set her hands on her hips. “Someone ought to call the local cops on you. You may be some kind of a big landholder in these here parts, bucko, but you’re the rudest individual I’ve ever met.”
“Sorry, but my time is limited. Please, Ms. Tremayne—sorry, Darcy, may I take your bag?” he said sarcastically.
“Fine. Right there. It rolls—unless you’ll feel that your macho image will be marred and lessened by taking an easy route.”
He offered her a dry grimace, grabbed the bag, and started out.
She followed him, exiting the spiderweb filled hallways of the place, out to the parking lot.
She didn’t see any regular cars—there were a few trucks, a code-enforcement vehicle, and a county cop car in the lot.
He had a really long stride, but had paused just outside the building and removed his sunglasses, waiting for her to catch up. He saw that she was staring expectantly out at the parking lot.
“Oh, sorry,” he told her flatly. “It’s that one. I guess everyone forgot to tell you. I’m the local sheriff. Guess Adam didn’t tell you, either. But then, since you’re supposed to be a psychic, you should have known.” He stared at her, a light of mockery in his eyes.
She smiled sweetly in return. “Mr. Stone, I’m not exactly a psychic. There are certain areas in which I can deduce things. There are certain things about people I don’t know. But then again, there are things that people really don’t want known that I can deduce very easily. I’m known for finding skeletons in closets, and I’m sure that there are dozens of them at Melody House.”
Staring back at her, he was dead still then. His eyes were dark, not brown, but a deep gray. Disturbing. They seemed to pierce right through her, and yet wear a protective veil that kept her from reading anything within them. Still, it seemed that she had given him pause.
“Shall we go?” she said.
“Oh, yes. I’m just dying to see what bones you can dig up, Ms. Tremayne. Just dying.”
“Great. Just…”
“Just what?”
“Be prepared. Sometimes, people don’t like the skeletons we find.”
3
“To me, it’s simply one of the most incredible houses—and historical sites—on the face of the earth!” Penny said enthusiastically.
Darcy smiled, thinking that she agreed—despite the difficulty involved with the place, and that difficulty being Matt Stone.
He had maintained something of a pleasant conversation on the drive over, pointing out Civil War skirmish sites, and telling her that at one point, on his way to battle, the great Southern general Robert E. Lee had stayed at Melody House. Then they had reached the house, and though she couldn’t say he had practically thrown her out of the car, he had delivered her to the front door and Penny Sawyer as quickly as possible, explaining simply that he was on duty.
Hm. She wondered if he’d been on duty while sprawling around at the Wayside Tavern as well.
But Penny Sawyer was wonderful. Darcy couldn’t quite determine her age. The woman was certainly somewhere between forty and sixty, which was quite a span. She was slender, about five-five, with an attractive shag type of short haircut in a natural salt and pepper, and had beautiful, bright blue eyes. She was also nicely dressed in a stylish pantsuit, and as friendly as her employer was rude.
“The house is quite incredible,” Darcy said. “A number of historical homes—usually those owned by preservation societies—have been restored with painstaking authenticity, but it’s amazing to see the integrity of this house, especially when it’s been a family home all along.”
“Ah, well, the old gentleman, Matt’s grandfather, really loved the place. Treated the house like a baby. He wanted it to be a home while maintaining all that it had been. He was a remarkable old fellow.”
“Apparently.”
Penny gave her a funny little rueful smile. “Oddly enough, believe me, Matt is just as dedicated to the preservation of the house. He wants to maintain it himself, though—you know, he doesn’t want it going to any societies, no matter how good they might be, because he would lose control. He knows that house has to hold its own if he’s going to hang on to it. Upkeep on these places is staggering. And sheriffs just don’t make that kind of money. Oh! That didn’t really sound the way it should—he’s a man of incredible integrity. What I mean is, no matter how he loves the place, he’d never do anything illegal. Of course, you didn’t suggest such a thing!” Penny broke off with a laugh. “There would never be such a thing as graft involved in Matt’s life. He’s a great sheriff. The people love him. He can defuse the most ungodly situations, speak to the youngsters around here and all…but what it means is that he has to have tours going through here, and he has to make the house pay. That’s all. So! What kind of a feel do you get from the place? Is it haunted?”
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
