Okay, don’t mention Boston Ulrich again. “Dennis, I need a ghostbuster.”
Dennis said, “No you don’t, there are no such things as ghosts.” He bit into the last slice of pizza. “I could write a book on ghosts, too, you know. But I’d have to point out that they don’t exist. Nobody wants to hear that.”
“Okay, then,” Andie said, ignoring Kelly’s call for a chat and Dennis’s obvious disapproval as she stood up. “Thank you for explaining all of that. Enjoy your pizza.”
So much for an expert opinion, she thought, and went to help Mrs. Crumb handle four overnight guests.
An hour later, after a scowling Mrs. Crumb had taken Southie, Kelly, Dennis, and Bill to four of the six bedrooms on the second floor and then put out the house’s meager supply of decantered booze for after-dinner drinks; after Andie had cleaned up the pizza and checked that Alice was ready for bed and told Carter he had to shut down his computer and go to bed, too; after Southie had come up to give Carter a book on the history of comics and Alice a book on butterflies and then told Andie how good it was to see her again and made her feel he meant it; after all of that normal stuff, Andie was almost back to believing she’d imagined everything. Going downstairs to endure Kelly O’Keefe in the sitting room didn’t do anything to improve her day, but at least it was something that normal, non-haunted people did.
Kelly was relentlessly cheerful and clearly up to something.
“There you are.” She swept up to Andie as she came in, her sharp little face avid under her feathered blond hair. “Where have you been?”
“Putting the kids to bed,” Andie said, as Southie followed her into the room. “So what is it that you’re doing here exactly?”
“Let me get you a drink,” Southie said to Andie. “You deserve one.” He went over to the table behind the sofa where Mrs. Crumb had arranged the decanters, and Andie watched him, ignoring Kelly so she could see his face when he realized all they had was peppermint schnapps, Amaretto, and the bastard brandy that Mrs. Crumb was so fond of. He came back and said, “My God.”
“I know,” Andie said sympathetically. “But it’s alcohol.”
“Plus it’s been decanted,” Southie said gloomily. “God knows what label that stuff was.”
“Is there a top-shelf peppermint schnapps?” Andie said, and he grinned at her, like old times.
“On the bright side,” he told her, “I have a Bert and Ernie bedspread in my room. Let me guess: Alice is your decorator.”
“It made her happy,” Andie said, laughing at the thought of Bert and Ernie and Southie sleeping together.
“It makes me happy, too,” Southie said.
“Just get me something to drink,” Kelly said.
“I’ll make a run to a liquor store tomorrow,” Southie told her. “Assuming the road doesn’t wash out in this storm.” He looked at the decanters again. “No, even if the road is washed out. I can walk it for decent booze. For tonight, I’ll make you a . . . something.”
“Aren’t you leaving tomorrow?” Andie said, but he had already headed back to the booze, leaving Kelly to smile fixedly at Andie. The smile didn’t reach her eyes.
“You asked what am I doing here?” Kelly said. “I’m researching ghosts. Do you have any?”
“No,” Andie said, not planning on sharing anything with Kelly. “Also don’t talk to the kids.”
“I’ve been interviewing your Mrs. Crumb,” Kelly went on, and Andie thought, Oh, hell. “She tells me the house has been haunted for centuries.”
“She’s often wrong.”
“She says the house was brought over from England, and the ghosts came with it.”
“Yeah, how would that work, exactly?” Andie said. “I’m not up on my ghost rules, but wouldn’t they be sort of stuck in the old country?”
Kelly leaned closer. “Evidently,” she said, a thrill in her voice, “they’re tied to the house.”
“Kelly, there are no ghosts,” Andie said, and thought about siccing May on her. Let Kelly get quizzed about her lovers for a change. It was bound to be a longer conversation than she’d had with Andie.
“You know how we’ll be sure?” Kelly said, light in her eyes. “When we hold the séance. Isolde was booked today, but she’s driving down tomorrow—”
“No.”
“Well, let’s keep an open mind.” Kelly looked across the room to where Southie was talking with Dennis as he poured brandy from one of the old cut-glass decanters. “So, you and North Archer are back together!”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You and North,” Kelly said, impervious to chill. “I understand you’re together again? That’s why you’re down here taking care of his children?”
“That would be private,” Andie said. Why would you want to know that?
“Well, yes, but since Sullivan and I are, well, you know, then you and I must—”
“No,” Andie said. Southie and Kelly? Lydia must be having a coronary somewhere. “We mustn’t.”
“After all, you’re here taking care of his children,” Kelly said again, watching her closely.
“Wards. He’s their guardian, not their father.”
“So he’s distant,” Kelly said sympathetically.
“Not at all,” Andie said, thinking, Hell, yes, he’s distant, have you met the man? “After all, he sent me.”
“After three nannies.” Kelly smiled as if to soften what she said. “That’s pretty distant.”
How do you know about the three nannies? “And as soon as I was available, he sent me,” Andie said.
“And what were you doing before this?” Kelly was wide-eyed with interest now.
“None of your business,” Andie said. “I thought you were interested in ghosts.”
“Oh, I am. That’s why the séance tomorrow is going to be so important—”
“There is no séance tomorrow.”
“—and you’ll be glad to know that Isolde Hammersmith is the absolute best medium in the tristate—”
“I’m thrilled, but there’s still no séance.”
“—so we’ll get wonderful results, guaranteed.”
“She guarantees results?” Andie said.
“No, I guarantee results,” Kelly said, the grimness in her voice holding a ring of truth. “Mrs. Crumb showed me the Great Hall, and I think that would be perfect for—”
“Here we go.” Southie interrupted them with two glasses, one of which he gave to Andie, the other of which he shoved in Kelly’s face. “Here you are, darling. I promise you a better selection tomorrow.” He took Kelly’s elbow. “Come over here and talk to Dennis. He seems a little confused about what his role here is.” He turned her in the direction of the couch, mouthing “Sorry” to Andie over Kelly’s head.
Kelly craned her head back. “But Andie and I were just—”
“Oh, you go on ahead,” Andie said. “I’ll just stand here and . . . drink.”
Southie steered the little blonde across the room, but it didn’t last. Kelly patted Dennis’s shoulder and left him and Southie to go to Bill, who was going through his camera bag. Bill looked surly, and she looked like she was trying to do something about it, so Andie joined Dennis and Southie on the green-striped sofa to watch.
“Bill does not look happy,” she said to Southie.
Dennis looked at his drink with caution. “I hadn’t noticed. This brandy is interesting. Did you say they make it in the basement?”
“That was a joke,” Southie said, and then sipped his brandy again. “I think it was a joke.”
Andie leaned closer to Dennis. “So what is Kelly up to?”
“I don’t know.” Dennis sipped his brandy, made a face, and sipped again. “She was very interested in hauntings, but now . . .”
“I’m beginning to wonder, too,” Southie said. “She hasn’t been asking about the ghosts, she’s been asking about the kids.”
Andie drank her brandy, tasting an odd but not unpleasant woodsy undernote that the tea m
ust have muted, and watched Kelly as she bent close to Bill, whispering to him between belts of her own brandy. Kelly was socking it right down, woodsy undernote be damned. “Well, her specialty has always been children.”
“Child ghosts?” Dennis said. “That’s a narrow specialty.”
“No, live children. In peril. And as it happens, I have two of those. I don’t trust her.” She glanced up at Southie. “And you brought her.”
“She brought Dennis,” Southie pointed out. “It’s a package deal. The kids-in-peril thing, though, that’s bad.”
“Well, the peril is . . .”—Dennis heh-hehed—“not true. There are no ghosts. Ghosts don’t exist. People are very good at faking them, but in the end, that’s all they are: fakes.”
Andie knocked back the rest of her drink and put her glass on the table beside Dennis’s. “If I take you upstairs, show you where I saw Alice’s rocker move, can you tell me how those things could be faked?”
“Of course.”
“Then come with me.” Andie stood up, and the brandy rushed to her head and made her blink.
“Now where are you going?” Kelly said gaily from across the room, and Andie said, “Away,” and waited until Dennis refilled his glass and then took him out through the Great Hall while Southie blocked Kelly from following by handing her another glass of brandy and asking her about the séance.
There is no séance, Andie thought, and took Dennis upstairs.
• • •
“It was here,” she told Dennis when they were standing in Alice’s room while Alice propped herself up by her elbows in bed. Dennis was sipping his drink and looking at the drawings she’d done on her walls with a mixture of academic interest and paternal disapproval. “The rocking chair, right there.”
Dennis stared skeptically at the chair at the foot of Alice’s bed. “That chair.”
“Yes.”
“Well, it’s not surprising that it rocks. It’s a rocking chair.”
“I know.”
“Is she there now? Your, uh, ghost?”
“I can’t see her.” Andie looked at Alice. “Alice, is the woman in the old-fashioned dress there now? Or your aunt May?”
“What woman?” Alice said, pretending to yawn.
“The woman in the long dress with the tiers, the flounces, that we saw out by the pond. Is she the one who makes the rocker move?”
Alice slid down under the covers and ignored her.
“You said she was wearing a long dress with flounces,” Dennis said. “Was her hair in a bun?”
“Yes,” Andie said. “How did you know?”
Dennis pointed to the Jessica doll on Alice’s bedside table, her age-mottled dress in three tiers and her hair in a bun.
“Yeah,” Andie said. “I noticed that, too, but I can’t figure out what it means.”
Dennis nodded, and Andie wanted to kick him. Then he said, “Could I see you in the hall, Andie?”
Andie picked up the Jessica doll and put it beside Alice. Then she leaned over and kissed the little girl on the top of the head. “Good night, baby.”
“Good night, Andie,” Alice said, her voice muffled in the covers.
Andie followed Dennis into the hall and closed the door.
“I think Alice is a telepath,” Dennis said.
“What?”
“Oh, she doesn’t know it. She’s had a most unusual childhood and she’s highly emotional and those probably combined to awaken latent talent. She’s probably a natural. Add to that the fact that she’s been alone so much, and that she probably wants to see somebody sitting at the end of her bed taking care of her, and it’s not surprising that she imagines there’s somebody there. That’s very common, the imaginary friend.” He smiled at her reassuringly. “It’s not at all dangerous. She’ll be fine.”
“Imaginary friend?” Andie said. “But I saw the woman by the pond.”
“You saw the telepathic image that Alice projected, based on the doll.” His tone was kind, he wasn’t patronizing her at all, but he was very definitely in the there’s-no-ghost-here camp.
“Okay, Alice is telepathic,” Andie said. “But the chair rocked.”
“Telekinesis. Making a rocking chair rock would not be a problem for somebody with the psychic energy Alice has probably accumulated.”
Psychic energy. “There is no ghost.”
“I’d say almost certainly.”
“Almost.”
“There is no ghost.”
Andie tried to wrap her mind around it, wanting to feel relieved and yet . . . “What about May, the kids’ aunt? I thought I was dreaming but I don’t think so anymore, I think she was real. The room was really cold.”
“But you’d had a drink,” Dennis said, swirling what was left of his brandy in his glass.
“Tea with Amaretto,” Andie said. “One cup of spiked Earl Grey. I don’t think—”
“But it was at night, you were half asleep, and this house has a very definite mood to it.”
“Creepy.”
“Exactly. It wouldn’t be surprising if late at night, on the edge of sleep, you thought you saw something.”
“I didn’t just see her, I had conversations with her.”
Dennis shook his head. “Did she talk about something that had been bothering you?”
North. “Yes.”
“The subconscious finds ways to work out its problems. A dream state is as good a way as any.”
It was so plausible, it was demoralizing. “I feel like a fool,” Andie said. “I was really starting to think there were ghosts.”
“I’m worse,” Dennis said morosely over his glass. “I was hoping there were. Just once, I’d like to see one. It’s like studying the dodo. No matter how much you know, you can never get primary evidence.” He sighed. “If they were real, I could write a groundbreaking paper on them. It could revolutionize the field. I could be . . .” He met her eyes, his face flushed now. “Because, unlike Boston Ulrich, I am respected in my field.”
“Of course you are,” Andie said, startled. Then he took another sip of his drink and she realized the brandy was doing its good work. But even tipsy, Dennis made sense. There were no ghosts, of course there were no ghosts. “Listen, I am very grateful. And I will make you a huge breakfast in the morning before you go back as a thank-you. If you give me your sweater, I’ll even get the pizza sauce out for you.”
He smiled at her, his face relaxed now. “That’s very kind of you.” He handed her his glass, and then took off his ugly green sweater and handed it to her. Then he patted her arm as he took back his drink, his basset-hound eyes sympathetic. “You get some sleep now.”
“All right, thank you,” Andie said, and watched him toddle down the big stone staircase, weaving a little. The guy could not hold his after-dinner drinks. But still he’d been patient. And he knew about ghosts. Good guy, she thought, and took his sweater into the bathroom and washed the tomato sauce out of it and hung it to dry, patting it a little in sympathy with its owner who’d been kind without making her feel like she was crazy. All that angst over nothing.
I really did believe in ghosts there for a while, she thought and went back to Alice’s room to make sure she wasn’t upset about the whole ghost conversation, cracking the door just an inch to make sure she was asleep.
The woman in the tiered dress was standing at the end of Alice’s bed, pale and dreadful, watching Alice. Andie clutched the doorknob, and opened the door farther, and the chill in the room hit her as the woman looked up. Andie saw two black, blank eyes staring at her, empty and implacable, as the cold went into her bones.
Not a woman. Not telepathy. A ghost.
“Oh, my God,” Andie whispered, staring at the thing, and Alice sighed in her bed, fast asleep, unaware that the temperature in the room had dropped by thirty degrees.
Alice. I have to get Alice out of here.
She stepped into the room and the ghost wafted toward her, sepia toned and translucent, like old tea. “I have
to take Alice,” she whispered to the thing, trying to keep from screaming. “It’s too cold in here for her. She’ll get sick.”
The thing grew darker, the form stronger, and then Andie heard a whisper from behind her.
I wouldn’t do that.
She turned around and saw Aunt May in the little hallway, swishing her long skirt that became translucent as it moved.
She’ll kill you as soon as look at you, May said. She killed me.
Eight
Andie could see the stone floor flickering through May’s skirt as she swished it, and the old vertigo came back with a new surge of terror that this was real, that she wasn’t hallucinating, that there were ghosts and one of them was talking to her right now and the other was at the foot of Alice’s bed, that Alice was there, she had to get Alice out of there—
If I were you, May said, I’d call North. He ought to be here. He ought to help.
“May,” Andie said, making one last grab for sanity. “You’re a dream.”
No, May said, flipping her skirt again, like a teenager trying to be cool. That was really me, talking to you. I wanted to see if you were a keeper.
“A keeper,” Andie said, her heart pounding as she looked back at the thing at the foot of the bed, terrible in its immobility, more terrible when it moved. Gotta get Alice out of here, gotta find out if I’m losing my mind, gotta talk to Dennis, gotta get Alice out of here—
The other nannies were boring, May said. You’re different. And you’re married to North Archer.
Andie kept her eye on the thing. “Listen, if it’s all right with you, I’ll just move Alice into my bedroom—”
My bedroom. That’s my bedroom. You’re just sleeping there.
“The nursery,” Andie said. The thing at the foot of Alice’s bed drifted a little as she watched it, like a sheer drapery caught by a draft, but mostly it just stood and stared at Alice. “We’ll both sleep in the nursery and you can have your bedroom back—”