Текст книги "Unhallowed Ground"

Автор книги: Heather Graham

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 18 страниц) [доступный отрывок для чтения: 7 страниц]

“No, no. I feel sorry for the man, actually. His daughter was on her way to my house to meet a friend—a mutual friend of one of the Brennan girls, the people who were living there then—and she disappeared,” Sarah explained.

She had finished off Caroline’s beer. Caroline picked up her empty glass and studied it sadly.

Caleb turned around and motioned to the waitress, making a circle in the air to indicate a round of drinks for the table. She nodded.

“Poor man,” Caroline said. “Imagine, living all those years—and never knowing what happened to your kid.”

“What if her bones were in the walls?” Sarah said.

“What?” Will demanded, grimacing.

“We don’t know anything yet, really,” Sarah told him. “Maybe his daughter was killed and put into the walls eighty years ago.”

Caleb leaned forward. “Floby thought the bodies were all from around the same time period, back around the Civil War,” he told her.

“I hope he’s right,” Sarah murmured.

The drinks came. When the waitress set a beer in front of Sarah, she frowned, as if wondering how it had gotten there. Then she shrugged and drank.

“Here’s the thing,” Renee said. “You really shouldn’t go back to that place.”

“That place has my life savings invested in it,” Sarah said.

“Stop being a cliché,” Caroline said, exasperated. “Every stupid horror movie aggravates the audience for the same reason—if a place is that bad, get the hell out! Come on. Your life is worth more than some building, even one you’ve coveted since we were kids. Come and move in with me.”

Sarah laughed and hugged her friend. “Caroline, my life hasn’t been threatened. Nothing bad has happened to anyone in that house for…well, maybe ever. I mean, dumping bodies out of coffins and stashing them in the walls is gross, but if Floby is right, it all happened a long time ago, and that means there’s nothing for me to worry about.”

“But you’re not going to stay there tonight, are you?” Barry asked her.

“The house hasn’t done anything,” Sarah said again, reaching for her drink.

Caroline was holding onto her own glass tightly now.

“That old guy startled me, that’s all,” Sarah said, looking around from one to the other of them. “It’s terrible of me to be so upset.”

“Not so terrible. He was a mean old bastard,” Will said.

“That’s a horrible thing to say!” Sarah protested.

“Well, he was.”

Sarah looked at Caleb. “So how was your day?”

“Not very eventful,” he said, keeping his new information to himself for the moment. “A lot of running around. But it was a start, and at least I’m not going to have to do it again.”

“Nothing in Jacksonville?” she asked.

“Just a lot of legwork,” he said.

He had a feeling she was trying to get him to talk because she didn’t want to be pressured anymore; he had a feeling, though, that she hadn’t told the group what she was really thinking, or maybe she hadn’t told them everything Mr. Griffin had said. But he wasn’t about to say that he might have taken a few steps forward and was certain now that Jennie Lawson was dead, and that she had been killed here in St. Augustine.

He lifted his glass to Sarah and turned the topic right back to her. “So how did your encounter with Mr. Griffin end?”

“His nurse showed up looking for him. Her name is Cary Hagan, and she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” Sarah told them.

“Oh, yeah?” Caroline said. “Well, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” She looked at Caleb as if for confirmation.

Sarah turned to stare at her friend, completely baffled. She had confidence in herself, Caleb realized, but she had a complete lack of vanity and was genuinely dumbfounded by what Caroline had said.

“No, I mean she was perfect. Like walk-off-a-GQ-cover perfect. If you ever see her, you’ll know what I mean,” Sarah said. “I bet she’ll show up in here one night.”

“Come on, the city isn’t that small,” Will argued.

“Shh, don’t look now,” Renee said suddenly. “I think she just came in.”

Of course they all turned to see.

“I said don’t look,” Renee said. “And she’s not just here—she’s here with Tim Jamison.”

“You don’t know that,” Caroline argued. “She walked in and he walked in, but that doesn’t mean they came together. Besides, we don’t even know if we’re talking about the same person.”

“That is one of the most gorgeous women I’ve ever seen,” Barry said, and Renee whacked him playfully on the arm. “Hey! I’m not blind, you know. And as a totally objective observation, she’s stunning. So, Sarah, is that the woman you were talking about?”

Sarah, who was staring wide-eyed at the door, simply nodded.

“Look,” Caroline said. “She’s talking to Tim. Maybe they did come in together.”

“Tim is married,” Renee pointed out.

“I’ll go say hello and introduce you all,” Sarah said.

“You don’t need to do that,” Caroline protested.

“Why not?” Sarah asked, clearly puzzled.

Caleb hid a smile. She obviously didn’t realize that Caroline was trying to steer the two of them together.

“Well, because—”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sarah said, and left them, winding her way through the tables. All of them were silent, staring at Cary, who seemed startled when Sarah reached her. She quickly smiled, though, and then, as Sarah spoke, she looked toward their table—and caught all of them staring at her. She smiled and waved, and they had no choice but to wave back.

Sarah led Cary over to their table. As they approached, Caleb stood, followed by Barry and Will.

Sarah was smiling like a cat with a canary as she introduced everyone. “Cary Hagan, I’d like you to meet my cousin Will, and my friends and coworkers Renee Otten, Barry Travis and Caroline Roth. And this is Caleb Anderson, who’s just in town for a visit. Everyone, Cary Hagan.”

“Hello, everyone. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I haven’t lived in the area very long, and on the rare occasions when I get out, I usually head up the coast. Now that I’ve met you guys, maybe I won’t feel like such an outsider coming in here.”

The woman really was stunning, Caleb thought, right down to the dimples that flashed when she smiled. They added a touch of mischief to her features and countered her regal stature.

“Consider yourself an insider now,” Will said gallantly. “Come and hang with us anytime. In fact, join us now.”

“Really? Thank you.”

Caleb had the sense that Sarah was feeling proud of herself, certain she had proven that the other woman wasn’t there with Tim Jamison.

“So you’re a nurse?” Caroline asked.

“Yes. The thing is, Mr. Griffin is in excellent physical health. He moves slowly, but he’s never broken a bone, he exercises every day, and he takes his medicine without complaining. He’s the perfect patient. Most of the time, anyway. Today…well, I guess Sarah told you what happened? The news keeps going on about that missing girl and the bones in the walls of the old Grant house, and his daughter disappeared years and years ago on her way there. I think all this talk has caused a mental…tremor, I guess. He’s a real sweetie, really. I swear.”

“Well, if it isn’t a class reunion,” Tim Jamison said, suddenly looming up beside their table. He didn’t seem pleased as he pulled up a chair, nudging in between Caroline and Sarah.

“You look grouchy,” Sarah told him.

“What can I say? I get cranky when a local girl disappears without a trace,” he said, shaking his head. “I see you’ve all met Cary.”

“So how do you two know each other?” Sarah asked, looking from Tim to Cary.

“Mr. Griffin had a bit of a weak spell one day when we were out walking…. I was trying to flag someone down for help when Tim came by. Nothing better than being helped by an officer of the law,” Cary said with a smile.

“Tell us about yourself, Cary,” Sarah suggested.

Cary explained that she was from North Dakota and had gone to school in Chicago, but she loathed the winters. She’d started looking for nursing positions in warmer places, and when she’d gotten the offer to come to Florida, she’d jumped on it. She’d only been living there for a little over a year.

Drinks kept coming, then eventually food, and the talk was casual. Then Renee yawned and said she needed some sleep. Barry didn’t move until she stood and tapped him on the shoulder. Then he started and rose to join her, setting down money for his part of the bill. The two of them said goodbye and left, but Caleb caught Barry glancing back for one last look at Cary as he was heading for the door.

“I’ve got to go, too. I need a good night’s sleep,” Sarah said, rising.

Caleb rose, as well. “I’ll walk you,” he said.

She tensed slightly, and for a moment he thought she was going to argue with him, but she seemed to think better of it and simply said, “Thanks.”

Tim leaned back in his chair, staring up at Caleb. “Before you go…how was your day? Find out anything?” he asked.

“I’ll call you first,” Caleb assured him, thinking that Tim looked like the perfect image of the overworked and weary cop at that moment.

“Yeah. Come see me. I’d just like a rundown of everything you’re doing.”

“Sure,” Caleb agreed.

“Well, good night, all,” Sarah said. She added money for the bill, and Caleb did the same.

“Good night,” Caroline said, grinning—no doubt pleased with her matchmaking efforts and relieved that he wasn’t staying to hang out with the perfect blond newcomer.

She moved closer to Will.

They waved and left, and Caleb noticed that Tim Jamison didn’t return the gesture or even look up. He was too busy staring morosely into his beer.

“Where am I walking you?” Caleb asked Sarah as they reached the street.

She smiled. “You’re not going to tell me that I shouldn’t go and stay in my own carriage house, are you?” she asked.

“I could, but it wouldn’t do any good, would it?”

Walking at his side, she grinned wryly. “No,” she admitted. “I’d just get more adamant about it being my house.”

“You have good locks on your doors, and you won’t make the mistake of leaving a door unlocked again, will you?” he asked.

“No,” she said seriously, and added a quiet, “I was lucky today.”

They walked in silence for a few minutes, and then she suddenly said, “You did learn something today, didn’t you?”

He laughed. “Very insightful. Okay, yes, I’m pretty sure my missing girl was here. And that the same person or persons snatched her and Winona Hart. Now it’s your turn to answer me. What freaked you out so much about Mr. Griffin’s visit?”

She thought hard for a minute.

“His whole bit about the house being evil…I really don’t believe that a house can be evil, but bad things did happen there, and there was just something so…so creepy about the way he talked about it.”

She still wasn’t telling him everything, he thought. But he wasn’t going to press her for the moment. They were actually beginning to make a connection, and he didn’t want her closing any doors in his face.

They reached her walkway. The house looked old and, yes, spooky in the moonlit darkness. There seemed to be a lot of trash around the yard now, too, which was unusual for the area. Then again, a lot of people had come by to ogle the place today, and they were probably responsible for all the trash.

They bypassed the main house and headed for the carriage house, where Sarah took out her keys. “You can check the place out for me, if you want,” she said lightly, but he could read the need for reassurance in her tone.

“Certainly,” he assured her.

The carriage-house-turned-apartment was definitely impressive, Caleb thought. There was still a slight feel of decaying grandeur about it, but there was fresh paint on the walls and a huge four-poster in the center of the single large room. She’d put in a wide screen TV, a sofa sat between it and the foot of the bed, and a small kitchenette had been built into one corner.

“Very nice,” he told her.

“Thanks. There are two smaller rooms upstairs. Once I get the place going as a B and B, I can rent it out to couples and families.”

He opened the bathroom door, revealing both a claw-foot tub and a new glass-enclosed shower stall.

There was obviously no one lurking in the bathroom.

He checked the closet and looked under the bed, then went upstairs to make sure everything there was secure. When he came back down, he checked the lock on the single window, which had been added when the carriage doors had been removed. “Everything looks good to me. Bolt your door and keep your cell phone close, and you’ll be fine,” he advised.

“I will. I don’t see Mr. Griffin trying to break down my door, though,” she said with a hint of a smile echoed in the dazzling silver of her eyes.

He walked past her to the door, careful to keep his distance from her. “Good night. You can call me any time, you know.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m not a mass murderer in investigator’s clothing, you know. I work for Adam Harrison. Trust me, his background checks would do any intelligence agency proud.”

“I’m sure that’s true,” she said, ready to close the door behind him.

The thing was, he could tell that she did trust Adam. She just didn’t trust him. Not yet.

The carriage house was like her own little castle. She had kept the historical tone of the house, but with just one nicely updated room, no one could sneak up on her, not with only one window and one door, both of them well-secured.

Sarah wanted to sleep, but she felt wound up. She didn’t want to admit that Mr. Griffin had managed to send a few chills down her spine. She wanted to blame his bizarre behavior on dementia, then realized what a cruel thought that was. She found herself hoping instead that it was the pain that never went away that made him so certain there were ghosts in the house—and that they would talk to her.

Also, she reminded herself, this was the carriage house. She was certain that no equine ghosts were going to come back to life and haunt her.

She scrubbed her face, showered, washed her hair and, as it dried, gave herself a pedicure and manicure. To make sure she didn’t catch the news, she turned to a cable channel that showed nothing but old movies. The African Queen came on and seemed like a good choice.

Finally she turned off everything but the bathroom light, determined to get some sleep. It didn’t help. Her mind continued to race. She kept recalling the arrival of Terrence Griffin III and everything he had said to her, and when she wasn’t thinking about him, she found herself thinking about Caleb. She hadn’t even considered a relationship since Clay’s death, and she certainly wasn’t envisioning a deathless romance with the man, but she was only human, and she was imagining sex. She groaned, determined not to imagine the man naked or think about his hands touching her, and she would absolutely not hear the deep, rich tone of his voice in her dreams.

She slept, and woke, and slept again, tossing and turning until she woke herself up again. She sat up at last, ready to punch her pillow into a more comfortable lump.

Instead she went dead still, a scream frozen in her throat. This had to be a nightmare, she told herself. The kind where danger came, and there was nothing you could do about it, because panic had seized you and deprived you of the ability to move.

There was a man standing at the foot of her bed.

Or was there?

Was she dreaming? She had to be, because he was dressed in the kind of outfit Barry wore at work. Except…

He didn’t look like someone wearing a costume, the way Barry always did. There was something authentic about him. Maybe he wore the vest and frock coat with more comfort. Maybe it was the tilt of his sweeping hat. Maybe it was his face, his eyes, haunted, distant and oddly familiar.

She let out a croak, desperately trying to scream. Because dream or reality, he was standing at the foot of her bed and she was scared.

But she never had a chance to scream, because he spoke then, his tone full of pain.

“I didn’t do it. I loved her,” he said.

She continued to stare, still caught in a twilight world between life and dreams. He looked different and yet…so familiar. He had long sideburns, a goatee and moustache, and long tawny hair, but she couldn’t escape the sense that she should recognize him.

“I loved her. Do you understand?” He sounded so agitated. “But I had to leave.”

She closed her eyes, clenched them shut, and furiously commanded herself to awaken.

When she opened her eyes, he was gone.

She glanced at her bedside clock. It was 5:00 a.m. It must have been a dream, brought on by a combination of all that had been happening and Mr. Griffin’s insistence that her house was haunted.

She lay back down and closed her eyes, then opened them again and looked toward the foot of her bed. There was nothing there. Of course not. She had imagined the man there, imagined his claim that he hadn’t done it.

Hadn’t done what?

Put the bones in her walls?

She groaned and closed her eyes.

Worthless. She looked at the clock again. It was 5:03 a.m.

It didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to get back to sleep. She threw off her covers and, swearing at herself, Caleb and Mr. Griffin, she headed into the shower. It bothered her that her memory of the man at the foot of her bed was so perfectly clear. She could remember exactly what he had looked like.

So familiar, and yet…

She didn’t know. She showered unhappily, thinking that she was going to call in and take the day off—after all, it had been offered.

When she emerged from the shower, the sun was beginning to rise. Wrapped in her towel, she walked over to turn on the television, opting for a children’s show rather than the news. As she walked back toward the bed, she looked down and was startled to see bits of mud and grass on the carpet.

As if they had been carried in from outside.

Like footprints.

Her heart skipped a beat.

Then it occurred to her just why the man at the foot of her bed had reminded her of someone.

He had looked just like Caleb Anderson.

Give him some facial hair, long curls and period clothing…

“That bastard,” she breathed aloud and hurried to the door. It was still bolted. It would have been impossible for him to have gotten in.

On the other hand, the man worked for Adam Harrison, who seemed to have the ability to get just about anything done.

So what the hell had Caleb been doing? Trying to scare her to death? Trying to make her give up the house so he could…what?

It didn’t matter. She dressed as quickly as she could and headed out on the warpath. She was going to confront that wretched son of a bitch right away, while her temper was flaming at a thousand degrees, and if he didn’t watch his step, she was going to sock him in his ridiculously rugged jaw.

6

Caleb woke suddenly from a sound sleep, his sharp senses aware of footsteps on the walkway outside his room.

He looked at the clock. It was barely 6:00 a.m. but the footfalls were light, a woman’s. Probably just someone heading home after a late night.

And then, even though he heard the steps marching straight toward his room, he was stunned when he heard a pounding on the outside door of his room, and even more stunned when he got up and opened the door to reveal Sarah standing there with a murderous look on her face.

For a moment she simply stood in the doorway, shaking with rage. Then she stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

“You…bastard,” she began. “I should call the police. I should have you arrested. And I still may. What in God’s name did you think you were doing?”

Without waiting for his answer, she walked to the bed, still trembling with fury, grabbed a pillow and threw it at his head with a vengeance.

“What the hell…?” he demanded as he caught the pillow.

She went for another. “What kind of an idiot are you? You could have scared me to death. Or what if I kept a gun? I could have shot you!”

The second pillow came hurtling his way.

He tried to figure out what the hell she was talking about as he dodged the pillow. She had one hell of an arm on her. She would have been great at a company softball game. “What are you talking about? And I do carry a gun, so it was dangerous as hell for you to burst in here!”

Before she could send the last of his pillows flying his way, he rushed her, wrenching the pillow from her hands and tightening his arms around her to stop her from starting on the rest of the bedding, his momentum bearing them both down on the bed. Glad that he’d slept in boxers, he tried to keep a distance as he held her down, but it was difficult. She was on fire. Her eyes were wild with a passion for revenge over something he couldn’t fathom, and her skin was soft as silk. She was vital and vibrant, and he found himself fighting the rise of desire while he attempted to subdue her and get to the root of the problem.

She stared at him, silver eyes as sharp as knives, her breasts heaving with the exertion of her breathing.

“Do you think this is all a game? What did you think you were doing, playing dress-up and sneaking into my house at night?”

“Calm down,” he insisted. He wasn’t the only guest, and Bertie was undoubtedly somewhere nearby, too, and there was Sarah, pinned beneath him, screaming accusations that made no sense. No one would ever believe that he’d been the one being attacked.

“Don’t you ever set foot on my property again,” she warned him. “I was an idiot to come here. I should have called the cops immediately.”

“Sarah, listen to me. I swear to God I don’t have the faintest idea what you’re talking about,” he vowed.

She blinked, and for a moment she seemed on the verge of believing him. Then she apparently discarded the thought as totally impossible.

“You were in my carriage house,” she accused him.

He answered carefully. “Of course I was. I was there with you. But that was the only time I have ever been there, I swear.”

She was still a ball of tension beneath him, but he could feel her trying to control herself. She was seething, but she’d stopped trying to escape his hold.

“Let me up,” she demanded.

Carefully, he did so. To his astonishment, she began ransacking his room, looking through the closet, the drawers and his open luggage. He was glad that his computer was sitting open on the small antique desk; she might have sent it flying, otherwise, as she hurled his clothing over her shoulder.

He didn’t even think to try to stop her. It would only have made her madder.

At last, exhausted, she stood still for a moment. From her expression, he could tell that she hadn’t found what she was looking for.

“What did you do with it?” she demanded.

“With what?” he asked.

“The clothes!”

“You’ve just seen every piece of clothing I have with me,” he said, sitting on the foot of the bed and staring at her. “Maybe I should be calling the police.”

“Be my guest.”

“Sarah, can you tell me what’s going on and what you think I’ve done?” he asked, hoping he sounded patient, since he certainly didn’t feel that way.

“You came to my house and stood at the foot of my bed, pretending to be a nineteenth-century ghost. And I don’t care what you say, I know it was you. The facial hair was great, and the wig was even better, but it was you.”

He frowned. “Someone broke into your carriage house?”

“Not someone—you!” she accused.

“In nineteenth-century clothes?” he said skeptically. “Did it ever occur to you that you were dreaming?”

“Oh, no. It was no dream. It was real, and I have your footprints to prove it,” she announced.

He stood. She backed away from him.

“Sarah, I walked you home, then came back here, and I never left this room after that. I did not bring a period costume with me to St. Augustine. I don’t know what to say to convince you, but I would never break in to someone’s house and play a joke like that. Aside from the fact that it’s cruel, it’s also illegal. You must have had some kind of a nightmare.”

“It wasn’t a nightmare, it was a…a play. And you were the flesh-and-blood star,” she said. She stared hard at him, then said, “Shoes!”

She went back to the closet and pulled out his shoes, turning them over and looking at the soles.

At last she stood, hair a wild tangle about her face—but now with just a trace of doubt on her features.

“I told you, after I said good-night to you I came back here and went to sleep,” he said evenly.

At that moment there was a tap on his door, and Bertie called, “Excuse me, but is everything all right in here?”

Sarah winced, closing her eyes tightly for a moment.

“Everything’s fine, Bertie,” he called. “Just give me a minute.” As he spoke, he was pulling on a pair of pants.

As soon as he was decent, he went to the door and opened it for Bertie, who walked in hesitantly, a wary look on her face.

He couldn’t blame her. This was her home as well as her business. She could hardly be expected to ignore the sounds of a heated argument and flying objects coming from a guestroom.

“Caleb? What’s going on here?” she asked, taking in the state of the room. Then she saw Sarah and just stared.

Caleb crossed his arms over his chest. “Sarah will explain,” he said.

Sarah shook her head. “Someone…someone dressed up and played a trick on me, tried to scare me. He looked just like Caleb,” she said.

“When did this happen?”

“About an hour ago,” Sarah said.

Sarah might have known Bertie longer, but at this moment, Bertie seemed to be taking his side, Caleb thought.

“So you came here—and trashed his room?” Bertie asked quietly.

Caleb stood, took Sarah by the shoulders and steered her toward the door. “Bertie, I think Sarah needs a cup of coffee. Why don’t you give me a few minutes to take a shower, and then I’ll go back with her and try to get to the bottom of the situation. Will that be all right, Sarah?” he asked, as if he were talking to a particularly slow-witted child.

She was still angry, but now she also looked uncertain, even mortified. Maybe she was finally accepting the idea that a nightmare had sent her marching over here to accost a half-naked and innocent—at least of dressing up and scaring her, he thought, hiding a grin—man in his bed.

“Be quick,” she said scathingly, gathering her anger around herself like a shield.

“Sarah…” Bertie said, leading Sarah out and closing the door in her wake.

He locked the door, and then with the women gone, took a quick shower and dressed with the speed of lightning. When he emerged, the kitchen help were just arriving and Sarah was nursing a cup of coffee.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go see what’s up at your carriage house.”

“Would you two like some breakfast first?” Bertie suggested.

“Thank you, but I think this needs to be resolved. Now,” he said. “And don’t worry about the room. Nothing’s broken, and I’ll deal with the mess when I get back later today.”

He didn’t let either woman protest as he maneuvered Sarah out the front door. She was as stiff as a two-by-four, and waves of heat and hostility seemed to be sweeping off her into the morning air. She hurried to get ahead of him, but his strides were long, and he soon caught up to her.

When they reached her property, she turned on him again. “Just admit that you did it. I promise I won’t call the police.”

“I didn’t do anything,” he told her. “Now, tell me why you’re so convinced this was something more than a dream. Was the door open after your…visitor left?”

She looked away. “No. But you’re a private investigator, and you have…skills, maybe some kind of a key.”

“A key that opens the lock and the dead bolt?” he demanded.

“It’s possible,” she said defensively.

He stepped past her with disgust. “I don’t have a magic key, okay? So would you be so kind as to open the door?”

She did so. “Be careful where you walk. I don’t want you to mess up the evidence.”

“What evidence?”

“The mud and grass you—someone tracked in. See? At the foot of the bed.”

He hunkered down and studied the rug. There were indeed bits of mud and grass on the floor, as if they’d been tracked in by someone who had come through the door, circled the sofa to stand at the foot of the bed, and then…vanished.

He stood, puzzled. “You do need to call the cops, I think.”

She sank down on the arm of the sofa, staring at him. He was sure she was feeling desperate, still wanting it to have been him, wanting the mystery to have a solid answer.

“They’ll think we tracked it in when you walked me home last night. They’ll think I’m crazy. Especially when I tell them that he was dressed in period clothing.”

“Is anything missing?” Caleb asked her.

She shook her head. “No…it was…I’m telling you, it was you. In costume.”

“And I’m telling you, it wasn’t,” he said firmly.

She looked lost—still prickly and defensive, but lost.

“Sarah, it really might have been a dream.”

“Explain the dirt and the grass.”

“Maybe we did track it in last night.”

“We walked on the sidewalks. The driveway is paved and the walk is stone. Neither of us stepped off the walk onto the lawn,” she said.

“All right, what did this person say or do? Did he just stand there looking at you?” Caleb asked.

“No. He kept saying he ‘didn’t do it,’ that he had loved her,” Sarah told him, getting up and pacing agitatedly.

“I see,” he said consideringly.

She socked him on the shoulder. Not hard, but enough to make her point.

“Don’t you dare patronize me. I’m not crazy.”

“I didn’t say you were,” he protested. “Sarah, it had to be a dream. There’s no other explanation. Unless you think I have a doppelganger with a bad sense of humor hanging around the area? Because I swear to you, I wasn’t here. I wouldn’t play that kind of a joke on anyone. Ever. So…it wasn’t me. We can call the police, if it will set your mind at rest. In fact, I was heading to the station this morning anyway. You can come with me and make a report, and they can search my room again, my car, anything that you want. You can have them dust for prints, too. Of course, you will find mine, along with yours, but…maybe they’ll find someone else’s, too.”

She shook her hear. “It wasn’t anyone else,” she said stubbornly. “It was you.”

He hesitated. “Look, when you came into the bar last night, you were already upset, because of Mr. Griffin showing up at your house. I think he said more to you than you shared with the others. Want to tell me now?”

She sat down again, deflated, staring at the floor. “I have to admit, he looks kind of scary, very old and very skinny. He talked about the history of the house, and he kept saying it was evil. That part’s crazy, but I have to admit, he had the history right. Before the Civil War, the house was owned by a family called MacTavish, and the father was a mortician. The son, Cato, went off to fight when the war started. He came back wounded, only to find that his father was dead and his fiancée had disappeared right after he left. Then other young women started disappearing. He ended up being accused of murder, so he just took off, abandoning the house. His housekeeper—who supposedly practiced voodoo and magic—left right after he did. A man named Brennan had been living here with Cato, learning the mortician’s trade, and he ended up buying the house for back taxes after the war. The Brennans hung on to it for generations, and then—like I was saying last night—Mr. Griffin’s daughter disappeared on her way to meet a friend here back in the nineteen-twenties. Cary said a bunch of girls disappeared at the same time. Anyway, Mr. Griffin is convinced the house itself is evil. I think he heard about the bones being discovered, and now he believes that people’s souls have been caught here.” She hesitated. “He thinks I can communicate with them, and that I have to talk to them and find out…something, or else women will keep disappearing and…dying.”