by Sylvie Kurtz
“Go back to your room,” he said.
She bolted off the wall. “What? No. We need to talk.”
He tore down the tower stairs two at a time. She ran after him, glad the movement finally broke through the disorienting fog in her mind. “Where are you going?”
“We have a damned ghost hunter in the house. Let Gardner go chase after apparitions.” Nick charged down the hall as if rocket-propelled and pounded through the kitchen door. His bruised knee finally caught up to him and made him limp across the checkerboard tiles.
“What are you talking about?” Valerie asked.
Nick flipped on the lights. The stark fluorescence bounced off every gleaming stainless steel surface and glossy granite counter in a blinding way. “Didn’t you see that thing outside?”
She’d been too lost in Nick’s kiss to notice much of anything. “What thing?”
Nick didn’t answer, but rummaged through a drawer filled with odds and ends.
“We’ll talk in the morning,” Nick said, dismissing her.
“Is that a request or a command?”
“Which is more likely to get me your cooperation?”
“Since you’re asking so nicely. Neither. I’ll stick around for the ghost hunt.”
Nick found a flashlight and tested it, then started down a flight of stairs that led into the basement. Pale light eked from the bottom of the gray steps. “Gardner!”
No answer floated up.
“Gardner! Where the hell are you?” Nick asked as he reached the basement and flashed his light around.
The basement was a dark crypt that twisted along the house’s puzzle-piece floor plan. The earthen floor was cold against Valerie’s bare feet and powdery dirt oozed between her toes. The thick air pressed against her lungs. She didn’t do dark and claustrophobic very well. Maybe she should have done the logical thing and gone back to her room, but there were too many unanswered questions. And the part of her that needed to know won over the chicken side that wanted to hide.
The shadows from the widely separated bulbs, swinging on electrical cords, gave the space a sinister feel as if eyes were everywhere, watching, waiting, threatening. Instinctively, she reached for Nick’s shirt and hung on as he hunched over and swept his flashlight into the dark recesses the weak bulbs didn’t reach. Copper pipes caked with green crud snaked and angled along the low ceiling. No wonder the water tasted funny. Drapes of cobwebs hung from the rafters and air ducts, making her miss the afghan she’d forgotten in the tower room.
“What makes you think Dr. Gardner is down here?” she asked.
“He’s measuring. Something about low frequency waves.”
Once they passed the cellar hatch that provided access to the outside, the air throbbed with groans from the ancient furnace firing heat from a dark corner, and from moans emanating from Evan Gardner’s body, splattered across the breadth of his equipment.
Valerie rushed by Nick and knelt beside the professor, feeling for broken bones. Blood glistened darkly against his dirty-blond hair. “Dr. Gardner? Evan? Are you okay?”
Hand to his temple, he rolled over. “Someone hit me from behind.”
He tried to sit up, but Valerie held him back. “I don’t think you should move.”
“I’m okay,” Evan insisted and sat up. He pulled a hand kerchief from the pocket of his jacket and patted it against the cut on his head. “Just a bit of ringing.”
Nick pointed the beam of his flashlight at a rock the size of a fist, stained with fresh blood. “Looks like this was the weapon of choice.”
“You need a doctor,” Valerie said.
Evan shook his head and winced. “No time.”
“You could have a concussion.”
“I’m on to something.” Evan crawled forward and reached for what was left of his laptop and moaned.
Nick’s light sliced over the broken pieces of Evan’s equipment.
Evan swore with a viciousness that made Valerie jump. “Would you look at this! Hitting me is one thing. But this—” He reached for the plastic pieces that once made up some sort of meter. “This is expensive equipment. If you don’t want me here, just tell me to get out. Don’t go around destroying my research.”
“Trust me,” Nick said. “I’d kick you out before I’d destroy your equipment. But Rita wants you here, so you get to stay—safe and sound.”
Evan pressed at some keys on the laptop in his lap as if the action could bring the computer back to life. “I was just pinning down the source of the infrasound, when pow, my lights went out.” He rifled through the mess of electronic pieces. “My data’s gone.”
“Are you sure?” Nick asked.
“Of course I’m sure.”
“How important is this data to your finding the source of the cries?”
“It’s data,” Evan said, as if he’d lost his firstborn. Then he perked up. “At least I still have the recorder in the tower room.”
Really? Valerie would have to retrieve the tape and see if it had captured the conversation she’d had with Nick. He’d been there the night of Valentina’s kidnapping. He’d seen the kidnapper. And if the evidence of his admission was on tape, then he couldn’t just brush her away when she pressed him for more details.
“Are you up to investigating a ghost?” Nick asked Evan. “Or do you need a trip to the emergency room?”
Evan raised an eyebrow and stuffed the bloody handkerchief back in his pocket. “A ghost?”
“I saw something green and phosphorescent glide across the lawn outside.”
“Interesting. An orb? A mist?”
“More like a life-size blob.”
Evan scrambled up to his feet, wobbled a little, then pointed toward the stairs. “I have more equipment in the truck.”
Minutes later, hunched over like some caricature of Sherlock Holmes searching for a clue, Evan fanned Nick’s flashlight across the lawn where Nick had spotted the ghost. Nick and Valerie trailed behind him.
The raw night air needled through Valerie’s flannel pajamas, making her shiver. She clamped her teeth tight so Nick wouldn’t hear them chatter and insist she go back to the house as he’d already attempted several times. There was no way she was missing the show. Not when she had a feeling it somehow connected with her story.
Evan stopped near the gazebo by the pond. “Not a ghost.”
“What then?” Nick asked, clearly losing patience with Evan’s paranormal sleuthing.
Evan poked his head in a bush and came out with a glowing green sheet. “Phosphorescent paint. Someone wanted you to think there was a ghost.” He clucked. “Not very convincing, if you ask me.”
“Can you tell where the paint came from?”
The gaudy house at the mouth of Windemere Drive came to Valerie’s mind.
Evan handed Nick the sheet. “You want a crime lab, call CSI. I do ghosts, not silly Halloween jokes.” He wiped traces of the glow-in-the-dark paint from his fingers with his bloodstained handkerchief. “If you’ll excuse me. I need some aspirin, then I need to go see if I can recapture the data I’ve lost. It was just getting interesting.”
First the dummy, then the dog, now this “ghost.” They were more than mere jokes. They were a warning. Was it her fault because she’d insisted on pursuing the story? Was her curiosity putting Nick and Rita in danger?
“Evan, wait up!” Valerie shouted after the professor. She needed to get to that tape before he did and make a copy. Nick was the key. He’d seen Valentina’s kidnapper. And just maybe more answers were buried in his subconscious. Someone wanted to keep Nick quiet, making the retrieval of those memories that much more important.
Shivering in the cold night air, she hesitated for a moment and looked at Nick over her shoulder. Too many ghosts traipsed after him, weighing him down. The last thing she’d wanted to do with this story was to hurt anyone. If she’d made things worse for Nick, she had to fix the situation. Maybe then she wouldn’t feel so responsible for upsetting his world. He needed pea
ce as much as Rita did. But that peace wouldn’t come without answers. “I’ll help you find Valentina.”
Nick scoffed as he carefully folded the doctored sheet. “What can you do that I haven’t already done at least twice?”
“I can listen. I can ask questions you might not have thought of. I can look at things from a different perspective.”
“How do I know I’m not getting in bed with the enemy—so to speak?”
She cocked her head. “Then at least you know where she is and what she’s up to.”
He kept folding the sheet. “Go. I’ll handle the police.”
She didn’t want to go, not when Nick seemed so glum and alone, but the sound of Evan’s truck door creaking open resounded in the night. She had to go, now, before Evan went to the tower room and she’d lost her first concrete evidence that the film playing in her mind was real. “I’ll talk to you in the morning.”
While Evan rummaged in the back of his truck for equipment, Valerie rushed up the stairs to the tower room. She found the digital recorder by the door, its Bionic Ear audio enhancer poised to capture every sound in the room.
But the memory card inside the recorder was gone.
THE DISTRACTION had worked. It wouldn’t fool them for long, but he’d gotten what he needed. She was getting too close to the truth. And the truth would upset too many lives. He had to keep them busy—chasing more phantoms—until he’d set his trap and gotten what was his.
The rest needed to stay buried.
He couldn’t let anyone rush him. Not this time. All the details had to be right. And all he needed was a few more days.
“LIONEL’S GOING TO DRIVE—” Nick started to say as Valerie entered the dining room the next morning. She held up a hand, closed her eyes and shook her head. No matter how many times she’d rolled around what had happened last night in her mind, no answers had come. All she had to show for her efforts was sleep deprivation and a pounding headache.
“Coffee?” she croaked.
“Twenty degrees to your right, ten paces,” Nick said, and she definitely detected a note of amusement in his voice.
Mike sniggered as he dug into a pile of scrambled eggs and English muffins spread thick with butter and blueberry jam. “Don’t talk to her until she’s downed her first cup or she’ll bite your head off.”
“Good to know.”
“Are these the biggest cups you have?” Valerie yearned for her usual large take-out cup of French vanilla.
“I’m afraid so.”
With a groan, she carefully measured a quarter inch of cream into one of the tiny cups next to the urn. Could they make them any smaller? She filled it to the brim with coffee and slammed the contents down in one gulp. She filled the cup again, drank, then sighed as the fog cleared from her brain. “You may proceed.”
Nick shook his head. “You need help.”
“No.” She lifted the sad excuse for a cup. “Just a bigger mug.”
Nick scraped the last bite of eggs on his plate. “Lionel’s going to drive you and Rita to the hospital.”
“Don’t I look trustworthy?”
“I don’t want Rita left alone for a second. Lionel will worry about the driving and parking. That’ll leave you free to take care of Rita.”
“You’re not coming with us?” He was so hands-on when it came to Rita, that missing this appointment surprised her. At least he trusted her to take care of Rita at the hospital.
Frowning as if he had a headache of his own, Nick glanced at his watch and rose. “I have a meeting I can’t put off.”
“I’ll call you the second I know anything,” she offered.
He looked at her strangely, as if he hadn’t expected her to realize he’d want to know right away. “Thank you. You have an interview with Alma Nisbitt this afternoon?”
“At one.” How had he found out?
“I’ll meet you back here at noon then.”
“No need to rush back on my account.”
“I want to be there.”
She sighed. She had promised to help him find answers. If she wanted him to trust her, she had to give a little. “Fine.”
After Nick left, Holly brought a plate of steaming scrambled eggs and placed it in front of Valerie without a word, leaving just as silently as she’d come in.
“Spooky how she does that, don’t you think?” Mike asked.
“This whole house has something off about it. Did you hear about the ghost last night?”
“Yeah, that Evan dude wasn’t too happy about it. Thinks it’s a joke on him.”
“No, I think it was meant as a distraction.”
Mike’s gaze jerked up, interested. “Oh, yeah? From what?”
“I’m not sure.” Just for the memory card? That seemed a little elaborate and rather hit-and-miss. How could anyone know she and Nick would be there or what they’d talk about?
“So you’re going to let Tsar Nicolas tag along again?”
She shrugged, picking at the eggs. Her taste buds had gone haywire since she’d arrived here. Even with the gooey Cheddar, the eggs had a metallic taste to them. “He’s not that bad.”
“Worse, from what I hear.”
“Who’s your source?”
Mike screwed up his face and waved a hand about. “You know how it is, people talk.”
“Either way, we have a job to do. The interview with Alma Nisbitt is set for one. I still haven’t reached Brent Weir, but his landlady says he usually gets home from his shift at the kennel around five. Make sure all of your batteries are charged and that you have plenty of tape for both.”
Mike shoved his empty plate away. “This is such a waste of my time.”
“A couple more days.”
Mike grumbled. “Zoe isn’t going to wait around for me forever.”
“She will if she’s right for you.”
Valerie gave up on the eggs and poured a refill of coffee instead. Her stomach was still tender and not up to solid food right now. “I should go see if Rita’s ready to go.”
THE MOONHILL COUNTRY CLUB was located on the western edge of town. The fieldstone-and-weathered-clap-board building had incorporated a century-old barn and its red roof into the design. The former barn now housed electric golf carts and a top-of-the-line pro shop. When Nick arrived at the restaurant, whose floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking view of Mount Monadnock, Emma Hanley was already seated and enjoying a cup of coffee.
Cripes, this was the last place he wanted to be. This scam was the last thing he wanted to discuss. Especially if his suspicions were on target.
“Nicolas! I’m so pleased to see you. How is Rita doing?”
Nick gave Emma a quick peck on the cheek. She smelled of lilacs and hair spray. “Rita looked better this morning. Dr. Marzan has her at the hospital so he can run a battery of tests.”
Switch red hair for the blond and Emma was a carbon copy of Rita. No surprise there. The women had grown up together, had the same friends, went to the same schools and married within the same elite circle. Both were widowed. And both genuinely cared for people and invested a lot of their free time and money to bettering the lives of others. Between them they’d put on enough fundraisers to build and maintain the local family shelter that served a large number of women and children in need.
Rita and Emma were much too nice for him to allow them to fall for a scam. And this Valentine Pond project was a pyramid about to topple.
Nick deposited his briefcase next to the table and took the seat across from Emma. Emma signaled a waiter who hurried to fill Nick’s coffee cup. The delicate china made him think of Valerie and her pained look at the tiny cups Rita preferred, and a hint of a smile tugged at his lips.
“The timing couldn’t be worse,” Emma said, referring to Rita’s illness. “With Valentina’s anniversary coming up…”
“Too much stress,” Nick agreed. “I’d like to show you something before Mr. Stokke arrives.”
“Oh?”
“Rita
asked me to run the numbers on the Valentine Pond project.” He bent down to retrieve a file from his briefcase. That’s what he liked about numbers. Nothing emotional about them. Sure someone could try to fudge them, but the truth was still there for anyone willing to dig. Firmly pushing away where these numbers could lead, Nick plowed on. “Stokke Development, Inc. is nothing more than a roach motel.”
Emma arched her perfectly painted eyebrows. “What do you mean?”
“Money goes in, but nothing comes out.”
“But Phase One of the project went so well. I doubled my money in little more than three months. Didn’t you see the homes going up on your drive in?”
“I saw one finished house and a bunch of cleared lots. That’s what he wants you to see. An illusion. You were one of the first investors in, so you got your money back. What he was counting on was your good word of mouth to round up more investors.” Nick pointed at the graph that all but shouted flameout. “Look here. No growth. No liquidity. He’s burning through the cash he’s rounded up, but there’s nothing to show for it. Didn’t you wonder about the lack of construction? Even the finished house is nothing more than a shell. Nothing’s been done on the inside.”
“Well, yes, but Mr. Stokke had a perfectly good explanation.”
“What did he say?”
“Something about higher yields.” She smiled sheepishly. “He was very convincing. And his numbers and charts painted a much different picture than yours.”
Of course he’d know just the right angle to take with his marks. He knew his territory, knew how to pitch and knew how to close the deal. Too bad none of the marks could see past the charm and into the cold eyes. There was no conscience there, no sense of responsibility for all the chaos he’d cause. To him, they were all suckers who deserved what they got for their greed.
“When the scheme gets to the topple point,” Nick said, biting back the anger that Emma didn’t deserve, “you’ll find that Mr. Stokke and the money will both disappear. The sale of that one house and the land won’t come close to paying back everyone who’s put up money. I really think you should get out of this before the whole thing falls apart. I’ve advised Rita against investing.”
