Darcy smiled again at the question, wondering how to answer. “There’s a tremendous feel of the past about the place, I can tell you that.”
“But you…well, you see ghosts, right?”
Darcy hesitated again. “For the most part, I would say that, so far, the house actually has a warm feel to it. As if whatever remains of the distant past is mostly benign. But there is a feel to the house. That’s natural when so much has occurred through so many years. Many people believe that since we—humans—are made up of energy, and energy cannot actually be destroyed—that trauma forces that energy to remain, when the soul should have gone on.”
Penny arched a brow to her. “I know what most people feel and think. But you are a psychic. So—what do you think? Actually, no matter what you say, you won’t change what I feel and believe. I know that ghosts exist. I’ve seen one.”
“Oh?”
Penny shrugged. They were in her office, a very nicely done room on the ground floor, near to Matt’s, as Penny had pointed out.
“I’ve seen the woman in the white peignoir who runs from the Lee room and down the stairs. And I’m beginning to believe that she’s not a benign entity at all. Oh, don’t get me wrong. I personally love the ghost stories that abound around here. They’re important—they draw visitors to the house. But lately, the ghost seems to be getting—physical.”
“Exactly how so?”
“Well, not long ago we had a bride and groom staying in the room. She woke up in the middle of the night and the ghost spoke to her, or pulled her hair, or something. She wasn’t terribly clear. She came running down the stairs stark naked in the middle of the night, and refused to go back to the room even to pack up her things. Then, Clara Issy, one of the housekeepers, and a wonderful woman, came flying out because of the same thing happening. The ghost left a mark on her.”
“What did Sheriff Stone have to say about that?” Darcy asked.
Penny waved a dismissive hand in the air. “He says he’s convinced Clara ran into something. Matt simply refuses to believe in anything that doesn’t have full dimensions. However, he has said that we can have a seance here. None of this is making any sense to me. Matt may not know much about Harrison Investigations, but I do. Adam Harrison is supposed to be one of the most credible and influential investigators of psychic phenomena in the world! Matt knew that you all were coming—well, all right, he expected Adam himself—but he told Liz that she could carry on a seance. Go figure. Of course, he doesn’t really believe that anyone will contact the spirits, so maybe he wanted to make Liz happy, and annoy those who might have been able to make a special connection with whatever is going on.”
“It will be interesting to take part in a seance here, no matter who is acting as the medium,” Darcy told her tactfully.
“Well, it’s going to be tomorrow night,” Penny told her. “I’m setting up in the parlor, since Elizabeth says we should be using the center of the house, the heart of it.”
Darcy lifted her hands. “Sounds fine to me.”
“Well, I’m relieved. After all—you’re the professional.”
Darcy smiled. “I’m not so sure there is such a thing as a professional in this particular area. I’m sure Elizabeth will prove to be a fine medium.” Darcy rose. “Mind if I take a walk around?”
“Of course not, dear! Your bag has been taken up to the Lee Room—where the phenomenon has occurred. I imagine that whereas others might wake up in terror, you would wake up and try to talk to the ghost, right?”
“Something like that,” Darcy agreed.
“Well, then, you just make yourself at home.” She handed Darcy a pamphlet. “These are, as you’ll see, obviously for the tour groups. But the little map will help you get your bearings, and there are a few little tidbits of history about the house in there as well.”
“Terrific,” Darcy said. “Thank you so much.”
“My pleasure, and please, should you need anything, anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask me. I’m delighted to have you.”
“Thank you.”
Darcy took the little map and exited Penny’s office. It was one of two on the right side of the hall that connected the foyer and the grand stairway.
For a moment, she paused. This was the most important part of her work, as she saw it. Adam Harrison was excellent with machinery. Gauges that registered temperature changes, recorders that caught the slightest hint of sound. There were even gadgets that could record any rise or fall in a magnetic field. When he came, he would work with a Trifield Meter, and measure electromagnetic pollution. He also used a Trifield Natural EM meter, which measured electric as well as magnetic fields—showing disturbances where there should be none—and, as Adam was fond of telling clients—it was also a great tool for finding out if your microwave leaked or not. In his work, however, he knew that any kind of physical manifestation required a certain amount of energy, moving air, heat, cold, all and any changes that might take place in an area.
Adam worked from a seriously scientific point of reference.
But for her, it was the feel of a place. It was getting to know it.
And often, when she first arrived at a place reputed to be haunted, she would feel that Josh was with her. Ready to be beside her, vigilant, her guard in the strange world, perhaps.
She waited. But she didn’t feel his presence. She waited several minutes, dead still, making an effort to clear her mind, which wasn’t usually necessary. And still, she had no sense or feel of him, which was very unusual.
And yet the house seemed more alive with past energy than any other place she had ever been.
She walked back first to the entry, or foyer, and stared at the little map, getting her bearings. Not that the house was that complicated. From the wraparound porch, one entered the foyer, with the superb staircase. The house had been built like many a colonial with the hall—or what was really a massive breezeway—immediately to the right of the stairs. It made a straight and direct path to the back doors. At one time, before air-conditioning, such a breezeway allowed for the house to be cooled in summer by the continual flow of air, since both front and back doors would have been left open for that precise purpose.
There was one room other than the offices on that side of the house, the library. Darcy took a quick peek in at the room. Shelves lined three of the walls while a fireplace with a handsome carved hearth took up a majority of the fourth. The hardwood floor here was covered with a very fine, probably antique, Persian carpet. A huge mahogany desk sat in the room, while overstuffed reading chairs sat by the fire. She wondered if Matt Stone was aware of the value of the many ancient tomes that filled the cases—along with a lot of modern material as well.
The desk had a computer, printer, and seemed well set for any business purpose. She assumed the arrangement of the equipment here was for the convenience of the guests, since it had appeared that Penny’s office was supplied with all the technology she might need to run Melody House. Matt’s office was probably equally as well appointed.
Standing in the library, she closed her eyes for a moment and felt the room. The atmosphere was rich. A great deal of passion, emotion, and simple life had taken place within the room. But there was nothing here that seemed to hint of evil or malignance. She opened her eyes and exited the library, heading back to the foyer.
The staircase seemed somewhat disturbing, which Darcy didn’t find at all odd. She wondered how many men had walked down that stairway, followed by wives, lovers, or children, only to ride away to war, and perhaps never return.
The parlor was truly beautiful. She ignored the velvet ropes that kept the area protected from the sticky fingers of visiting children, the abuse of too many feet, and the overall damage that could be caused by large groups coming through on a frequent basis. Like the library, the parlor had a feel. When she closed her eyes, it drummed with the energy of the past. But again, she felt nothing evil.
Beyond the beautifully appointed parlor were the dining r
oom—elegantly set as if for a dinner party of twenty in the mid-eighteen-hundreds—and the kitchen, kept entirely charming while being in a state-of-the-art condition. She instantly loved the room. There, the back door gave way to the wraparound porch. The view from the porch was exquisite. It was a beautiful day and the mountains could be seen in the distance in a riot of greens, violets, pinks, oranges and golds. The season was rich with flowers and foliage.
Darcy stepped back in. Rather than return to the foyer to take the grand stairway to the second floor, she walked up the far-less-spectacular servants’ stairway, winding from the rear of the kitchen up to the back of the hall on the second story. She gazed at her map again. Originally, there had been six bedrooms up here. Now, there were five, since the master suite these days consisted of a second office or sitting room as well as the master’s—Matt’s?—bedroom.
She assumed his personal area was off-limits to her. For the time, at least.
The rooms had apparently all been named after Southern generals, the Lee Room, or course, being the most prominent and assumably elegant, with the Stuart, Longstreet, Beauregard, and Amistad rooms being a bit smaller, judging by the map. Darcy entered each of the rooms, noting that they were all period, and quite charming, clean as a whistle, and inviting. The crew here kept the place up beautifully.
At last, she stood in front of the Lee Room, and closed her eyes. The atmosphere was heavy, cloudlike, dense, wrapping around her instantly. She opened her eyes and entered the room.
French doors were open to the porch. The breeze swept in. The room was quiet, and touched by the sweetness of the breeze.
Deceptive, Darcy thought. An aura of tremendous turbulence lay just beneath the apparent peace and serenity.
She imagined trying to explain the sensations she felt to Matt Stone.
It was not a pretty picture.
She didn’t think that there was any way she would ever be able to explain her particular talents to Matt Stone. Adam would understand. He was an amazing man. He had some abilities, but his true talent was in understanding that there were people in the world with special senses. She might have gone mad, seeing and hearing what others didn’t, except for Adam. First, he had believed. In his belief, he afforded her great trust. While he worked on a scientific level, proving different levels of heat and electricity, she worked purely through the visions and feelings that came to her—whether she wanted them or not, most of the time. Adam had taught her how to channel the strange images and feelings that came to her. And when she had thought herself a misfit who could live only in fear, he had taught her that she could bring peace and relief to lost souls, and given her purpose—as well as a very decent living that kept her feeling not only sane, but tremendously useful.
In this room, the feelings and impressions of trauma rushed around like a swirl of dark storm clouds.
However, it was incredible. Not a bad place to stay. Far, far, better than the hotel. Her bag was at the foot of the bed. She began to unpack, humming as she did so, yet completely attuned all the while for the slightest shift in the atmosphere.
All that touched her was the feel of the breeze and yet…
She was certain that she was watched. She could feel an unease streaking down her spine. It was as if the eyes of someone—something—were intently upon her, creating a trickle of sensation. An unearthly gaze seemed to reach out and touch her.
Feelings…intuitions. The hackles rising at her nape.
She paused for a moment.
But…
There was nothing solid. Nothing whatsoever. But Darcy knew.
Whatever lay within the room would wait, observe, and bide its time.
Summer hours kept the area light until well past eight in the evening.
Matt arrived home at about six and checked in at the house. He was certain that he’d find Penny and his visitor busily discussing the many ghosts they had already discovered. Maybe they’d even have the Ouija board out.
But Penny was in the kitchen with Joe McGurdy, their chef. Matt hadn’t known that Joe was coming in that night; he usually arrived only when they had a function planned. Finding the two in the kitchen, he arched a brow at Penny while Joe greeted him with a friendly smile.
Penny stared at him reproachfully. “Well, of course, we’re having dinner!” she said.
“We?”
“You, me, Darcy, Clint, and Carter.”
“Of course. Eight-course meal?” Matt asked dryly.
“Don’t be ridiculous. But you didn’t want me to serve beannie-weannies on her first night here, did you?”
“Goodness, of course not,” Matt said. “Where is our guest?”
“Carter saddled up Nellie for her. She’s taken a ride out to see some of the country around here.”
“Do we know that she can ride? There’s some really thick forest if she headed west.”
“Matt, she is an adult. She said she could ride.”
“Maybe I’ll take a ride out to find her anyway,” he muttered, shaking his head at Penny. Great—they were already bringing the chef in and stretching out the welcome mat. He wondered why Carter hadn’t chosen to ride with their visitor.
When he’d changed to jeans and sweater and headed out to the stables, he found out why. Carter shrugged, watching Matt as he led Vernon, his quarter horse, from his stall. “She said that she wanted to do some exploring alone, that it was important for her work. Naturally, I offered to go with her. Are you kidding? The woman is one looker.”
“One kooky looker,” Matt reminded him, slipping a bridle over Vernon’s nose.
“Hey, everybody’s got to make a living somehow, right?” Carter said.
Matt slung a saddle over Vernon’s back. “I imagine she probably had a few other choices.”
“Maybe she’s for real,” Carter said. He thoughtfully chewed a blade of hay, eyes amused as he watched Matt mount up. “You know, I just bought the old Reed place, next county over. If you don’t want her looking for your ghosts, I’ll be happy to have her take a look at mine.”
“I’m sure you intend to have her looking for ghosts,” Matt said, shaking his head. “For the moment, just let me go make sure she’s not lying on a trail somewhere with a broken leg. Whatever possessed you to let her just ride out alone?”
“Let’s see—maybe the fact that she said she didn’t want company?”
“She doesn’t own the place,” Matt reminded him.
Carter shrugged, stroking his beard. “Hell. I don’t own it either, do I now?”
Matt urged Vernon on out of the stable. “Hey—don’t be late for dinner!” Carter called. “Seems like Penny’s got Joe cooking up something good.”
Matt felt his resentment grow, and put a check on it. Adam Harrison had paid a fair price for coming in to do what he was referring to as “research.” And so, hell, they had to feed the woman. Joe would be in again tomorrow night to prepare a meal for those attending the seance. It wasn’t all that big a deal. And as to the horse…
He could just see lawsuits all over the place. She’d ridden out alone. What if she couldn’t really ride? She’d be suing over her injuries.
The logical course was across the vast field to the south of the property, leading into trails that veered to the west. Matt could see that his chosen trail had recently been traveled; hoof-marks dotted the dirt and as he reached the field, flattened grasses assured him his instincts had been right.
Matt crossed the field, and entered into the broad riding trail that led westward, sloping upward from the valley toward the mountains.
Another twenty minutes worth of riding and he came to the narrow little rivulet that meandered its way through the woods. The area was much as it had been for hundreds of years—only the continual use of the trails kept them in such sustained and clear condition. The air was cool, the scent of pine sweet.
When he saw Nellie, riderless, drinking by the stream, he felt a twinge of fear, wondering where the mare might have thrown her rid
er.
But even as he dismounted, a quick search of the area showed him that he needn’t have been so concerned—nor so certain that his visitor couldn’t ride. Darcy was seated calmly on a fallen log, idly doodling in the dirt with a bonelike length of a broken branch. She watched him without welcome or rejection as he left Vernon to join Nellie, drinking from the crisp, cool water.
“Hello,” he said, striding toward her.
There was still plenty of daylight, but in the forest, the thick canopy of trees created strange slashes of darkness, shadow, and eerie green light. Her hair seemed to shine with an exceptional depth of red, while her eyes appeared a deeper forest shade than the trees themselves. Her complexion appeared paler here, and in her jeans and sweater, she might have been something of an elegant woods nymph. Except, of course, if she were to stand, he knew she would be far too tall to be any elfin creature. It struck him again that what most irritated him about her was that tall, sinewy elegance of hers, the poise and calm that seemed to sit about her shoulders like a cloak.
She clasped her hands around her knees, eyeing him with a certain dry hostility. “Hello, Sheriff. As you can see, I’ve not broken my fool neck, raced your horse into the ground, or gotten lost in the depth of the forest.”
“Did I ever suggest that such things might happen?”