by Mary Bowers
After the men had left the house, Ed, Michael and I were left looking at one another.
“Well,” I said, “I’d better get back to the shelter and explain things, then pack a bag at my house.”
“Right,” Michael said. “First you’d better drive me back to town. I’ll come back here in my own car later, after I’ve packed a few things.”
Suddenly inspired, I said, “Ed, if it’d be more convenient for you, would you like to have a room here in the house so you don’t have to keep driving back to St. Augustine every day?”
He thought about it. “It’s only a half-hour drive, but still . . . I’ll need my computer and some equipment, but it’s all portable.”
“And don’t forget underwear and socks,” I said.
“What? Oh. Right. Say, Taylor, did you happen to notice that Charlie’s attitude toward the entity in the barn has kind of – changed?”
“You mean, instead of looking afraid of her, he’s suddenly protective of her?”
“Right.”
“Is that something to worry about? I mean, do people adopt ghosts, or whatever?”
“Sometimes.” He looked troubled. He hesitated. Then at last he said, “Does Charlie have a wife?”
I laughed. “Are you serious? No, she left him years ago. She took off and left him with Tripp to raise. That’s probably why they’re so close. As far as I know there’s no woman in Charlie’s life. Ed, you’re giving me the creeps. Is this going to be a problem?”
“Probably not,” he said, still pensive. “But people have been known . . . .“
“What?”
“To fall in love with ghosts. It’s rare, but it happens.”
“Well,” Michael said, coming between us, “we’ll just have to concentrate on getting Charlie a real flesh-and-blood lady, so he doesn’t get weird about a ghost.”
Michael seemed to think it was a joke. Ed and I didn’t.
Chapter 5
When I got home after dropping Michael off at his house, there was an emergency at the shelter. We had recently acquired a young bulldog named Porter, and he was testing the limits. He wasn’t a bad dog. He was just maniacally cheerful and didn’t know his own strength.
When I’d first heard that we’d gotten a bulldog, I’d pictured a French Bulldog – a comfortable little armful of roly-poly doggy with a pushed-in face and frantic eyes. Porter is an English Bulldog. Stick a cigar in his mouth and you’ve got Winston Churchill with paws. He snorts, he slimes, he chugs like a locomotive, he’s a 60-pound rolling mass of muscle that can knock a man down and keep on going.
The family with small children that had bought him as a funny little puppy could no longer control him once he was full-grown, so they brought him to us.
Porter had arrived at Orphans of the Storm, and havoc reigned.
Porter will not be bound by the rules of man, and no chain can hold him. If he manages to get a leash away from his handler, he not only chews the leather to pieces, you have to pick up the remains with paper towels to get rid of it, a Bulldog’s sinuses being what they are. Our little teenaged volunteer, Stacey, had lost her hold on Porter’s leash while trying to walk him, and when I arrived I found Stacey and two other volunteers pounding around the dog run yelling while Porter cheerfully romped around, pausing occasionally to shake the leash like he was killing a snake.
“Porter!” I screamed from the other side of the fence.
He was happy to see me. He thundered on over to say hi, but the game was too good to stop and he ran past me, showing me the whites of his eyes as he went by. When the action moved away from the gate, I let myself in and joined the show.
So that took about fifteen minutes, and the clean-up took another half hour. By the time I got across the yard between the shelter and my house, I saw that Michael had parked in my driveway and was waiting for me.
“I thought you were meeting me at Cadbury House,” I said, walking up. “Why didn’t you join the rodeo over there? We could’ve used another cowboy.”
“Porter again?”
“Who else?”
I had my own personal pet with me on a leash, a Shepherd-mix named Shiloh, and Michael gave her an affectionate pat on the head and tickle under the chin. I’d left her at the shelter building that morning, since I knew I’d be making several stops, wouldn’t be back in time for a potty break, and didn’t want to leave her in the car. She seemed to understand that I’d be back for her, and never got anxious if I left her in one of our suites while I was away from home. I’ve found that many shelter animals are very adaptable to changing situations. They’ve been bounced around in life, and they’re happy as long as their new human will only be kind to them. I was still trying to work out whether she was coming with me to Cadbury House, with all the mayhem that was going on there just now.
“She’s a gooood girl,” Michael crooned, like he always does. Then he straightened up and looked at me, becoming serious.
“What now?” I asked.
He indicated the house. “We’d better go inside and sit down. You’re not going to like this.”
We sat at my little breakfast table.
“All right, I’m sitting down. What is it?”
He hesitated, though he’d had plenty of time to assemble his words. It was a strategic pause, meant to give me time to brace myself.
“I had a call from Graeme while I was at my house packing.”
“Graeme?” Graeme Cadbury Huntington, my landlord. “I thought he was climbing a mountain in Borneo or something.”
“Kathmandu. He’s at base camp one. At least that’s what I think he said. I didn’t quite get it, but he was able to use a satellite phone. Apparently, Teddy Force has been busy pulling strings since we threw him off the property.”
“What strings?”
“His father. It turns out that Teddy’s father and Graeme went to college together, and were in the same fraternity. Brothers forever. That kind of thing. And Graeme thinks a ghost hunt would be good for promoting Tropical Breeze for tourism.”
I was aghast. “Did you reason with him?”
“Of course I did, but he had a few good points. A show like that could put Tropical Breeze on the map.”
“Is that the kind of map we want to be on?”
“Every city in Florida wants to be on that map. Maybe not the town folk, particularly, but every city council of every little town is looking for things that work, and these days, haunted places work.”
“I can’t believe this! Have you talked to Edson Darby-Deaver yet?”
“He’s the least of my worries. I called him and told him how it was going to be, and if he’s not happy, I don’t care.”
“He’s not happy,” I said decisively.
Michael thought a moment. “I don’t know. He protested and argued and blustered, but I got the feeling that the longer we talked and the more time he had to grasp the situation, the more he was looking forward to challenging Teddy again.”
“Oh, great! That’s all we need. The battle of the ghost-hunters. I don’t think I can handle this, Michael.”
“I don’t like it either, but we’re just going to have to accept it. Graeme did come up with one good thought: we could set up ghost walks on the property for the benefit of the shelter. Graeme actually suggested that himself. He was just spit-balling, but it could work, Taylor.”
I sat back and stared at him. “Do you like this idea, Michael?”
“No. But Graeme does own the property. I don’t think he’d try to break the lease if you dug your heels in and refused to let the Realm of the Shadows people onto the property, but let’s at least think about it. Cool off and consider it. It could mean another income stream for the shelter.”
“But – the haunted place is the barn, and that’s where we’re planning on putting the dogs! How are we going to work that out?”
“You know how people are. Once they see Cadbury House on TV with some ‘expert’ calling it a haunted place, they’ll show up
in droves and get a cheap thrill out of it no matter where you take them on the property. Why not capitalize on it? All we have to do is hire an actor who can dress up like an Edwardian undertaker, carry a lantern on a pole, and take people to the cemetery and around the yard in the dark. Give them a few chills. Who knows – maybe they’ll even adopt a dog while they’re there.”
“Lame. I can’t do adoptions under those circumstances! And has Graeme actually considered using his family’s cemetery as a tourist attraction?”
“I don’t think so, but he’s got other things on his mind right now. He was screaming into the phone in a high wind at the other side of the world, and we didn’t stay on the phone very long. I don’t think he has worked through the ramifications.”
“Can you call him back?”
“No. He was leaving base camp soon, and the satellite phone doesn’t belong to him. Our buddy Lorenzo Sforza got to him on somebody else’s phone, which shows you how resourceful he is.”
“Our buddy who?”
“Lorenzo Sforza. He’s Teddy Force’s father. Teddy’s real name is Teodoro Sforza.”
I stared at the wall behind Michael, hating the whole ridiculous development.
Michael reached across the table for my hand. When I didn’t respond, he gave Shiloh another little pat on the head. “I’m sorry, Taylor. Don’t take it out on me. I’m on your side, but I have to listen to my client, and you should listen to your landlord. The landlord-tenant relationship is just beginning. Let’s not get it off to a bad start.”
“I’m going to pack,” I said, standing up. “Let me just cool off. When we get over to Cadbury House we’ll talk.”
Shiloh came into the bedroom with me, got up on the bed and watched me with worried eyes as I packed. I had to figure out what to do with her for a few days, since there was no way I could take her to Cadbury House, I realized. Like many shelter animals, she was afraid of men, cowering if she even heard their voices, and when the TV crew arrived and spilled all over the grounds, in addition to Charlie’s crew, she’d be terrified.
I gave the shelter’s receptionist, Angie Kelly, a quick call, explained the situation, and asked if she could house-and-dog-sit for me. She lived alone in a trailer home, and I was hoping she’d enjoy having her commute to work shortened from a drive across town to a walk across the yard.
“There’s a key to my house in my office desk over there,” I told her, holding the phone against my ear with my shoulder as I used my hands to pack.
“I know. You told me years ago. I’ve never used it, but I know where it is.”
“Oh, yeah. Thanks, Angie. You’re a lifesaver.”
So that was all right. Angie promised she’d be over in two hours, when her shift was over, so I said good-bye to Shiloh, left her in the house and rolled my suitcase out to the car, explaining the arrangement to Michael as we went.
When we arrived at Cadbury House, the Realm of the Shadows crew was there ahead of us, setting up. They must have pulled off the road somewhere around Bing’s Landing and waited while Teddy pulled his strings, then turned right around and headed back.
“I’m sorry, Ed, that’s just the way it is,” I said at the dashboard of my car as I turned onto the dirt road leading to Cadbury House. I have one of those cars that hijacks your phone.
“I can’t say I’m really surprised,” Ed said morosely. “That’s Teddy’s style.”
“Well, there isn’t any point in standing guard at the cemetery tonight. They’ll be filming, so nobody who’s thinking of digging up graves is going to be creeping around while that’s going on.”
I could almost hear the steam coming out of his ears. “All right. I guess that makes sense. Let me warn you, though, Teddy thinks like a clever 3-year old. You’ll never figure out what he’s going to do next, so just keep an eye on him.”
“Oh, and there’s something else,” I said, deciding to pile it on while I was at it. “I promised Bernie Horning she could interview you about your work at Cadbury House.”
He groaned. “You brought in the press?”
“Well, sorta. Bernie’s paper is pretty small potatoes, and everybody in town knows something is going on already, so I didn’t think it would do any harm. Just don’t let her really get anything out of you if you can help it. Pretend I’m sitting there glaring at you. Spin stories. Tell her about other investigations, and use a lot of paranormal jargon. Bore her. Maybe she’ll give up.”
“Not likely.”
“And don’t call her. Let her call you. Maybe she’ll forget.”
“That’s a joke, right?”
I said yes, and pushed the red hang-up button.
Looking in my rear-view mirror as I got close to the house, I saw Michael’s car coming along behind me, so I waited for him after I parked.
We walked up to the house together, rolling our suitcases along behind us.
Teddy came running across the yard. “Hey, thanks, guys. I hope we’re all squared away and singing off the same hymn book now. It’s going to be a great show! The history of this house . . . .” He looked up at the roof as if there were a ghost sitting up there now waiting for his cue.
Michael brushed by him, saying, “As far as I know there’s no history of haunting in this house, but knock yourselves out.”
Teddy followed us right into the house and stood in the kitchen while we turned to stare at him.
“Look, I know we got off to a bad start. I was hoping to get this done without bothering the Cadbury family, or – you know – pulling strings. Not my style. I’m a straight shooter, always have been.”
I scowled. “If you’re such a straight shooter, why didn’t you just tell us up front that you had connections and were prepared to use them?”
He gave me the innocent green eyes. “It never occurred to me that you wouldn’t want our help with your problem.” When he saw the look on my face, he quickly dropped the act. “But as long as it’s all right with Graeme, I don’t see why you should have a problem.” Not breaking eye contact, in a smooth motion he brought a communication device up to his face. “Okay, Jazz, bring it in. We’re ready.”
“If you want to call a meeting, we’ll discuss this outside. Taylor and I are just moving in, and the crew won’t be coming into the house for the duration of the shoot. Am I understood?”
“Not yet, of course,” Teddy said, acting subjectively if not literally deaf. We heard the door, then Jazz came mincing up behind him with a suitcase, which she set on the kitchen counter and opened.
She handed a document to Michael and said, “If you’ll just sign this, as the representative of the Cadbury family.”
Michael took it and frowned at it, reading.
“What is it?” I asked.
“It’s a release,” he muttered.
I didn’t see how he had any choice but to sign it, but he was damn well going to read it first.
“We need to do a little red-lining here,” he said at last. “I want to see the final product before you broadcast.”
“That’s not the deal Graeme made with my dad,” Teddy said, unfazed. He whipped out his phone. “Shall we discuss it with him?”
“With whom? Your dad? No. And Graeme Huntington is unavailable, so we’re at an impasse. No red-lining, no filming.”
Jazz scowled. Teddy scowled. I beamed.
“Oh, all right!” Jazz said in a spiteful little way. She drew a line through the part of the contract Michael didn’t like and Teddy initialed it. Michael initialed it too, then signed the release itself.
It was a little victory, anyway. Possibly miniscule. I wasn’t going to bring it up in front of the war party, but looking at the product was not the same as being able to demand changes to it.
In her agitation, Jazz was jerking at her skin-tight skirt and fiddling with her jewelry. As she waited for Michael to finish signing, she jerked her diamond earrings out of her ears and dropped them into her purse, as if the feel of them on her earlobes was driving her crazy. Then sh
e got a tube of lipstick out and ran it over her lips. She took her copy of the document back from Michael and shoved it into her briefcase, but before she could close it, Teddy said, “Oh, Jazz, don’t forget our little gift.”
“Oh, yeah.”
She took a DVD case out of her briefcase, left it on the kitchen counter, gave her hair a shake-out with both hands, and wiggled off.
“I gotta change for the show. Get out here as soon as you can,” she yelled at Teddy. “It’s getting dark. We’ll be ready to film soon, and nobody’s done any blocking or lighting at all yet. It takes a freakin’ bullwhip to get these idiots organized.”
“So just what is your plan for the show?” Michael asked, shoving our copy of the release into the nearest kitchen drawer, which happened to be the silverware drawer. “With no haunting going on, are you and your friends just going to wander around and call to the spirits, hoping somebody answers?”
“The show is going to be based on the history of the house,” Teddy said. “We always research these things first.”
“When did you have time to research?” I asked. A very nasty suspicion was growing somewhere in my beautiful, trusting mind.
“Research is at the tips of your fingers these days,” Teddy said, miming that he was typing on a keyboard. “And of course, we knew we were coming to St. Augustine months ago. We set the schedule at the beginning of the season, and this is going to be the finale. Someone from the show always checks the next project out ahead of time. And . . . now that you know that my father and Graeme are long-time buddies, haven’t you figured it out yet?”
I had. “You’ve been here before. Probably when you were a child.”
“Bingo.”
I huffed, and let my gaze wander to the French doors, where the inside and outside worlds were visible at the same time – reflections of the great room furniture being transparently superimposed against the soft remains of daylight on the river.
