Camden Place: The Haunted Book Three

by Allie Harrison

  Liam started to reach for his wine glass then thought better of it. He needed to keep his head as clear as possible. The last thing he needed was to be drunk and hallucinating. It was bad enough he was already hallucinating. “She says we are all the spirits and she wants to know what we’re looking for or what we want.”

  “I know what I’d like,” John Carrington’s voice was a bit louder than the others because both he and his wife, Mary, had already swallowed several full glasses of Liam’s wine. “I’d like that sweet stallion I saw down at Brubaker’s Livery.”

  Several of his guests chuckled.

  “I’d like a new pink gown,” Mary Carrington piped in.

  “Pink is not your color, Mary. You should avoid it,” Evelyn said.

  “What a rude thing to say,” Penelope didn’t hesitate to express her opinion.

  Liam noticed Clare rolled her eyes. “I’d have to agree,” Clare muttered.

  Evelyn’s entire expression became defensive. “She deserves to know the truth, and it’s high time someone told her. She continues to have Miss Weatherby make her pink gowns when the color clearly does nothing for her.” Evelyn turned her attention to Mary. “Pink does not suit you, Mary. Choose something else.”

  Mary seemed to be the only one not offended by Evelyn’s remarks. She looked down at the deep pink gown she presently wore. “Well, this one is my favorite, but perhaps I’ll get something new. Perhaps I’ll choose red, like Liam’s ghost.”

  “That would be fine choice, my dear,” her husband said as he reached out and patted her hand.

  “After all,” Mary continued, “we can’t even see her, and still she’s able to hold everyone’s attention.”

  His guests laughed again as they continued to eat and drink. Liam noticed Evelyn didn’t laugh.

  “The lady next to me, Penelope? I like her gown,” Clare mentioned. “The blue matches her eyes.”

  “She likes Penelope’s gown, she says the blue matches your eyes, Penny.”

  “Well, thank you, ghost Clare. That’s very kind.”

  “It’s a little boring, if you ask me,” Evelyn remarked. “No beads or jewels or seashell buttons.”

  “I don’t need any.” Penelope said before taking a bite of gumbo.

  “No, she doesn’t.” Clare agreed.

  “No, you don’t.” Ben spoke at the same time Clare did.

  “Where exactly is she?” Ben asked.

  Should he tell them? “She’s seated in the empty corner chair between Penelope and Oliver.” He thought he might as well make things interesting.

  Everyone at dinner looked at the corner chair. Liam looked around at them. None of them saw her.

  Oliver reached out and felt the back of the chair. Because she leaned forward with her elbow on the table—obviously she had no manners—Oliver didn’t touch her. He merely touched the back of her seat. “There’s no one here.”

  She turned and looked at him. “Aside from him being a stranger, there’s something creepy about him. And if he touches me, I’m going to blacken his eye.”

  Liam wondered if she could even touch him. He held back a chuckle. Oliver outweighed her by close to a hundred pounds. He couldn’t envision someone her size even throwing a punch. But she seemed like a determined woman, so it would be entertaining to see.

  “For my next trick, I think I’ll finish off his gumbo, if he’s not going to eat it. I’m starving.”

  Liam convinced himself she couldn’t be a figment of his imagination. A figment wouldn’t be starving, would it?

  “I don’t think I like this game any longer,” Evelyn said.

  “Oh, I do,” Ben’s voice was filled with excitement. “Ghost Clare,” he called out in his same overly loud voice. “Give us a sign to show us you’re here!”

  Clare looked at the ceiling before meeting Liam’s gaze. “I’m not a ghost.”

  “She says she isn’t a ghost.”

  “What does she think she is?” Penelope asked.

  Leave it to Penelope to be inquisitive. While Liam thought of Penny as nothing more than a friend, he was drawn to her intellect. She was forever searching for the right answer.

  “I’m no different from any of you. Hungry and wanting at least two or three glasses of wine.”

  “She’d like to drink us all under the table,” Liam told them.

  Laughter filled the room.

  “An inebriated ghost, now I would like to see that. Let me pour her a glass of wine,” Oliver offered.

  He laughed heartily at his own joke. Clare stared at him. “He’s really a creep,” she said, not amused.

  Liam had never heard that term, either; however, assumed by her tone, it was another unlikeable adjective. “Why do you think that?” he asked without thinking.

  “Why do I think what?” Oliver asked. “That I’d like to see a drunk ghost? Don’t you think it would be amusing?”

  “I don’t know,” Clare answered him. “There’s just something off about him. If I met him in a bar, I wouldn’t accept a drink from him. That’s for sure. It would probably have a roofie in it.” She met Liam’s gaze. He again felt as if he could get lost in her eyes. “A roofie is a drug that renders a person incapacitated.”

  “Why would a person wish to do that?” Liam knew everyone at the table but Clare was talking about making a ghost drunk, but he heard the way her words hardened. He saw the way her face drained of color as she spoke. He wanted to know.

  “Because it’s what some men do.” The flat way she now spoke touched his heart like the sharp point of an arrow. “They drug women and take advantage of them.”

  Yes, he knew there were men like that. Why didn’t they just go down to Miss Sue Ellen’s where there were women willing to do whatever they desired? He rested his elbow on the table, his chin in his hand as he took her in.

  “Perhaps she’s a victim of the Midnight Killer, and she doesn’t know she’s dead yet,” Mary suggested.

  “What a horrid thing to say, Mary,” Madelyn Greenspan put in. Liam had to agree.

  “I’m just saying, perhaps she doesn’t yet know she’s been cut to pieces.”

  “The Midnight Killer?” Clare inquired.

  “She’s questioning who the Midnight Killer is.” Liam forced his gaze around the table at his friends to keep from staring at Clare.

  “Is she cut and bleeding on your tablecloth, Liam?” Mary gave her high-pitched laugh as if she was thoroughly enjoying the game. She took a deep swallow from the wine in her glass. Clare might not yet be an inebriated ghost, but Mary was well on her way to being an inebriated human.

  “No, she isn’t.” Liam’s hands itched with the need to brush his fingers along her smooth, perfect neck as he kissed it. Mary was becoming as annoying to Liam as Evelyn. He simply wished his guests would leave so he could talk to Clare. Alone. So he could touch her again, reassure himself she was real, and not just something conjured up from a previous fever.

  “I don’t feel cut, either, just tired and hungry. I should have stopped at some drive-thru on my way here.” Clare sounded as frustrated as he felt. “Are your friends always this fun at dinner?”

  “No,” Liam said to answer Clare. He tried to make it sound as if he was simply repeating himself in answering the question that Clare wasn’t bleeding at his table. He wasn’t certain he succeeded.

  “I want to know about the Midnight Killer. How many people has he killed?” Clare gave a quick glance at his guests, then met his gaze.

  “He has killed eight people.” Liam looked around the table. “She’s still wanting to know how many people have been killed by the Midnight Killer.”

  “And he kills with a knife…I think I have seen him.” Clare told him.

  “I think you’re taking this game a bit too far, don’t you, Liam?” Evelyn finished off her wine and set the glass down with another slight huff.

  “Maybe you really should take her outside, show her all the new construction, and cool her off,” Clare suggested. />
  Liam did his best to give Clare a slight shake of his head. The only one he wanted to take anywhere was her. A headache was starting at the base of his neck. It was how his fever had started, too, with a headache, then that horrible stomachache. Perhaps that was all this was about, his fever returning.

  He didn’t want to believe that. He wanted Clare to be real. She was a breath of fresh air in his group of very predictable friends. Yes, he’d always enjoyed his friends. He’d always enjoyed his dinner parties. Hell, he’d helped create the thriving city in which he lived by getting things done around this dining room table. But he was tired of sharing Clare with his friends. He looked at Oliver at the opposite end of table, and fought the urge to stare at Clare in the seat next to him. “We don’t have to play the game anymore. I’ll be glad to keep Clare all to myself.”

  “Oh no,” Ben said, “I’m enjoying this. This might be the most interesting game of Questions you’ve ever come up with, Liam. What else would your ghost friend like to know about the Midnight Killer?”

  “I don’t think we should talk about the Midnight Killer in mixed company,” Oliver interrupted.

  “Has he killed only women?” Clare asked.

  “She wants to know if he’s killed only women.” Liam wondered why she was so intrigued with the grisly murderer.

  “No, Ghost Clare, he’s killed several people, both men and women.” Ben looked as if he was thoroughly enjoying the game, even though the subject was somewhat morbid. “He must be a big bloke to be able to kill a man so easily and quickly.”

  “Or perhaps he’s just quick with a knife or he’s someone no one would ever suspect. So they let their guard down. And then it’s too late. I do know how that works.” Clare paused in twirling her hair.

  “I think I’ve had enough of this.” Evelyn tossed her napkin onto her plate like a child throwing a toy out of frustration. “Oliver, would you please take me home? I don’t like this game, and I don’t like the conversation.”

  “I would have to agree, Liam,” her brother declared from the other end of the table. He placed his napkin on his plate, too, but with less emotion. “Perhaps it is best if we go, dear sister.”

  “They’re brother and sister?” Clare looked from Evelyn to Oliver then back to Evelyn. “I would never have guessed that. They look at each other like they’re together. Even though she speaks with interest in you, Liam.”

  Liam looked at Oliver. “Clare is surprised you and Evelyn are siblings.”

  “Now, you’re trying to draw me in with your game. I really have heard enough,” Evelyn sucked in a heavy breath as she spoke.

  “Boy, she’s downright huffy. Do you always piss off your guests at your dinner table?” Clare asked.

  It was Liam’s turn to hold back a sigh. Now that he thought about it, he was always working to keep Oliver and his sister happy. Why hadn’t he seen that until now? Because he was always looking at what he thought was best for his city. Both Oliver and Evelyn thought of what was best for them.

  “Can I finish their gumbo if they aren’t going to eat it?” Clare asked.

  Liam fought the urge to chuckle because everyone would think he was chuckling at their departure. He might grow tired of keeping them satisfied, but he had no real wish to insult them.

  “Oh, quit acting like children.” Penelope made a grand display of taking a drink of her wine. “Every party has to revolve around you two. And when it doesn’t, one of you always has to pick up your toys and go home. Frankly we’re all tired of it, and I’m not afraid to tell you. I, myself, am interested in knowing whether or not there’s really a ghost here, or if this is a game Liam just made up.”

  “I, too, am finding this quite fun,” Mary added.

  Liam thought Mary would have fun anywhere wine was served.

  “I could give your friends all a sign.” Clare smiled at him. Before he could stop her, she stood enough to reach up and pass her finger through a flame on one of the candles.

  “Did you see that? Did all of you see that?” Penelope exclaimed. “Did you see the candle?”

  Then Clare blew the candle out. “I lit it. I can blow if out if I want.”

  Liam wanted to correct her. She hadn’t lit the candles. He had. But he didn’t get the chance.

  Beside him, Evelyn let out something that was not quite a scream. Liam felt sorry for her. Henry, who sat beside her on the other side reached out and patted her hand. Evelyn quickly pulled her hand away as if she despised his touch. Penelope stared but didn’t make a sound. Mary gasped and covered her mouth with her hand, but still giggled. Jacob was equally surprised. James swore under his breath. And Sam choked and coughed on the drink of wine he tried to swallow.

  Clare laughed.

  Liam liked the sound of her laugh. It seemed to belong in his house.

  “My word,” Oliver said, astonished. “However, did you do that, Liam?”

  Madelyn also let out a cry and asked, “Is it witchcraft?”

  Gerard came into the dining room, apparently drawn by all the commotion. The laughter, the commotion, stopped in an instant. “Is there something amiss, sir?”

  “No, Gerard, but thank you, we’re all fine. We’re just playing a game.”

  Clearly they weren’t all fine. Evelyn was pale. Everyone else was in various states of shock and astonishment. But the absolute last thing Liam needed was his house servants thinking and talking about a curse on his house or anything regarding witchcraft. He breathed easier once Gerard was gone. He suddenly regretted his sharing Clare with his friends. Perhaps he should have gotten a few more answers from her first, before he let it go this far.

  Clare, too, was sitting quietly, as if perhaps contemplating she’d gone too far in blowing out the candle and scaring everyone. “Tell them it was just part of the game, just a trick and you did it by figuring out how to create a draft, like opening the damper on the fireplace. Tell them now before there’s any more talk of witchcraft or voodoo or curses. Remember the Salem witch trials? That shit gets blown out of proportion really fast and the next thing you know, someone gets hanged. And even though I’m no more a witch than I am a ghost, I hate to point out to you that no one else can see me. So, I doubt I’d be the one to get hanged.”

  Was Clare a witch? Is that how she came to be here? He had no idea. But he did know she was right. He didn’t need that fear in his household.

  “It was just a trick, Evelyn, everyone, please relax. I learned it today when I was moving furniture about and had specific windows open. No worries, my darlings. It was just a game I dreamed up. I promise.” He did his best to make his voice light, as if Clare really was just a game. He left his chair and moved to the front window he knew the others could see well. He made a big production of opening it slightly and slamming it as if it had been open. As he turned back to the table, he added, “I’m surprised you didn’t feel the draft. Clare is a real person, someone I met on Long Island. Perhaps someday soon all my friends here will have the opportunity to meet her.”

  “We’d all love to,” Ben chimed in. “Given she has you dreaming up such variations of the game of Questions and making us believe in ghosts.”

  “Did she really wear a knitted dress?” Penelope asked.

  “I don’t recall what she wore.” Beside him Evelyn relaxed slightly. The woman at the end of the table did not. He supposed the idea of being considered a witch worried her. He tried not to stare at her. “I simply used her name for the game.” He felt as if he just told the biggest lie of his life. His heart raced. He hoped his friends couldn’t hear it since he was certain he could. He forced a swallow. The delicious dinner Millie had cooked up churned in his stomach.

  Clare stared back at him. “You must really have feelings for her, Evelyn, in order to lie like you just did.”

  It amazed him she could read him so well, seeing through his lie. “I have no feelings for her,” he said out loud, answering Clare, while knowing his friends would think he was talking about a far-away i
maginary woman they thought he’d met on Long Island.

  Clare stopped drumming her fingers. Maybe it was her heart he heard. She blinked. Twice.

  For a long moment, the room was utterly still.

  Beside him, Ben cleared his throat. “Well, I don’t know about the rest of you scaredy cats, but I think I’m ready for dessert. What do you suppose Millie has whipped up?”

  “Your favorite. I’m surprised you haven’t smelled it,” Liam said as he forced a smile and did his best not to look at the dark-haired beauty at the end of the table by Oliver.

  “I smell apple pie, and I smelled it as soon as I walked in the front door,” Clare said.

  Liam was, again, amazed. The phantom woman at the end of the table, a woman he may be insane enough to create in his own mind, a woman no one else could see or hear, could smell Millie’s apple pie. He had to clear his throat before he could speak. “Apple pie.”

  “How many times have I told you how lucky you are to have Millie. I’m sorry I didn’t discover her first.” Ben laughed as he spoke.

  “No, I should have gotten Millie.” Oliver picked up his napkin again as if he forgotten he’d considered leaving.

  Gerard came in with a tray covered by plates of apple pie, and began serving them. As he placed Oliver’s before him, Gerard asked, “Do you have a window open here, Master Liam? There seems to be a draft.”

  “I just closed it, Gerard.” Liam smiled as he reached for his wine again. He needed this dinner to end. He needed to be alone with Clare. He wanted nothing more than to erase the pure overwhelmed expression off her face. Watching her, distracted by her, wishing to be alone with her, he wasn’t paying attention to his glass of wine until he bumped it. The action knocked it over and sent wine spilling all over the white table cloth.

  He bit his tongue to keep from letting out an oath, but truth be told, the last thing he needed was the second glass of wine Oliver had poured for him as Gerard had served the gumbo when dinner started. He didn’t want wine. Gerard set the tray down and quickly came to his aid.

  Liam blotted the mess with his napkin as those around him scrambled to move other dishes away. “Don’t worry about it, Gerard. Please everyone, never mind this. Just enjoy your pie.”