The household started early; Dallas had barely come downstairs when he heard Jonah’s footsteps behind him. The older man beamed. “You are an early bird—I think I just hear Genie and Sydney arriving now.”
Dallas shrugged. “I like mornings,” he said.
“And nights, too, huh? Saw you down in the parlor, late last night.”
“Guess I’m not much of a sleeper,” Dallas said.
Jonah paused. “Your room is all right?”
“The room is just great,” Dallas assured him. He hesitated, because Jonah was looking at him. “I was just heading outside. I love mornings alone.”
“Well, you should have some time. Our famous breakfast will be in just a bit,” Jonah said.
“Thanks. Looking forward to it.”
Jonah went through to the kitchen; Dallas headed out back to the courtyard. He found a seat at one of the tables some distance from the house and pulled out his phone—he thanked God for cell phones. They made it possible to talk away without anyone thinking you were crazy when they saw you sitting alone.
He had barely taken a seat—setting the phone on the white-painted wrought iron table—when the seats next to him became occupied.
“How is she doing?” Monty asked.
“You’re referring to Kristi?” Dallas asked.
Monty gave him a look that indicated he might well be an imbecile.
“She seems to be doing all right. In all this time...you never showed yourselves to her?” Dallas asked.
“Kristi didn’t live here before—she didn’t grow up here,” Justin explained. “Of course, we’ve watched over her through the years—”
“To the best of our ability,” Monty added.
“But now...” Justin said.
“It’s like a disturbance in the Force,” Monty said.
“The Force?” Dallas queried.
Justin sighed. “Jedidiah McLane—our great-great-whatever who just passed away—was a huge fan of the Star Wars movies,” Justin explained.
“TV—fabulous invention!” Monty said. He smiled, but then his smile faded. “The point is this—there is just a sense...a stirring, if you will. We see what goes on—overhear people talking. And it feels wrong, as if something going on does have to do with the house.”
“We would sometimes walk across the square with Jedidiah, over to Ian Murphy’s house,” Justin said. “He was a fascinating man. He had all kinds of artifacts—left them to the historical society. He has a grandson going to school out in California—the kid came back for the funeral and all, and the house is his, but he made sure that things that should be preserved go to a museum. He’s a nice kid—has a caretaker watching after the house until this summer, when he’s graduating and coming home.”
“Murphy was a good man?” Dallas asked.
“Ian was great.” The answer came from the doorway; Kristi had apparently opened the door just in time to hear the question. “He was kind, giving—and he loved stories. He and Jedidiah could talk for hours.”
Dallas quickly stood—as did the ghosts. As Kristi approached, Dallas pulled out the chair across the table for her.
“We can’t quite manage chairs,” Monty said apologetically.
“They’re quite heavy, I’m afraid,” Justin said.
“It’s quite all right, thank you,” Kristi said, taking a seat. She looked at Dallas, and then apologetically at Monty. “Ian and Jedidiah argued the Civil War over and over. Ian didn’t believe that you’d have killed your wife, Monty, but he would often be the devil’s advocate on the subject. What happened here occurred with only the family present—and a small company of Union soldiers. Ian used to argue that it was possible that Monty meant to kill one of the Union soldiers, that he drew, and maybe Trinity tried to stop him, and when the first bullet flew—suddenly everyone was dead.”
“I would have never harmed her, never in a thousand years,” Monty said passionately.
“You were on the wrong side, son, the wrong side,” Justin said.
“Well,” Kristi told him, “if it makes you feel any better, no one in your family ever believed that you were guilty of having killed her.”
He smiled at her. “I was grateful. I heard you defending me the other day.”
“The wrong side,” Justin said again, shaking his head.
Monty let out a long sigh and leaned forward, speaking passionately to Justin. “You—of all people—should understand where we were at the time! You were there at the beginning. Have you forgotten—there were thirteen independent colonies? The first movement was the Lee Resolution, crafted during the Second Continental Congress. I repeat—thirteen independent colonies, and the citizens of those colonies deeply resenting the fact that they had no representation in the British parliament. When Jefferson was asked to write the Declaration of Independence, his greatest difficulty was in creating a document that would please thirteen separate and distinct colonies.” He looked at them, frustrated.
“Yes, and they were fighting for states’ rights, but the right that meant the most was slavery,” Justin said.
“Yes, I know!” Monty said. “And, yes, we can all see so clearly. Slavery was a total abomination. Today, any sane man looks back and wonders what the hell we were thinking. No human being has the right to own another. I absolutely condemn it. But remember, back then—we were barely beyond being separate and distinct colonies. Lee was a Virginian—he was as loyal to Virginia as you were, Justin, to a patriotic cause, and just as I was loyal to Georgia. I wasn’t a horrible human being.” He paused, letting out a long sigh. “I did not kill my wife, I did not kill my father. I loved my wife, and I...”
He paused again, seeming to take a deep breath, and he looked at them all. “I’m not helping any here, am I? But I swear we want to help.”
“We kept guard on the yard last night,” Justin explained. “But no one came here—no one at all.”
“Tell me, Kristi, you knew Ian Murphy. And Lieutenant, Captain—you certainly saw the man, and watched many of his interactions with Jedidiah. Would he have jumped from his balcony?” Dallas asked.
“I don’t believe so,” Monty said. “He declared he’d go out on his own terms, but...he wasn’t that badly off yet. I mean, sure, he hated chemotherapy, but he was through with a bout of it, and he was doing well enough.”
“Not that either of us would know what it is to suffer through disease,” Justin said.
“Kristi?” Dallas asked.
She wasn’t looking his way; she was staring at Monty. Dallas seemed to have startled her, and when she turned to look at him again, he was startled anew by the very simple and pure beauty of her face, the kind that took his breath away. It wasn’t so much an innocence in her eyes, but rather an honesty. Something leaped in his chest, and he realized that though he might be working, he was feeling far from professional.
She shook her head. “I just don’t know. They were both ill. Ian died before Uncle Jed, but the last time I saw Ian...” She lifted her hands. “The last time I was there with Jed, Ian was especially cheerful and seemed to be doing fine. He did tell us that day that when it came down to it, he wasn’t going to live in miserable pain. He also told us that his affairs were in order—his son and daughter-in-law died young in a boating accident—and he’d arranged everything for his grandson. I’ve met Jamie Murphy, and he’s a bright and giving young man. He had been home, and he’d gone through many of Ian’s collectibles with him so that they could be given to the proper museums. Jamie promised that no matter what, he’d finish up at school, and that’s what he’s doing. He was here for the funeral.” She hesitated, looking at Dallas. “I can call Jamie, if you wish to speak with him.”
Dallas was thoughtful a minute. “You and Jamie are friends?”
“He’s about six years younger than I am, but yes, we’re friendly. We bonded over the fact that we both grew up with slightly obsessed grandparents. Though I didn’t actually grow up here, you know. But I was a lucky kid. I spent a lot of time with Jedidiah.”
Dallas knew that her parents were still alive, because of the extensive files Adam Harrison had given him.
“I’m curious on your front—didn’t your parents want this house?” he asked her.
She laughed. “Lord, no! My dad can’t stand old houses. He and my mom live in San Diego now, near my older sister, who is a makeup artist and has three little kids. They wouldn’t leave her and those babies for a gold-plated mansion. My parents are also doing just fine, financially—they invested well.” Something in her face suddenly hardened as she glared at him. “Dad loved his uncle Jed, and we all spent plenty of time here growing up, but it made sense—felt right—that McLane House come to me. There’s no bad blood in my family over this inheritance.”
“I wasn’t suggesting that!” he assured her. She had a temper on her as well—and she was fiercely loyal. “I was hoping you could get Jamie Murphy to allow us entry to that house.”
“Oh! Well, of course. All I have to do is call Jamie. He’ll be more than willing to help. I’ll go ahead and text him—just tell him I’m looking for some notes Jedidiah had told me about that referred to the history of both houses. I know he won’t mind.”
“That would be great,” Dallas told her.
Sydney came out of the house, bearing two mugs of coffee. “Good morning, you two! Early risers, huh?”
She was oblivious to the ghost she leaned past to set the coffee mugs on the table, but she shivered as she moved back. “A little bit of chill in the air this morning, eh?”
“A bit of a chill,” Dallas agreed. “And thank you! We could have come in for coffee. You didn’t have to come out here.”
“I don’t mind,” Sydney said. She grinned. “I’m a hospitality major—I’m going to own half the city one day, I swear it! And I’m learning from Kristi. She always looks for the little things to do that make a guest more comfortable.”
“Thanks,” Kristi said lightly.
“Besides, I want to talk to you, if I may, please—if I’m not interrupting anything important,” Sydney said.
She was waiting for Kristi to say okay, take a seat; the ghosts of Monty McLane and Justin McLane quickly stood.
“Uh—sure,” Kristi said.
Sydney slid into a seat. “May I be here for the séance?” she asked.
Kristi frowned, looking at her. “Sydney, you know that I...”
“You think that Shelley is a crock, right?” Sydney said flatly. “I do, too. She changes her story for whoever is in the house—you know, if they want Monty McLane to have been guilty, she hears Trinity crying, and the indignation of the Union troops. And if they want Monty to be innocent, she tells the story that way—that Monty is haunting the house to reach his Trinity. She is absolutely full of it.”
“Okay, but...”
“Carl Brentwood!” Sydney said, her eyes wide. “I want to be in a video with Carl Brentwood.”
Kristi grinned. “Sydney, if you—and Genie—want to be in the video, of course you can be. You know this house like few other people, and if anyone deserves to be in a video they want to be in, it’s the two of you.”
“The director and cameraman—same person—is supposedly going to show up for breakfast. I just wanted to ask you if you were okay with me before the dude got here.”
“It’s just fine with me,” Kristi assured her.
Sydney leaped back up. “Super! I’ll tell Genie. She never really saw anything that Carl Brentwood was in, but hey—he really is a nice guy. She likes him. A séance and a video—they kind of break up the day-to-day, you know? Thanks!” She started back, and then turned around, grinning.
“I’d have brought you both coffee anyway,” she said.
“I know,” Kristi told her.
Sydney ran off and Kristi stood. “I’ll text Jamie Murphy right away,” she promised him. “I’ve got to go meet up with this cameraman-slash-director. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything.”
Monty was standing in front of her when she turned. He smiled. “This is one séance I’m looking forward to.”
Kristi paused, frowning at him. “Can she... I mean Shelley. Can she...summon you?”
Monty laughed. “No. Shelley has no gift for the dead—she reads people. But trust me, she can’t make anything happen at this séance. Nothing at all.”
Kristi nodded. “Thanks,” she told him softly. She glanced back at Dallas, and then hurried into the house.
Dallas stood slowly. He was very interested in seeing what was going to happen at the séance.
“The house is awesome,” Matthew Guyer said. “Absolutely fantastic. Miss Stewart, if it’s all right with you, we’ll do our interviews in the front parlor and the courtyard. Maybe, if you don’t mind, you could even tell us about your Revolutionary War ancestor out by the monuments.” He was a man of about forty, sun-bronzed, with a crinkled face and cheerful smile. “Let’s face it, the house is known to be haunted. I think it’s cool that one of your ancestors was hanged as a spy—he gave the ultimate full measure for the birth of this country.”
“I’ll be happy to talk about Justin,” Kristi told him.
She sat with Matthew, the main videographer and director for the project—“Call me Matt,” he’d said—and Carl Brentwood, Murray Meyer and Claire Danson in the front parlor; although the séance wouldn’t be until the following night, two leaves had been added to the big round mahogany table there, enough to allow for all those who would participate in the séance, along with Shelley.
“And you’re going to be here for the séance? I mean, if the ghosts were going to show up for anyone, they’d show up for you, right?” Matt asked.
“I’ll be here. I won’t be at the table.”
“Ah, that’s too bad,” Matt said, looking at Carl.
“Two of the people closest to the house will be at the table,” Carl told him. “Genie and Sydney, chef and housekeeper. Kristi is kind enough to let us do this—I think we’ll let her stay off camera if she wants.”
“Seriously, you’re better off without me,” Kristi said.
“You live here, and in Savannah—and you doubt the existence of ghosts?” Matthew asked, and she wasn’t sure if he was teasing or not.
“Oh, I think we’re all haunted by ghosts in one way or another, Matt,” Kristi said. “But here, in my house, I’d like to be part of the control, I guess.”
“That’s fine, of course,” Matthew said. “So, at the table, we’ll have Carl—center, right across from the medium, Shelley. Then the Knox family—Granger, Janet and Lacey—to Carl’s right. And to his left, of course, your people—”
“Genie Turner and Sydney Gary,” Kristi provided. “Genie created that delicious tart you just ate, and Sydney is the lovely young woman who served it to you.”
“Great. So they can be to Carl’s right with Claire and Murray. Except...”
He paused, frowning.
“What’s the matter?” Carl asked.
“We need the sides to be even—I want you exactly across from the medium, and that will put four other people on one side of you and only three on the other.”
“There’s a gentleman who manages the house,” Kristi said. “Jonah—”
“Kristi...”
She looked up and saw that Genie, Sydney and Jonah were watching the meeting, and it was Jonah who had spoken. He walked over to her. “Forgive me. Kristi Stewart, I swear I would crawl buck naked through crushed glass to help you on most things, but... I just can’t. I just can’t be part of any séance.”
Kristi laughed softly. “Jonah, you don’t have to crawl naked through crushed glass for me—nor do you have to be part of the séance. Carl, if you want another person, we’ll find one easily, I’m sure.”
“We don’t want just anyone,” Carl said with dismay. He brightened. “Maybe Mr. Wicker will change his mind, and he’ll be willing to be a part of it.”
“I think it may seem silly to him,” Kristi said.
The man walked down the street and chatted with the dead as if they were old friends—he really would find a séance ridiculous. She had thought them silly, and now...
Now she wished she’d never heard the word séance.
“I have friends in the city,” Kristi suggested.
“Let me at least ask him, Kristi, please,” Carl begged.
“A stranger could be good—they won’t be biased. I mean, I don’t think that Mr. or Mrs. Knox or their daughter are biased in any way, but...” Claire said, and then paused, smiling gently as she looked at Kristi. “We’re going to ask about Trinity and Captain Monty McLane. I mean...well, she and he are the ghosts who haunt the house. You even have a mannequin of Monty up in the window, so you must have an opinion on what happened.”
“The mannequin has been there for years,” Kristi said.
“Years!” Jonah agreed.
“Well, still,” Murray Meyer said, breaking in after a long silence and listening to the others, “the history books swear that Monty shot down his beloved Trinity. I mean, I know you object to that version of history, Kristi, but it is the one written down. Sad, and yet...well, your ancestor might have been a fine fellow just caught up in pain and agony. And I sure hope he comes out and tells us.”
“History was written by Albert Huntington—the Union colonel who took over the house after the official surrender of the city,” Kristi said, irritated. She shook her head. “He might well have written anything.”
Claire laughed softly. “Still singing ‘Dixie’ and hating Yankees, huh?”
“No. Not at all. We’re one great country. We strive toward equality these days, and I am passionate that we do, Claire. I’m just saying there was no one else here at the time—except for Albert Huntington and his men. Josiah McLane was a boy at the time, and not in the house when his family was slaughtered. People have always been people, Claire. And being on the winning side doesn’t automatically make a man good.”
She realized they were all looking at her uncomfortably—of course she would be defensive; it was her family.
“Good Lord, people, the Civil War ended in 1865. I’m sure as hell not still fighting it—like I said,” Kristi reminded them, “no one knows what really happened here! Don’t feel sorry for me, and please, think whatever you want to think.” She was too aggravated to sit any longer. With a smile she rose. “Matthew, please feel free to stay at the house as long as you like for your camera angles and whatever. I’m sorry we don’t have another room, but I’m in love with the 17Hundred90 House myself, and I know you’ll be comfortable there. I have some work, so, if you don’t mind, I have to go, but... I’ll see all of you later!”
She managed a gracious smile, grabbed up her handbag and headed out.
She realized she had gotten angry and walked out of her own house—with nowhere really to go. She didn’t know where Dallas Wicker had got to, but she did know she needed to leave—or else she’d turn into a truly horrible hostess.
She dug out her phone; Jamie Murphy had gotten back to her. Kristi was more than welcome to spend all the time she needed at the house. He hoped all was well with her and if she made any “cool” discoveries, she was to let him know.
She texted back a thank-you.
He texted in return.
Keith Hollis the yard guy has key, but I think there’s one at your house, too, in a drawer in the kitchen. Gramps always told me that if I was locked out, there was a key at McLane House. Let me know if you find it—on some kind of cartoon character keychain.
She was happy to go to Ian Murphy’s house—if he was haunting the place, he’d be one nice ghost. And he’d make life easy—she’d just ask him if he’d been pushed off the balcony!
She didn’t want to go back inside—she’d just escaped. Sad, to think that she wanted to escape her own house—a place she loved.
But if she wanted to see if she had a key, she had to go back. She hadn’t walked that far, just over to the obelisk in the square, the one that honored Nathanael Greene.
She turned and headed back, but didn’t go to the front. She walked around to the side entrance and fumbled with her own keychain to find the key to the side door. When she entered, Genie was in the kitchen rinsing the morning dishes and setting them into the dishwasher.
“Sneaking in, eh?” Genie asked her.
“Yes.”
Genie sniffed, “Frankly, you want my opinion? You shouldn’t sit that séance out.”
“Genie—what if I freak out and tell everyone that Shelley is moving the table with her knee?”
“You’re not going to freak out—you never freak out. But if you don’t become involved, God knows where those people will lead Shelley. Before you know it, they’ll have every McLane who ever lived doing something wicked. Or worse—they’ll create some kind of evil ghost or do something awful. I mean, Sydney and I can try to lead things in the right direction, but we’re not you.” She studied a plate, decided it was rinsed well enough and set in it in the dishwasher.
“Haven’t you realized yet that people believe what they want to believe?” Kristi asked her.
“I believe Sydney has a crush on our young actor. Oh, and a crush on the PI guy, too. Not in a bad way—you know Sydney. But if the actor wants her to see a ghost, she’s going to see a ghost. It will just be better if you’re part of it.”
“Have you worked on Jonah yet?”
“You heard Jonah—crushed glass. He’d crawl through it buck naked. But no séance. I think he means it. When Jedidiah was so sick and Jonah was answering for him, Jonah allowed the séances, but he always hated them.”
“Um, maybe. I don’t know. I’ll think about it,” Kristi said, moving over toward the counter and rummaging through the drawers.
“Kristi, what are you doing? Can I help you any?”
“I’m looking for the spare key to the Murphy place.”
“Oh—here,” Genie said, walking over to the drawer next to the refrigerator. “It’s on some kind of a cartoon keychain.” Genie paused and stared at her, frowning. “You going over to the Murphy place?”
“I am.”
Genie opened the drawer and produced the keychain, handing it to Kristi. She shivered. “You think you should go over there alone?”
“Why not? Ian Murphy and Jedidiah were best friends.”
“Bad juju,” Genie said.
“Bad juju—from a nice man? And since when did you believe in juju?”
“I don’t know,” Genie said. “Lately, I guess. Anyway—”
“Not to worry. I’ll be fine.”
“Okay. Why are you going over there?”
“There’s just been a lot of speculation lately...about this house.”
“And you think you’re going to find answers—when Ian and Jedidiah looked for them over and over again throughout the years, and came up blank?”
“Who knows?” Kristi said. She gave Genie a quick hug.
“That was nice—but what was it for?” Genie asked her.
Kristi laughed. “Caring!” she told her.
Key in hand, she hurried out of the house and toward the square. A tour guide was talking about Oglethorpe and the founding of Savannah.
Oglethorpe had been quite a man, Kristi thought. He’d founded the colony with a tremendous generosity of spirit, lived in a tent for a very long time, and made friends with the Yamacraw, the local Native American tribe, and meant it and stayed friends. He’d outlawed slavery; he’d planned the city as the old town still stood, with the beautiful squares and symmetrical design.
The Murphy house was on the other side of the square and technically—like McLane House—on a side street.
Kristi paused in front of it; the yard had been kept up. It could use new paint, but it wasn’t peeling badly in any way. It still looked forlorn. As if the house itself knew the master was gone and would not come home again.
Kristi thought of Genie’s words as she headed up the walk and the few steps that led to a porch very much like her own. Bad juju.
There was plenty of voodoo in the city, and Kristi knew a number of people who practiced voodoo as their religion—using it just as lovingly and respectfully as any other religion or sect. No one practiced bad juju—at least, not in her circles.
She slipped the key into the door and then stepped into the front hallway.
She’d been in the house so very many times. As a child, as a teen—babysitting Jamie Murphy. As an adult, sitting with Jedidiah and Ian as they argued. They were both well-educated; they agreed on so much, and yet, they were quick to take on arguments for the sake of debate, but always ending their conversations as friends.
Ian’s bedroom and office were both upstairs.
Kristi was surprised to discover she didn’t really want to go to the second floor—and she was more surprised when she spoke aloud to herself. “Dallas Wicker is the one who wants to be here—and he disappeared on me!”
The house remained silent.
Because of her recent discovery of the McLane ghosts, she still hesitated in the entry. Feeling ridiculous, she called out. “Ian... Ian Murphy, are you...here?”
And still, the house was silent.
Shaking off her caution, she ran up the stairs. She burst into Ian’s office, where little had changed since he died. His desk was massive, and the entire office was lined with bookshelves. Ian had history books that ranged from ancient China to Africa, Europe and the New World. He’d collected reference books on subjects from anatomy, biology and chemistry to zoology. He’d visited museums all over the world, and from every single one, he’d brought back the catalog. One of her tasks, for an allowance Ian had insisted on giving her when she had been young, had been to organize some of his bookshelves. It had been an easy task—she’d been enamored with his library.
Despite the range of his interests, Ian Murphy had always kept an entire wall dedicated to the United States—and to the wars that his country had fought, from the revolution to the present. Several shelves were dedicated to the Civil War.
“Where to begin?” she murmured. It was dim in the office, faint daylight sneaking in through half-shuttered blinds. A little dust had started to coat the room.
While she stood there contemplating, she heard a strange skittering sound; it seemed to come from downstairs, directly beneath her.
The kitchen was right below.
She froze, wondering if someone could be in the house. There could easily be someone in the house, she told herself. Jamie had told her a caretaker was looking after the place—Keith Hollis. She should have called him to begin with, so she didn’t scare or startle anyone.
She turned to head back down the stairs and then froze; she thought she heard the back door open and close. Again, she tried to assure herself it was perfectly natural.
But why would the yard guy slip out quietly—especially if he had heard her? Or had someone just slipped in?
Suddenly frightened, she went flying back down the stairs. Throwing the door open, she launched herself outside—and nearly plowed right into Dallas Wicker.
He caught her by the shoulders, half-smiling as he looked into her eyes.
“More ghosts?”
She shook her head. “I—I tried to find a ghost.”
“Really?” He seemed surprised. And then immediately worried. “What happened—why are you running out?”
Sunlight was streaming down. It was a beautiful day. There was no darkness, and no shadows whatsoever surrounding them.
She felt silly.
“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “It’s an old house, and it creaks and...I scared myself.”
“I don’t think of you as being a nervous person,” he told her.
“Even after I nearly knocked you over?”
He was quiet for a minute, then indicated the door. “Want to go in?”
“Okay. How did you know I was here?”
“Genie—I asked her at the house.”
They entered; he closed and locked the door and looked around the entry, the stairs that led up and the hallway that led off to the kitchen and dining rooms.
“No one should be in here, right?”
“No, not unless the guy watching over the place had to come in for some reason. The yard guy—his name is Keith Hollis. As far as I know, he’s the only one. But then again, until I texted Jamie Murphy today, I didn’t know I had a key.”
“Your uncle had a spare?”
“Right. Ian had told Jamie if he ever locked himself out, he could come over and get a key from Jedidiah.”
“Okay, two things—call or text Jamie Murphy, and then ask if it’s all right to call the yard guy and find out if he’s been in here. Then you can let him know you’re going to be going through some of Ian’s notes and papers.”
Kristi wished she didn’t feel quite so much like leaning against Dallas. Wished she wasn’t so aware of the weight of his hands on her shoulders, or even the feeling created by his small smile as he reacted to her, looked at her. He was a guest; she barely knew him. No, he was worse than a guest. He’d admitted to her that he was FBI. That meant he was looking for...for very bad things.
She shouldn’t be feeling so powerfully attracted to him.
She moved away quickly, pulling out her phone. Jamie responded to her right away, telling her he was in class, but if she needed to talk, he’d be free later. She texted she just wanted to let Hollis know she was in the house, and Jamie texted her a phone number.
She’d met Hollis before—he did some of the yards in the area. While Jonah had done most of the work at McLane House—along with boys hired now and then to give him a hand—she’d considered hiring Hollis. Jonah was getting too old for a lot of the heavier labor.
She just hadn’t managed to tell that to Jonah yet.
As she made her call to Hollis, Dallas moved off, looking into the kitchen and dining room. She was surprised to feel an uneasy tingle of fear as he disappeared from view through the archway to the dining room.
Hollis answered; Kristi identified herself and he seemed glad to hear from her, and he thanked her for letting him know Jamie had said it was all right for her to go through Ian’s papers.
“Great to hear from you, Kristi. You doing okay? I always knew what store both Ian and old Jedidiah had in you—they’d be happy to hear you were going through all the books. I helped Jamie—saw to it that an old Enfield, a cache of buttons and all kinds of other stuff went to the museum, but...well, you know. Jamie wanted time to go through the books and notes and all. I’m sure he’s happy you’re there.”
“Thanks, Keith,” she said. Dallas was still in another room. “Hey, has anyone been in here?”
“Just me. I come in once a week and check the doors and windows. I was thinking to call Jamie about bringing someone in to dust, but haven’t gotten to it yet. You use the key Jedidiah had?” Hollis asked.
She actually pulled the phone away from her ear and looked at it for a second. Apparently, everyone but her seemed to have known she had a key to the Murphy house.
“Yes, that’s right,” she said. “I talked to Jamie before I came in, of course.”
“Of course,” he said easily.
“Keith, does anyone else have a key?” she asked.
“Not that I know about,” he told her. “Why?” he asked worriedly. “Does it look like somebody broke in there?”
“No, no, everything is fine,” she assured him.
“Well, good luck with those books and papers, Kristi,” he said. “And thanks for letting me know what’s going on.” She hung up and hesitated, looking at the archway off the hall.
She headed into the dining room. The drapes were closed, and while little pieces of sunlight made their way through, the room was in shadow. Lace covered the table, which held a candelabra centerpiece, candles long put out. The old cabinets held dishes, just waiting to be set upon the table for a dinner party. All looked as it had when Ian had been alive. Except there seemed to be an aura of death, of lives lived and lost, of something just a shade eerie, and just a shade sad, about the whole place.
“Ian?” she said softly, but there was no reply. And yet, she had a feeling someone had been there, someone moving through the closed and lost world who didn’t belong there.
Kristi walked into the kitchen; the coffeemaker stood on the counter, the butcher-block table was clean.
There was a sudden rustling sound, as if the wind had picked up beyond the house, and as if it hid a multitude of other sounds, whispers within the house...
There was someone near.
She bolted toward the back door just as it opened, and Dallas Wicker stepped back into the house.
He looked at her, frowning.
“Someone is in here!” she whispered.