Sunglasses shading her eyes from the morning sun, Anjali gazed out the window as they entered Napa Valley. The Golden Gate Bridge was an hour behind them, now hills carpeted with lush vineyards stretched out on either side of the winding road.
Their destination was the Adagietto Inn, and that was pretty much all she knew. Instead of briefing her on the case during the drive up, Scott had let loose a volley of complaints against Coulter.
Anjali had sat quietly, listening to the rant. She knew Scott wasn’t a complainer. It took something big for him to lose his cool, and the fact that Coulter was God-knows-where, instead of in the car with them heading to Napa, was big.
“And for someone who can move things with his mind,” Scott continued. “He has a hard time picking his wet towels off the bathroom floor.”
Anjali turned away from the window and smiled. “Sounds like you’re winding down.”
The corner of his mouth curved up. “I think I finally got it out of my system. Thanks for letting me vent. You want to hear about the case now?”
Her smile widened, and she turned back to gaze out the window at the view. “So, this job came your way because your parents are Garrison and Penelope Wilder of the San Francisco Wilders, founding family, supporter of the arts, regular appearances in the society pages, personal friends of the governor?”
Scott shot her an amused glance. “Mother ran into Lance David at a museum showing last weekend—”
“And just happened to mention that her oldest son is a paranormal investigator?”
“I’m not clear on how the subject came up, but Mother can make conversation with anyone on anything. As it turns out, Lance and his partner, Ian—”
“By partner you mean—”
“Business and otherwise. Lance and Ian have owned and operated the inn for about four years now. I’ve never stayed there but I’m told it’s quite the place. Rooms are booked six months in advance. That’s why they decided on a new addition.”
“Ah…the new addition. Ominous music builds.”
“A month ago they began digging to put in the new supports and that’s when they found the bones.”
“Indian burial ground? And by Indian I’m referring not to myself but to a much taller race of people—Native Americans.”
“Close but no. The bones were European, old, about four hundred years—according to the people from Berkeley. Lance and Ian wanted to give the bones a proper burial, but the Berkeley team wanted to take them back for examining. And since the bones were uncovered, strange things have been happening at the inn.”
“Like what?”
“Mysterious lights, furniture rearranged or broken, bedcovers flung off. Both men have been locked out of the house, twice while not wearing any clothes. The situation became bad enough that Lance told the Berkeley team to forget the respectful burial, take the bones and be done with it. But they can’t.”
“Can’t? You mean won’t. They prefer to study the bones in their burial place?”
“No, I mean can’t. They’ve tried removing the bones several times. The first time a heavy ladder fell on the lead member of the crew, giving him a serious concussion. The second time a swarm of red ants prevented them from getting anywhere near the bones.”
“The third time?”
“The third time they said to hell with it and went back to Berkeley. Lance and Ian are currently staying in town. So it’s just you and me.”
Outside, clouds passed before the sun, plunging the countryside into sudden gloominess. Anjali shivered. “Versus a pile of bones.”
The Adagietto Inn overlooked manicured vineyards and the nearby Napa Valley hills. Anjali imagined standing under a garden trellis or sitting on the deck in the morning, watching the sun rise over the mountains.
Surely a complimentary suite was the standard exchange for successful ghost-busting activities?
Before exploring the inside, Scott wanted to check out where construction of the new addition was taking place. They crossed the grounds, heading toward the back of the inn and walking through gardens bursting with color.
The ground was gutted at the site of the construction and partly covered by a tarp. Anjali peered into the pit, but it was hard to see anything.
Scott climbed in to get a closer look. The ground was wet in certain spots, and he nearly lost his footing. Stepping over a limp bag of cement, he crouched down in front of what looked like a pile of brown brittle twigs. “Nothing but a pile of bones,” he called out.
He reached out his hand, and Anjali gasped. “Don’t touch them!” Scott looked up at her, hand shielding his eyes. She was getting a peculiar feeling. Almost like a buzzing. Her skin felt tingly.
In a matter of minutes, he was back beside her and pulling out a set of keys. “Let’s check out the inside.”
But the back door was ajar. Scott frowned. “The house is supposed to be locked up tight.”
“Do you feel that?” she asked as they walked in.
“What?”
“A vibration, sort of like a humming.”
“No.” He looked at her curiously. “Sense anything else?”
She shook her head.
Scott peered up at the landing thoughtfully. “I’ll take the second floor. Why don’t you—”
“There are only nine bedrooms,” she said firmly. “We can check them out together.”
As they moved slowly up the stairs, Anjali gazed around her. Under normal circumstances, she would have been charmed by the interior of the inn. Old original woodwork antiques mixed in with modern artwork and gorgeous European accessories. Checking out the bedrooms, she ran her hands over the exquisitely soft sheets—at least nine-hundred thread count—and took note of the fireplace and two-person whirlpool tub—one for each room
Her mind continued to catalog the decadent details while the air grew dryer. Her arm brushed against Scott’s, and the sparks of static electricity snapped between them.
There was something here all right, but she couldn’t isolate what or who it was.
Downstairs a door slammed shut.
Anjali was positive they’d left the back door closed.
The humming intensified and rose to a loud buzzing.
She covered her ears, but it didn’t make a difference. The sound pounded and echoed inside her head.
Scott grabbed her arm. She could see his lips moving, but it was as if he were speaking underwater. The words came to her garbled.
The chandelier above her head began to swing. In unison, each one of the bedroom doors opened and then slammed shut.
“Let’s go.” Scott pulled her down the stairs. He grabbed the handle of the front door but it wouldn’t budge. He fiddled with the lock, but this time the door really was being held shut by an unnatural force.
“I saw a pair of French doors,” Scott said. Quickly, she followed him into some sort of study. The moment she stepped into the room, the buzzing in her ears stopped.
She took a deep breath. “The noise—”
Her words were cut off as a tremendous force swooped down on her, pressing against her chest. She couldn’t breathe.
The pressure intensified. Gasping, she tried to draw breath. Darkness circled the edge of her gaze, and she fell to her knees.
“Anjali!” Scott made a move toward her, and a stack of thick, leather-bound books and heavy metal bookends spilled off the top shelf of the bookcase. He dived to the side, narrowly missing being hit.
On the floor, Scott reached for one of the bookends, raised himself on his elbow, and heaved it toward the glass door, shattering one of the panes. Jumping up, he reached through the opening and turned the handle. Mercifully, the door opened.
He pulled Anjali to her feet, and they raced through the door and into the garden.
Instantly, the pressure vanished and her lungs filled with air.
She took a few deep breaths, Scott stopping to look at her. “Are you okay?”
“Less talking,” she gasped. “More running.”
They sprinted through the garden and back to the car.
Anjali was panting, her hands on her knees. “What the hell was that?”
Scott leaned against the car hood and brushed his arm against his damp forehead. “I should have seen it when you mentioned the buzzing and humming. Not to mention the static charge in the air.” He shook his head in wonder. “Pure electricity.”
She straightened and shot him a look of annoyance. They’d nearly been killed or at least severely injured, and Scott sounded almost dreamy. “Evil electricity. There was a definite personality there. I never met a light bulb that wanted to kill me.”
Scott’s expression turned serious. “Well, now you have. We’ve got poltergeists.”