SEVEN

“We’ve finished our investigation here at the Bonaparte House in Bonaparte Bay, New York,” Jerry said, turning toward me. “Now, your husband claims that he has lived here every spring and summer for his whole life and that he has had many instances of hearing noises that seem to come from behind walls. He has also felt like he was being watched. And there are reports of staff people here at the restaurant having similar experiences.”

Gary continued. “We set up our equipment and spent most of the night to see if we could document any paranormal activity. You yourself have never had any experiences, right?”

“Right.”

“First off, I can tell you that this is a very unusual house, from an architectural point of view,” Gary said. “As you know, and as our audience can see from our exterior shots, the house is octagonal with two stories, a basement, and a very large cupola on top, all connected by this magnificent circular staircase.” The camera panned over to the center of the building.

“Yes.” I nodded. “My understanding is that there were a lot of octagonal houses built in the nineteenth century. The design was supposed to give more usable space for the amount of building materials, though it made for some odd-shaped rooms. Because of improved air circulation, it was supposed to promote health and well-being.”

Jerry nodded. “We’ve done some research. You are correct about the Orson Fowler architectural movement. However, this house predates Orson Fowler by several decades. It might have been an unacknowledged inspiration to him, although there is no record that he ever ventured this far north into New York State. This was not one of his houses. The Fowler houses were built of wood or masonry.”

Gary took over. “The Bonaparte House is built of solid limestone blocks. We often find increased paranormal activity in areas where limestone is present, but we don’t know why. The building materials, together with the odd interior construction and staircase, give this house some interesting acoustics, which might account for the noises. There was, however, a tradition of octagonal buildings in Europe at the time, and since this house was built by Europeans, that is likely the source of the architecture.”

If this was true, I was going to have to update the house’s history on the menu inserts again. Come to think of it, I’d never verified any of that information.

“I’d like to show you what we found,” Jerry said.

“Okay, I guess I’m ready.” Was it possible they had found something? I wouldn’t say I was a disbeliever, exactly, but any “proof” of paranormal activity would have to be pretty compelling to convince me.

“First, we set up cameras in various places all over the house and restaurant. Here is some of the footage we took.” Gary pointed to the laptop screen. “This is taken right here in the main dining room. If you’ll watch, you’ll see some orb movement, which takes place just about where we are sitting.”

“Orb movement?” I watched the screen and saw small white circles dancing around in front of the fireplace and around Napoleon’s head.

“Orbs are balls of light that sometimes appear, either to the naked eye or just in photographs, in places with paranormal activity,” Jerry piped in. “They are spherical concentrations of energy, without any sort of consciousness or intent. They can also be dust illuminated by our lights and cameras.”

That theory would certainly get my vote. I wasn’t crazy about the idea of orbs flying around my house at night, landing on me as I slept. Yikes.

“The next area we’d like you to look at is in the cupola area. The view from up there, by the way, is spectacular.”

“Yes. With eight windows facing in every direction, we can see for miles, well into the countryside and across the river into Canada,” I said.

A pair of what appeared to be junior investigators sat in the highest point of the house, one in an old midcentury-style armchair that Sophie had never been able to part with, it having belonged to her dead husband. The other guy sat in one of my dining room chairs that they must have dragged upstairs. The investigators got up and walked around, picking up some of the old books, theatrically blowing off the dust and looking at the covers. Some of Cal’s old toys were up there too. An anorexically thin bespectacled guy picked up a stuffed purple dinosaur and dangled it over the edge of the railing.

“How much will you pay me to drop him?” he clowned around. If the toy fell, it would drop three full stories, maybe four if they could aim him just right for the basement and avoid him bouncing off the railings below. This didn’t bother me much, as that talking critter was extremely annoying, but Cal had loved him and I felt defensive for her.

“I love you!” the toy said in its goofy cartoon voice as the dangler squeezed his tummy.

“I love you too!” The other guy cracked up. He picked up something from the table facing the upriver window and said, “I’ll tell you what. I’ll give you fifty bucks if you drop him down into the basement and then drop this on him.”

“Hey, man, what is that thing anyway?”

“Dude, I don’t have any idea.” He fiddled with the round end, which spun around with an audible whizzing sound like the chamber of a gun being spun in a game of Russian roulette. “Looks like a telescope. Heavy. It’s too dark to look through it, though.”

I supposed this was just an act they put on for the show, but it wasn’t funny to me. I continued to stare at the screen, as Gary broke in. “Here’s what we wanted you to see. Watch over in this corner here.”

I didn’t see anything at first, but when the tape was replayed, an amorphous shadow drifted past the window.

“We don’t know what that is, if anything. There haven’t been any reports of apparitions here, have there?”

“No.”

“Despite many hours of tape shot all through this building, that is the only thing of interest we caught on video.”

Fine by me. Looked like a plain old shadow. Could have been cast by anything, and I’d be willing to bet it wasn’t paranormal. I breathed a little sigh of relief. This interview needed to be over, and soon. I had way too many things to think about.

“Next we’ll listen to the EVPs.”

“EVPs?”

“Electronic voice phenomena,” Gary explained. “Sometimes spirits communicate with us in ways that are not audible when they are happening, but they can be picked up by our recording equipment.”

“Oh.” I wished they’d hurry up. My foot started to jiggle, but I pressed my heel to the floor to stop it.

“Here we had our equipment set up in the staircase area,” Jerry went on. “We had several hours of audio to go through. We found something interesting.”

Gary pointed to the laptop screen, which was bisected by a white line. “Watch and listen.”

A crackly recording ensued and I could see the noise following the line on the screen. There was a spike and some kind of muffled sound. I couldn’t make it out.

“Did you hear that? I’ll play it again.”

I leaned forward and listened again. I shivered. The words were faint but audible. Help me. Free.

My blood ran cold and I imagine I was white as the ghost that apparently lived in my house. I could only hope the footage had been doctored for television and they would let me in on the joke later.

“What do you think it’s saying?” Jerry prompted.

I swallowed hard. “It sounds like, ‘Help me. Free.’” My voice was not much more than a whisper.

“That’s what we heard too.”

“Based on the evidence we’ve been able to capture with our recording equipment,” Jerry said, “I honestly believe that you’ve got some paranormal activity going on here.”

Gary put a reassuring hand on my arm. “I know this is surprising, but we don’t think there is any reason for you, your family, your staff, or your customers to be worried. We think that whatever is here is benign, simply a soul trapped for some reason and asking for help to be set free.”

Jerry said, “We asked the spirit to forget his trouble and to look toward the light and pass on from this world. Hopefully, we’ve been able to help him.”

I nodded. I wasn’t quite sure what to say to this, so I just said, “Thank you.” I hoped I didn’t look as dumb and inarticulate as I felt.

Jerry and Gary stood up and I shook their hands in turn.

“Thank you for letting us investigate the Bonaparte House,” Jerry said. “If anything else happens, or you feel uncomfortable in any way, just give us a call. We’d also like to talk to your husband about his experiences when he returns.”

I hesitated, only for a moment. “I’ll ask him to call you when he comes back.” If he comes back, I thought.

“Again,” Gary concluded solicitously, “if we can do anything for you, just get in touch with us.” He handed me a DVD in a hard plastic case. “This is a video for you of parts of our investigation.”

“I have to say I’m surprised by what you’ve shown me,” I said, regaining some of my composure and recollecting that this was also a free advertising opportunity. “But I do hope you’ll come back sometime and enjoy Bonaparte Bay with your families.” I smiled. Whether it looked sincere, I’d just have to wait and see. It didn’t feel that way.

“We may just do that. Bye, now.”

“Cut!” one of the camera operators yelled from somewhere. Almost immediately cords were rolled up and equipment was moved out.

I breathed a sigh of relief. “Guys, feel free to pack up your things and then come back in for a meal, on the house, before you leave for downstate.” This would irritate Sophie to no end, but our customers would enjoy it. I opened up both sets of pocket doors to the other dining rooms and instructed the server filling in as hostess tonight to start seating the patrons lined up outside. News travels fast in a village this size, even among tourists.

I closed the door to the relative sanctuary of my office and sat down. I poured myself a glass of red wine even though I was technically still on duty. The delicious liquid coated my throat and moved down my esophagus and into my stomach, where it made a warm and comforting pool in my belly. Some brandy might have been nicer, but I would have had to go to the bar for that. I did not want to see anybody until I had had a chance to unwind a little.

A ghost in my house? Sophie and Spiro’s house, I amended. I had to acknowledge the idea that this place had a secret life of its own, independent of the Nikolopatos family. It apparently harbored both a treasure and a ghost, like some creepy hulking edifice in a Victorian gothic novel. I was a bit older than the typical ingénue heroine, I thought ruefully, and I was more or less confident that a cloaked villain was not going to appear on the scene and whisk me away somewhere. Although the way things were headed, I couldn’t rule that out.

The intercom buzzed and I started. “Georgie?” Sophie’s voice was sharp and accusatory. “Georgie, are you in there?” She was no doubt going to chastise me about the free meals I’d given away. It wouldn’t occur to her that the increase in business they had generated would more than make up for some gyros and a few orders of French fries. “Georgie!”

I ignored her.

The telephone rang and I looked at the caller ID. Keith Morgan. I took another sip of the wine and picked up the receiver. “Hi, Keith.”

“Hi,” he said. “Hope I caught you at a good time.”

“I’ve had better days.” That was an understatement. “It’s good to hear from you,” I said, and regretted it. I shouldn’t be encouraging him, but the friendly voice was a welcome relief.

“It’s good to hear you too.” I could almost hear the smile in his voice. “Honey?” I wished he’d stop calling me that. “Have you found that business card? The one from the Coast Guard captain?”

I reached into my pocket and pulled it out, warm and a little wrinkled. I’d intended to call Keith about this earlier, but had been waylaid by the television people.

“Yes, I have it.”

“Good. What’s the name on the card?”

“Captain Jack Conway, U.S. Coast Guard.” I read him the phone number.

“I don’t recognize that name at all. I’m going to see what I can find out. As I said before, he would have no reason to be looking into Big Dom’s death.”

“He wasn’t wearing a uniform when he came in.” I almost added, “Ask him about the cell phone he somehow stole from my desk,” but thought better of it. I wasn’t ready to confide in anyone yet about Spiro being taken unless it was the state police, who still hadn’t called me back. I didn’t want Spiro to be hurt, but I didn’t see how I could get him back without professional assistance.

“That might not mean anything. He might have been off duty, although if he was part of some official investigation, you’d think he would have been in uniform.”

“That’s what I thought too.”

The intercom buzzed again. “Georgie!” The voice was shrill and angry.

“I guess that’s my cue to go,” Keith said.

“I’ve been avoiding Sophie, but I guess I’m going to have to respond sooner or later, so I may as well get it over with.”

There was a slight pause. “Georgie, would you like to come over for a nightcap or a decaf after the restaurant closes tonight?”

“Uh, I’ll have to see how things go. Can I call you later and let you know?”

“Sure.” He sounded hopeful. “Please say yes.”

“I’ll call you later. Bye, Keith.”

“Bye, honey.”

The intercom buzzed for a full three seconds. “Georgie, I’m coming in there right now!”