leaned against the door frame, smiling. Clara, once again, I believe that people can make things real with their imaginations.
You think old Andy Jackson was an imaginative guy?
Youd have to show me written proof that Andrew Jackson was afraid of a ghost. And I dont mean any hearsay on a Discovery program or even in a book of ghost stories.
Clara pointed a finger at him. Youd better do something, before the stories about this house become so real that no one will pay for the tours. You cant keep this place up on a sheriffs salary alone.