The Presence

  “So you’re Toni,” the man said. And though the smile he offered her was warm and encouraging, she still didn’t feel terribly assured.

  “You saw Queen Varina, too?” she asked him.

  He shrugged, looking at his wife with a half smile. “I am the Southerner,” he said.

  Toni shook her head. “You both came to the show with Adam?”

  “Yes, actually, we did,” Matt said.

  “Adam has talked about you a lot,” Darcy said.

  “So I gathered,” Toni murmured.

  “And then, of course, when he discovered the castle was here, and that the owner was Laird Bruce MacNiall…” Darcy said with a shrug.

  “Wait a minute. You’re going to tell me that Adam knows Bruce MacNiall, too?” Toni demanded.

  Matt Stone inclined his head and she realized that the barmaid had come to stand before them. “I’ll take a pint of anything,” Toni said, noting that the two were drinking beer.

  “Lamb is great today,” the barmaid suggested. “And there’s a lovely chicken entrée.”

  The three opted for poultry, and the barmaid smiled and moved on.

  “Adam knows Bruce?” Toni repeated.

  Matt inclined his head again; her beer was coming. She decided that, with his smooth, cultured Virginian accent, he might have made an interesting twist on James Bond.

  She thanked the barmaid for her beer.

  “Please. Are you going to answer me?” she asked.

  Darcy smiled. “He doesn’t know Bruce MacNiall. He knows of him. He’s been watching him. Bruce is actually on our register, as well.”

  Toni stared at the two of them with a certain outrage. “He’s on the register? This is beginning to sound a lot like Big Brother!”

  Darcy shook her head. “I never do begin well, do I?” she said to her husband, who smiled. She looked back at Toni. “It’s nothing like that, honestly. Adam is the most humane, caring individual I’ve ever met. His son was incredibly gifted, so Adam started doing research. Most people who have…well, I guess around here they call it ‘the touch,’ others call it a gift and many call it a curse. Call it what you will, most people who have it are afraid of it. And they don’t want to use it.”

  Toni inhaled, watching her silently.

  “Like you,” Darcy continued. “What child could endure such things happening, seeing such things in dreams? Adam said that you retreated, but that you were incredibly strong-willed and appeared to have put it all behind you. However, he always felt that you would call one day.”

  “As I did,” Toni murmured.

  “So,” Matt said. “Want to give us the whole story?”

  “In a minute,” Toni said, still wary. “What were you talking about regarding Bruce? You said that he was on the register.”

  Matt leaned forward. “There was a case here, years ago—”

  “Yes, I recently heard about it. He’d been a cop. His work led to the arrest of a serial killer. I think that means he must have been a good cop.”

  “An excellent cop. And according to him, he simply used the methods employed by profilers.”

  Toni nodded, looking at him expectantly. “So?”

  “There were some articles written at the time that drew Adam’s interest,” Darcy explained. “Apparently, he actually managed to think as the man.”

  Toni frowned. “So,” she said, still skeptical, “there must be a lot of good cops on that register.”

  “Oh, there are,” Darcy assured her.

  Matt smiled. “You’re still looking at us as if we’re crazy. But that’s what you want to think, isn’t it? Toni, if nothing else, we’ll listen to you without staring at you as if you’re mad, and we may really be able to help.”

  She drew her finger along the line of her beer mug, as if it were frosty, which it definitely wasn’t. She’d actually grown accustomed to warm beer.

  “If Bruce has any of the touch, he certainly denies it,” she said, hoping that her voice didn’t sound angry or bitter. “He thinks that I have nightmares, that I hit my head…anything but that I might really have seen a ghost.”

  Matt lifted his hands and grimaced. “Guys don’t like to admit that they see ghosts,” he said simply.

  “I don’t think that he does see this one,” Toni said.

  “Different people have sight in different ways. I think that when he was on the force, Bruce wanted to catch the killer—or killers—so desperately that he was able to call on reserves he’d never want to acknowledge he has,” Darcy explained.

  “And probably never will again,” Toni said.

  “You never know,” Darcy told her. “So…please, try to tell us more.”

  “Well, for one, they have a very contemporary problem here,” she said. “There’s a serial killer on the loose. He abducts prostitutes from the cities and dumps them in Tillingham.”

  “Yes, we know,” Matt said.

  “Tell us more about the ghost,” Darcy said. “Especially if anything new has happened since we spoke on the phone.”

  Toni arched a brow, staring at the woman. “Actually, something very new happened yesterday afternoon, not long before the tour.”

  “The entrées are coming,” Matt warned lightly.

  So Toni waited. And once the food arrived, she started talking. And to her amazement, she talked and talked.

  “A ghost is usually trying very hard to say something,” Darcy told her when she was done.

  “Let’s say I buy into that,” Toni told her. “That I can even understand it! History didn’t pinpoint him as his wife’s killer, but legend and speculation certainly abounded. So now Annalise has been found. They’re doing DNA tests, and if it’s proved that she is Annalise, she will come back to the castle and be entombed next to her laird. He’ll be vindicated. She’ll be at rest. So this ghost should be happy and quiet now, right?”

  “He should be,” Darcy said.

  “Unless…” Matt murmured.

  “What?” Toni demanded.

  Darcy exhaled softly. “Apparently, there’s something else bothering him. And if you really want him to be at peace, you’ll have to figure out what it is.”

  “We’ve company,” Matt murmured suddenly.

  Toni turned to find Bruce coming into the pub with Jonathan Tavish. They both looked grim. Toni felt guilty instantly, although she wasn’t sure why.

  Bruce saw them and headed toward the table.

  “Hi!” she murmured, trying to sound casual.

  “Hello,” he said, and looked to the couple across from her. “I saw you two last night, right?”

  “Yes. Strange, isn’t it?” Toni said cheerfully. “Matt and Darcy Stone, this is the real Laird MacNiall. Bruce, Matt and Darcy.”

  “Nice to meet you. Our constable, Jonathan Tavish,” Bruce said, and Jonathan, too, exchanged pleasantries.

  “Did you know one another in the States?” Jonathan asked. To Toni’s ears, he sounded suspicious.

  “Toni didn’t remember until I talked to her last night,” Darcy said easily. “Matt’s family home is in northern Virginia, so we often go into D.C. for the theater. We were there for one of Toni’s performances of Queen Varina. We’re staying in this delightful village for a few weeks, so, naturally, I begged her to join us for lunch.”

  There wasn’t a lie in her words. Toni admired her smooth narration.

  “Ah, so you’re joining us in the village for a wee bit?” Jonathan said, pleased.

  “It’s gorgeous,” Matt said.

  “We’ve rented the Cameron cottage,” Darcy told him.

  “Well, we’ll let you get back to your meal,” Bruce said.

  “Join us,” Matt suggested.

  “We’ve a bit of business,” Jonathan said, “so we’ll be beggin’ out, if you don’t mind. Another time?”

  “Certainly,” Darcy said politely.

  “Seems the castle is bringing in the lunchtime rush,” Bruce murmured.

  Toni twisted in her seat. She was surpri
sed to see Thayer just a booth away, lunching with Lizzie and Trish. And three booths back, Kevin, David, Ryan and Gina were biting into what looked like servings of lamb.

  “See? It’s all good for business,” Jonathan told Bruce.

  “Apparently,” Bruce said pleasantly. “Well, excuse us, then. We’ll say a quick hello to the others and have lunch, as well.”

  With a wave, he turned. The barmaid apparently knew both him and Jonathan well, for she jovially told them that their “usual” booth was available.

  “Hail, hail, yes, the gang is all here!” Toni murmured as he moved away.

  “Great,” Matt said. “I’m anxious to talk to them all. So is Darcy, right?”

  “Oh, yes,” Darcy said. “Definitely.”

  Bruce let it go for the evening, and all through that night’s performance.

  But after he’d stabled Shaunessy, he went upstairs, built a fire and sat before it—waiting.

  In time, Toni came into the room.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked him.

  He turned to her politely. “Friends from the States, eh?”

  “Yes,” she said carefully. “Well, acquaintances, you know.”

  “You called a psychic?”

  “What?” He could see her mind racing as she tried to figure out how he could possibly know.

  “Small place,” he told her, deciding to spare her and cut to the chase. “Jonathan looked them up.”

  “Jonathan looked them up?”

  “Passports,” he reminded her. “You are all visitors in a foreign land,” he reminded her. “And with computers these days…well, it can be quite easy to find out al most anything.”

  “I didn’t call a psychic and ask her to come,” Toni said.

  “You didn’t?”

  “Well, I called her. Actually, I didn’t call her, I called a friend. And—”

  “Planning on adding tarot readings to the tour?” he demanded. She was floundering. She had done it.

  “You’re being sarcastic and—and horrible!” she told him. She was staring at him wide-eyed—caught, one might say. And yet those sapphire eyes accused him. She was still Annalise, dressed in the ancient white gown. A flicker of something passed through him then. She must actually be a lot like Annalise was, slim, blond hair cascading down her back, those eyes….

  He brushed away the thought, angry again that she was so convinced there had to be a ghost. The damned place wasn’t haunted. Although he was glad his ancestor had been vindicated—and he didn’t mind a good historical place—he sure as hell didn’t want the family home to be ridiculed, chronicled on Ripley’s Believe It Or Not or a novelty in a ghost segment of the Travel Channel.

  “This is still my property, my home,” he said icily. “And I don’t want a séance here, or a woman reading a crystal ball, or anyone making light of the history of my home. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “Yes, I understand,” she said. “Don’t worry. And don’t blame the others. I’ll see to it that neither Darcy nor her husband ever darken your door again. Frankly, they’re here to help. But then, you don’t need any help, do you? After all, you were a great cop. You’ve got a friend who’s a constable, and another who is a detective. So, what the hell, you would never need the help of anyone who might in the least tamper with the great dignity of the place! I understand. But if you had even begun to under stand me, and taken the slightest chance of believing something that I said, we wouldn’t be having this conversation now. But like I said, there’s nothing to worry about. I’ll never mention the word ghost to you again, or your ancestors, as matter of fact. Hell, do what you want with the remains of Annalise! Sell them to a museum, indulge posterity, whatever. You’ve no right to be angry with me because you really don’t understand anything at all!”

  “They were here, weren’t they?” he asked.

  “Yes. But I didn’t ask anyone to come here. In fact, I specifically asked that she not. We all know that we’ve kept this going by your great bounty alone,” she said, and there was definite sarcasm in her tone. “I don’t know why I’m bothering. Obviously, you don’t believe anything that I’m saying.”

  “Should I believe you?” he asked. “On what basis? I mean, do we really even know one another?”

  She stiffened. “I thought I knew you,” she said.

  “And I thought I could trust you.”

  “Trust me? You know you can trust me! And if you were willing to take the least chance on me—and your self!—you’d give me the benefit of the doubt. Apparently there have been times in your life when some kind of a sixth sense kicked in. That’s why you were such a great cop.”

  “What?”

  “Are you afraid to admit there just might be something in the world beyond what you can see?”

  He was going to get angry. He was going to deny her words again. And yet…

  Dammit. He didn’t want to remember what it had been like when it had seemed that he had entered the mind of another man. A killer.

  It was all bunk. Shite. In his rational mind, he had to believe that there was reason, and nothing else. He denied himself. No wonder he denied her, too.

  “When you choose to,” she said coolly, “you’ll trust me. Because when you choose to look at the truth, you’ll know, beyond all doubt, that you can.”

  She spun around, leaving him. He heard the bath room door slam—his side first and then the other. He stared at the fire, still seething—and sorry.

  But neither did he want to be a fool. These people had invaded his home…well enough, they’d been taken, he’d understood. But he hadn’t thrown them out. Instead, he’d let them work—even when it was be ginning to appear that one of their number might be guilty of the fraud from the start. Credit cards had been involved, and they were being tracked now. But in doing background checks, Jonathan had informed him, they had discovered that Thayer Fraser reported a bank card missing just before it had all begun.

  “Aye, it could have been stolen,” Jonathan had told him. “But don’t you think it’s rather a coincidence if it was the one used with the Internet providers?”

  “Maybe too much of a coincidence,” Bruce had told him.

  “Meanin’?”

  “Could he really be that stupid?” Bruce had asked.

  Jonathan had shrugged. “He’s a Scotsman, Bruce. And, aye, it might well have been a Scotsman to have way more information on you than anyone else. Bruce, it’s lookin’ as if someone’s really pretended to be you.”

  “They took my identity, but the Internet site was a total setup!”

  “Aye.”

  There were still discoveries to be made. But they would be made.

  He sat in front of the fire awhile longer. Jonathan had told him who the people having lunch with Toni that afternoon were. He’d done the research on them himself, and he’d been astonished. Low-key, low profile. Harrison Investigations didn’t advertise on television, didn’t promise to fix anyone’s love life or connect anyone with deceased relatives.

  Still, they investigated strange and unusual occurrences, trouble spots. Ghosts. Hauntings. No matter what the hell they wanted to call it!

  As if they hadn’t enough real problems around here! He could be glad that a family mystery was solved, but there was fraud in his own house. A killer, leaving victims in the forest. And the last damned thing he wanted around was a psychic!

  He could hardly kick the pair out of the village, but he damned well could make sure that they weren’t invited into his home! Yet as he stared at the fire, nothing of logic, truth or the simple fact that he did own the property seemed to mean anything. Her last few words stung. I thought I knew you.

  She had been the one angry before, but she had come back. If he just waited…maybe she would come back again. Because she was frightened? he wondered, mocking himself. Ego or not, he couldn’t accept that she had come back into the bedroom the night before out of fear.

  He could go to her. Actually, he could apologiz
e. Except that he wasn’t in the wrong.

  The fire continued to crackle. Time passed and he was still there, staring at the flames. At last he rose, turned out the lights and went to bed. But he didn’t sleep. He realized that he wasn’t sleeping because he was waiting. And after a while, he realized that she wasn’t coming.

  Donning his robe, he went through to the bath. She hadn’t locked the door on her side of it. He tapped lightly. There was no answer, so he opened the door and walked over to the foot of the bed.

  She slept, her hand curled beneath her chin, hair splayed around her. He wouldn’t wake her, he decided. But as he stood there, she suddenly bolted upright, staring at him with alarm.

  “It’s just me,” he said. “Real. In the flesh,” he added. She still stared. “Not a ghost,” he told her.

  She nodded after a minute, still staring at him.

  “Do you want to be alone?”

  “Is that an apology?”

  “Did you apologize last night?”

  “Was I wrong last night?”

  “Am I really wrong now?”

  She looked down for a moment, lashes sweeping her eyes, the fall of her hair concealing her features. “Does it really matter?” she said very softly.

  Those words touched him in a way he couldn’t quite fathom, and did more than any argument. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

  “For what?” she asked him, looking up.

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “I really don’t want a psychic here. I hate it when you see those programs with cheap special effects as a handheld camera follows a purported medium around a house. I think we have enough problems here. I’m sorry I spoke the way I did. And I…I wish I could believe you. I believe that you believe your dreams are very real.”

  She rose, brushing by him, heading for the connecting door. There she paused. “You really do have the better bed,” she told him. He followed her.

  They were awake another hour. Then, they both slept.

  Toni awoke thinking that it had to be very late, or nearly morning. But the room was in deep shadow. The fire had died in the grate and the lights were out, except for one that remained on in the bath.