Chapter Two

Daylight revealed the valley to them as they stepped out of the door into a cold, crisp morning. A sprinkling of snow had fallen during the night, coating the grassy slope. Steep forested slopes tended away to either side, the vibrant fall colors fading with the approach of winter, and Claudia could see the distant silver-blue shimmer of a lake to the east. A solitary sail rode across the still surface, heading for a point on the far shore.

"Wow!" Martin rubbed his hands together. "It's snowed again."

"We're quite high up here, and winter’s not far off." Claudia looked at the snow with a frown.

"Why the long face?" He slipped his arm around her waist. "Didn't you once say you like the first snows of winter?"

"Yeah, but that was back in New York." She waved an arm. "Out here, I'm reminded of what havoc it can do. Sure, a dusting of snow looks wonderful, but we get some real deep stuff in Indiana. It's no fun if you have to dig your car out and drive in it!"

"I know what you mean. It only takes about an inch of snow in Britain and the whole country grinds to a halt."

She chuckled. "Martin, now I know you're an Englishman. You're complaining about the weather!"

"Okay, point taken." He held up his hands and winked. "I'll be quiet."

She pecked him on the cheek. "You'd better not keep quiet! I don't go for the strong silent types."

Pulling up the collar of her coat against a probing cold breeze, Claudia slipped her hand through the crook of Martin's arm and they made their way towards the restaurant and breakfast.

In daylight the resort’s main building was huge, a four-storey stone and timber affair that filled the entire south-facing slope of the valley. Rustic-looking chimney stacks thrust up from the roof in an irregular pattern, smoke trailing from three of them.

"That smoke reminds me; where was that bonfire we passed last night?"

"It was on that bend in the drive." Martin pointed and blinked. "Oh!"

"Yeah, it's what I thought." She scanned the place they'd passed in the early hours of the previous evening. The gap in the hedge made the spot easy to recognize, and the dusting of snow was very thin there, but she could see no sign of a blackened patch on the grass to indicate burning had taken place. "Damn!"

"Very odd," he said softly. "Now, why didn't I pick that up?"

"Lost in the background count, perhaps?"

"Could well be so." His handsome face wore an expression of mixed interest and annoyance.

She pulled on his arm. "Don't beat yourself up over it, Martin. Let's go eat. We can poke around down there later if you want."

* * * *

The restaurant filled most of the western end of the main building, a wooden veranda providing shade and an extensive outdoor eating section for milder weather. When she and Martin entered, a number of people were gathered at a long table set next to the self-service counter and the buzz of conversation dropped as they looked up.

Bruce was sitting in deep discussion with a woman at a separate table. They were sipping coffee from huge mugs; a litter of greasy plates spread to one side of the table was evidence of their breakfast. As they entered Bruce saw them, got up from his seat and waved. "Claudia! Martin! Good morning. Help yourself to food then come sit here."

"Thanks."

They walked along the counter and took a selection of food. Claudia helped herself to scrambled eggs and a sausage and smiled inwardly as Martin piled his plate with bacon, sausages, scrambled eggs, tomatoes, hash browns and mushrooms.

"I do love a fry-up for breakfast," he said, filling a cup with coffee. "It sets a man up for the day."

"For the month too, I should think!" she replied and made a mental note to keep an eye on his waistline. It gave her a delicious little thrill to know that she now had such a wonderful guy to love and look after.

They took their trays over to where Bruce sat. "Have a good night, folks?" he asked.

"We slept like a log, thanks," Martin said, with a wink to Claudia.

"Ah, the good ol' fresh mountain air!" Bruce said. He gestured at the woman. "I'd like you to meet Laurel Kratzmer, our resort manager. Laurel has her finger on the pulse of this place. If anyone knows what's going on around here, she does."

"Mrs. Kratzmer." She and Martin reached across to shake hands.

"Oh, please, call me Laurel." She smiled at them warmly and Claudia weighed her up covertly as she tucked into her eggs.

A handsome, tanned, dark-haired Jewish woman of an indeterminate age between 40 or 50, Laurel Kratzmer had a pleasant smile of even white teeth and the air of a professional hostess. Her eyes seemed bright, her personality pleasant, but Claudia sensed a degree of neediness behind her manner, a desire to be liked.

"Naturally, Laurel's fully aware of why you're here, Martin," Bruce said in a low voice.

Laurel chuckled. "I sure am!" She rested her chin on her hands and gazed at him. "Martin, I must say I find this fascinating. I'm looking forward to working with you."

"Likewise, I'm sure," he said, smiling politely as he sprinkled salt on his food.

Bruce waved a hand. "Go ahead and enjoy your breakfast, folks; we can talk as you eat."

Martin began to eat. After a few mouthfuls he nodded appreciatively. "This is good!"

"Yep, it sure is. One of the few things we've got right around here," Bruce said with a half-smile.

"Lenny, our chef, is a treasure!" Laurel nodded. "He cooks like an angel."

Bruce's smile widened into a grin. "His looks notwithstanding."

Martin let the comment pass by. "Have you had any…unusual experiences, Laurel?" he asked.

"Oh, yeah! Plenty!" She leaned back and laughed, drawing curious glances from the staff at the long table. "Most of which are due to all too human causes, I assure you. Unusual experiences in your line of business?" She reflected. "I've had a few, but not here. I've been manager of the resort since March this year, and before that I stayed here with my parents when I was a girl."

"Not so long ago, then," he said.

Claudia shot him a mocking glance and scooped up more egg. Martin's natural gallantry and politeness had stood out like a beacon amidst the hurry and rush of the New York metropolis. It was one of the many things that'd attracted her to him. Even so, if it worked on her it would also act on other women. She swallowed and kept a covert watch on Laurel.

"Oh ho! You're very gallant, Mr. Englishman," Laurel said with a twinkle in her eye. "Claudia and I shall have to watch you!" She dipped into her handbag and produced a CD jewel case. "At Bruce's request I've dug out some facts and figures on the history of the resort." She slid the case across to Martin. "Pretty dry stuff, apart from two murders, three suicides and several robberies."

"Is that all?" Martin replied weakly, staring at the case.

"Hey, this is a vacation resort!" She grinned. "Let me tell you, these places are a magnet for flaky types." Her gaze flickered to the long table. "It doesn't help when some work here."

"Bruce gave me that impression," Martin said, slipping the case into his pocket. "Perhaps you'd give us a brief précis on the history?"

Laurel sipped coffee to moisten her throat, and began.

"The resort land was once part farm, part virgin forest, owned by a guy named Jeff Gottlieb. Guess he was Pennsylvania Dutch with a name like that. Back in the early 50's he decided to diversify into vacation cabin rental. He built a clutch of cabins on a piece of scrub ground alongside the old farmhouse and advertised in the New York press. It took off like a jet plane, so he cleared some more land, reinvested the profits into more and better cabins. Catskill vacations were becoming popular with the city folks, so he was in the right place at the right time."

Bruce grinned. "The secret of any business success," he said.

Laurel nodded. "Indeed. Ten years later Gottlieb had made a pile of money, so he sold out to a consortium from the city and retired. The consortium demolished the old farmstead and built this place," she said, gesturing around her. "The only parts of the original farm left are the two barn conversions Bruce and I live in."

She glanced at Bruce. "Sorry not to spare your feelings, Bruce, but the heyday of the resort was the 50's to early 60's." She turned back to Martin. "It was part of what folks call the 'Borscht Belt,' Martin; resorts which were very popular with the Jewish folks of New York.

"It was my time," she said, smiling reflectively. "I had some good times here with my folks. But, by the time the 70's rolled in, foreign holidays were becoming cheaper and more folks went abroad. The consortium saw which way the wind was blowing and sold out. The resort has had five owners since 1979. Bruce and his partners make six."

"I think we have the chance of making a real go of this," Bruce said enthusiastically. "Folks aren't going abroad as often since this war on terrorism started. There's plenty of scope for all-American vacation resorts to flourish again." He waved an arm. "Here we have sailing, swimming, mountain rambling, skiing, cycling. All the great outdoor activities. With our plans for a theater, cinema, tennis and squash courts, sauna and a health club, I think we can cater to most people."

The realtor in Claudia pricked up her ears at the spiel but she forced herself to throttle back the interest. She could just see the orange and white box of the U-Haul trailer out the window overlooking the parking lot. It held all her possessions and represented a new life in Indiana; getting involved with a project here in upper New York State was not an option.

"I'm sure you can attract people with that kind of layout," Martin said politely.

"Yep." Bruce winked and slapped Martin on the arm then glanced at his watch. "Okay, got to rush and make a phone call now. Ask Laurel anything you want. Catch you later."

"I exist to serve," she said in a dry tone as he hurried off.

"A busy man," Martin said, laying his knife and fork on the plate and pushing it to one side. "That was an excellent breakfast! It's set me up for the day."

"And for the month, darling," Claudia said, reaching to pat his tummy.

He captured her hand and kissed the palm, giving her a soulful look. "Now you wouldn't deprive me of a decent breakfast, would you? I've never had so much as a merely indifferent meal since I've been in America."

"Yeah, it's real good food," Laurel said, glancing from one to the other. Her eyes held a knowing look. "Lenny's good with kosher food too, I'm glad to say."

"I look forward to sampling more," Martin said with a sly sidelong glance at Claudia, who stuck her tongue out at him. He chuckled, rested his elbows on the table and clasped his hands. "Now, Laurel; has anyone else aside from Bruce reported anything strange?"

"Our trainee manager, Greg Dewar is one. The desk clerk, Joanne Ashby's another." Laurel nodded across at the long table, which was beginning to empty as the staff finished their breakfast and left for work. "Greg's a business studies student. He's been an intern here since May. I think you may have met his girlfriend, Donna, when you arrived. He claimed to have seen something in the office when he was working up there. He told Bruce, who told me. Sorry, I don't know the details. Joanne's one of the day reception staff. She claimed to have seen something in the staff canteen back in September."

"Does the staff know why I'm here?"

Laurel smiled, laid a gentle hand on his arm and leaned close, releasing a wave of musky perfume. Claudia watched her and chewed a slice of toast thoughtfully. The woman's manner may have been based on a professional's easy charm; equally, it seemed a little too familiar for her taste.

"Martin, I'll remind you again; this is a vacation resort," Laurel said. "You couldn't drop a dime on the floor without someone knowing which side up it landed within the hour. They know. They're curious. Some will help, some won't. No one will lose their job by speaking to you; we made that plain. But it's not something we can order them to do, you understand?"

"Oh yes, completely. I'm glad if anyone decides to speak about an encounter. Many people tend to clam up."

Laurel chuckled. "Some around here talk so much you'll wish they stayed quiet! Listen, we've given you and Claudia the use of one of the spare offices off the main passage upstairs. You can conduct interviews there too if you want. Most anything else, you have a pretty free rein. If there's anything you're unsure of, you only need ask."

"Thanks. First things first, I'd like to speak to this Greg chap, if you can spare him from his work."

"He's got to work on some bookings for the first hour or so, after that I surely can spare him." She winked. "If nothing else it'll teach him to expect the unexpected in his chosen career!"

* * * *

Martin and Claudia went to the office they'd been allocated and set to work on the file. An hour later there was a knock at the door and he looked up to see Laurel standing there with a tall, good-looking young man with short blond hair and a fresh, open face. A spray of freckles across his upper cheeks and nose gave him an endearingly boyish air.

"Martin, Claudia, this is Greg Dewar. He's willing to be interviewed if you're ready to see him."

"Mr. Grey, Ms. Mackenzie," Greg said, shaking hands with a firm grip. "I'm at your service."

Martin gestured to a chair. "Thanks for sparing us some time, Greg. Won't you sit down?"

"I'll get some coffee," Laurel said on her way out.

Martin produced his cassette recorder. "If you don't mind, I'd like to record this interview."

Greg waved assent. "Sure, go right ahead."

"Thanks." Martin recorded the date, time and those present, then turned to Greg. "Now, Greg, what did you see, when and where?"

"Sir, ma'am, I was alone in the main office early one morning in May, working on a new staff roster for the upcoming season. Mr. Baker had just left after seeing me settled in. I was wet behind the ears, sir," Greg said with a wry smile. "I needed my hand held for a few days."

"I understand," Martin said kindly. "And my name's Martin, Greg. Relax, this isn't a formal interview. Which date, and what time was that, please?"

"It was May third; around 7:40 a.m. Mr. Baker had just left to check the kitchens." Greg stirred in his seat and looked pensive. "Martin, I hadn't been alone for long when I got the feeling I wasn't alone, y' know what I mean?"

"Yes, I do," Martin said, glancing at Claudia. "No one had come into the office, yet you felt someone was there?"

"Yeah, that's it!" Greg said with relief. "I looked round at the window, thinking someone had come in without me noticing, although I couldn't think how. You've seen that office; the desk faces the only door. There was nothing at first, then…" He shifted in his seat, looking pale. "Then I glanced to the door and back again to the window—and there he was."

"There who was, Greg?" Martin asked softly.

"This guy. He… he was just standing there looking at me."

"Can you describe him?"

"Middle height, I guess; maybe in his thirties? Fair hair, like mine in shade, and he was kind of slim. Well, I say slim, he was wearing overalls, y' know? It was hard to tell, he looked like an old blurred photo; it was difficult to make out detail."

"What color were the overalls?" Martin asked casually, thinking of the apparition he'd seen in the office.

"Brown, I think. They had darker patches on them, like they were badly stained with oil and stuff. And there was a smell…" Greg wrinkled his nose in remembrance. "He stunk like a distillery!"

"Ah!" He glanced at Claudia, who raised her eyebrows. "That's interesting."

"You think so?" Greg asked anxiously.

"Oh yes!" He remembered the smell of burning he'd detected in their previous case when he and Claudia had first met and explored an old hotel. It had proved significant later. "Smells are commonly associated with supernatural activity. Sorry, I interrupted you; please go on."

"I stood up and stared at him." Greg looked embarrassed. "Martin, I don't mind admitting, my skin was crawling all over me then. I think I said something like 'Who the hell are you?' and he never said a word, just looked at me kind of sad, like."

"Did you attempt to touch him?"

Greg shifted in his seat with an expression of repugnance. "No way! I got out of there, man!"

"Understandable," Martin said soothingly. "You said earlier you looked at the window; why there, particularly?"

"I had the sense of someone being there. Like someone could've been outside cleaning the glass."

"When you left the office, what did you do then?"

"I went downstairs to reception and asked Joanne if she'd let anybody go up."

"This would be Joanne Ashby?"

"Yeah. She said no. I asked her to come upstairs to look at this guy. When we got to the office, he'd gone."

"How long did the whole encounter take?"

"No more'n a few minutes, five at the outside."

"And Joanne saw nothing?" Claudia asked.

"No, ma'am, although…she did say there was a trace of that smell, y' know?" Greg blushed, a startling sight on one so fair-skinned. "She looked at me like I'd been drinking!"

"But Joanne changed her mind about what you saw later, I gather?" Martin pressed.

"Oh yeah!" Greg grinned. "Last month she came to me and said she'd seen the same thing. Was that helpful?" he asked. "Will you be able to get a handle on this?"

"I think so, but it's early days yet." Martin waved to the computer. "Laurel's file has a lot of detail about the history of the place."

"You figure on it being from the time this place was a resort, then?" He looked from Martin to Claudia and back again. "There've been some tragedies here, y' know."

"So I read here," Martin said wryly, flicking the computer mouse to clear the screen-saver, an electronic rendition of the resort logo, a knight on a caparisoned horse. He turned the monitor to let Greg see more clearly. "Let's see… June, 1957 was the first. It happened during a convention of shoe manufacturers. A businessman was killed by his wife in one of the cabins. She'd driven up from Albany to surprise him and found him in bed with his secretary."

"Nothing unusual there." Greg grinned, glanced at Claudia and blushed. "Sorry, ma'am."

She waved it away. "Relax, Greg; I'm not that easily offended. And my name's Claudia."

"Okay—Claudia." He nodded. "Like I said, it's not unusual; we get it all the time during the conventions."

"It was his male secretary. And it happened in 1957," Martin said gently.

Greg winced. "Ouch! Yeah. Doubt she would've gone to the chair for killing him because of that back then. What else is there?"

"December, 1962. A comis-chef was knifed by a drunken waiter after an argument in the kitchens. Equally as nasty as the first killing, but it's not likely to be our spirit."

"Not when the guy wears overalls. Wasn't there a third killing?"

"Yes, although there're some doubts as to whether it was murder." He tapped the screen. "June, 1965. A breakdown truck driver was killed when his own vehicle ran over him."

"Holy cow!" Greg was open-mouthed. "How the hell did that happen?"

"The truck was parked on a slope near the parking lot whilst he was hitching the tow to a car. The hand-brake slipped—apparently. There was some suggestion it may have been released deliberately but no one was seen near the vehicle."

Claudia looked at Martin. "Is he a possible suspect for the ghost, you reckon? Tow truck drivers wear overalls."

Martin pursed his lips and nodded slowly. "Yes, he's a possibility, love; but farmers also wear overalls. If you include the history of the land prior to the resort being built, it could be one of the previous owners."

She nodded. "Good point. As you say, ghosts can be free-ranging so it's even possible the spirit up in the office could be that of the tow truck driver."

"Exactly; we can't rule that out." He looked at the printouts and tapped a page. "All we can rule out at this stage are the three suicides, who were all women." Martin closed the file and leaned back in his chair with a sigh. "A tragedy, each and every one. Self-destruction is the worst way of ending a life; they can make for the unhappiest spirits. Yet as I said, in this case I can rule them out on gender alone."

She reached and took his hand, squeezing it to comfort him. He smiled at her. A silence fell.

"I can't see how the others would fit anyway," Greg said slowly after a while. "The dates are all wrong for a start."

"Hauntings aren't necessarily tied to a date, whatever common wisdom says," Martin pointed out. "But I agree; I think I'll have to look elsewhere for the origins of this one. I'll dig a bit deeper into the time when it was a farm. In the meantime, thanks for your help in this, Greg. Sorry to have kept you from your work."

"Not all, Martin!" Greg said, standing. "It's been fascinating."

"Is Joanne Ashby around? I'd like to speak with her if I may."

"She's on duty downstairs," Greg said, heading for the door. "I'll ask her to come up and see you. We're not busy right now, so I'll cover for her."

* * * *

Bruce leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. Figures danced in afterimages imprinted on the purple-black of his eyelids and he swore softly. Late nights and early mornings were killing him slowly, but he was relieved that things were going according to plan. It was all coming together. Ursula and Howard would be kept nicely in the dark, and before long he'd be able to recover the funds and begin with a fresh slate. Just a few more days, was all.

A step outside the office door made him open his eyes and look up. Joanne stood there, a thoughtful look on her pretty face. He blew her a kiss and her bright smile flashed briefly. "All okay, baby?" he asked softly.

"Yeah, Bruce," she nodded and jerked her thumb over her shoulder. "I'm just going in to see Mr. Grey."

"Good. Tonight?" he mouthed, and she nodded after a moment's hesitation.

She walked away and he felt his cock twitch in his pants. Suppressing any sexy thoughts about Joanne, he sighed as he rubbed his stomach. His weight was under control—well, he wasn't gaining any; but Joanne had proved surprisingly inventive in bed in ways his middle-aged body was finding hard to keep up with. Another thirty minutes on the exercise machines each day should take care of that, and then he and she would get it together.

He thought of Claudia Mackenzie and briefly envied the Brit ghost-hunter. There was a babe with more adult charms that definitely held appeal! But Joanne was there for him, she was sweet and compliant, and took far less maintenance than Ursula, with her New York City ways. Whistling softly between his teeth he turned his attention back to the figure work that'd lead to a brighter future for them both.

* * * *

Joanne Ashby knocked on the door and entered. Martin looked up from taking notes to see a petite, pretty young brunette smiling at him. "You wished to see me, sir?"

"Yes, I'm Martin, this is my partner, Claudia," he said, rising to shake her hand and waving her to a chair. "Please take a seat. Laurel or Greg told you why I'm here, I take it?"

"Oh no," she said with a wide grin and a glint in her blue eyes. "The rumor-mill had you pegged from the moment you arrived last night."

"Ah, I might have guessed," Martin said ruefully. "I take it you're willing to talk about your experience?"

Joanne glanced at Claudia and shrugged. "Sure, although there isn't much to tell."

"Well, let's begin with the time Greg claimed to have encountered a man in the office along the hall from here. What can you tell me about that?"

Joanne sat back and crossed her legs, her skirt riding up shapely thighs. She twitched it back into place with an automatic gesture. "Let's see… It was back in May. Greg had started his internship the week before. He was the newbie around here and Bruce—uh, Mr. Baker—was showing him the ropes. It was around seven in the morning; I had just come in on the early shift and could hear them up in the office. After a few minutes Mr. Baker came down, told me Greg was working upstairs on the new roster, and then he went through to the restaurant."

"He didn't mention anyone else being there?" Claudia asked.

"No, and I didn't expect there to be, not at that time of day. Most of the office staff comes in at nine or later. About ten minutes went by; I was busy booking in a couple of early guests when Mr. Baker came back and went upstairs again."

"Ah," Martin said, nodding thoughtfully. He jotted a note on his pad. "Please go on."

"He came down after a minute and went back through to the restaurant. A few moments later Greg came down; he looked kind of pale. I wouldn't swear to it, but I think he was shaking. I asked him what was wrong, and he said there was some strange guy up there with him."

"No one had passed you in the reception area?" Claudia asked, thinking of the distractions likely to be present.

"No, ma'am. Even when guests are there, I can see if anyone tries to go upstairs. Nobody went past apart from Mr. Baker."

"What happened then?" Martin asked, jotting down a note.

"Greg asked me to go up to the office with him. I was kind of reluctant. He seemed to be so tense, as if he was psyched up or something." Joanne inspected her fingernails. "I didn't know Greg then; I didn't want to put myself in a potentially compromising position."

Claudia thought of Kyle Marshall, her previous boss, and nodded emphatically. "That's understandable. You can't be too careful these days."

Joanne gave her a grateful look. "Yeah, exactly! But he was so worried, you know? In the end I went upstairs and we looked in the office. There was no one there."

Martin gestured to the door. "Did you see or hear anyone else up on this floor?"

"No, sir. The office was empty."

"Did you feel anything? Smell anything?"

"Smell?" She nodded. "Yeah, I could smell liquor. Quite strong at first, then it faded. At first I wondered if Greg had been hitting the bottle in Bruce—ah, Mr. Baker's—absence, but I moved close when he was distracted and sniffed. I couldn't smell any liquor on Greg's breath or clothing."

Claudia looked at Martin, who caught her eye and nodded. "A shrewd move, Joanne. Okay, that was then." He leaned close, and Claudia sensed his interest quickening beneath the staid Brit exterior. "Would you relate your own experience, please?"

"It was last month," she said promptly. "It was around twelve in the afternoon of the 14th and I was just coming off early shift to get lunch. As usual I made my way through to the staff canteen, which is a room just off the kitchens." She looked at Claudia. "We use it during the season. The restaurant is purely for guests at that time. Bruce was there with Laurel, chatting about something, but the first thing I noticed was the guy in overalls leaning on the food counter."

"Overalls?" Martin glanced at Claudia, his eyes bright, and leaned forward eagerly. "You're sure?"

"Oh yeah! My brother's a mechanic; he wears the same kind of gear. This guy was in stained brown overalls." She looked up at the ceiling, lost in thought for a moment. "Well, I say brown, they were more like a khaki shade," she amended.

"I know what you mean. What happened next?"

"First off, I thought he was a mechanic or repairman from the way he was dressed, although I didn't know why he was there. No one had told me any repair work had been scheduled." She gave them a sour smile. "Nothing new there! Then I took a closer look. There was something funny about him."

"What was it?" Claudia asked quietly.

Joanne stroked her chin, her eyes losing focus as she thought. "It was his hair," she said finally. "It was blond, oiled, but mussed-up; like it had been gelled then ruffled."

"That seems a common style these days," Martin observed.

"Yeah, but this was a short-back-and-sides cut and the top would have been long and floppy if it hadn't been greased. You don't see it except in old movies and photos. I had to pass close by him to get to the coffee. It was then I noticed he stank of booze." She looked up at Martin. "It was the same smell I'd sensed in the office months ago."

"He was quite clear? He wasn't blurred in any way?"

"Blurred? No," she said with an emphatic shake of her head. "He looked real."

"Did you say anything to him?"

"No," she said and shrugged. "I gave him a dirty look as I passed but he seemed too drunk to notice." She stabbed a fingertip onto the desk in emphasis. "This guy was stinking drunk and it was only noon! You notice that kind of thing, even around here. I wondered why Bruce hadn't chewed him out for it, but neither he nor Laurel seemed to see the guy."

Claudia gazed at her. "They didn't react at all?"

"No, not at all. I got my coffee and food and went to sit at a table, then looked over to where he was standing. Bruce left around then and the guy followed him."

"He followed him?" Martin sat up straight.

"Yeah. I called out to Laurel, asked her who he was. He was drunk; I was worried he might try something stupid with Bruce." Joanne wrinkled her nose, perplexed. "She asked me who I was talking about. When I looked the guy had vanished." Her pretty face creased into a frown. "When I took my next break Laurel spoke to me about the resort's policy on drug-taking!"

Claudia hid a smile.

* * * *

Once Joanne had left, Martin and Claudia compared notes.

"One thing's pretty obvious; she's a lot closer to the boss than most folks around here!" she said in a disparaging tone.

"Yes, I picked up a hint or two on that score," he said dryly. "What do you think of her story?"

Claudia blew out her cheeks and slumped down in the chair, her arms folded under her breasts. "I think she's telling the truth." She cocked an eye at him. "Do you think the fact this guy followed Bruce—ah, Mr. Baker—is significant?"

"Could well be, love. Spirits can attach themselves to people as well as places."

"I'm not sure you should tell Bruce that," she said with a chuckle. "Okay, Sherlock; what do we do now?"

"I'll set up some baseline electromagnetic tests in different places through the main building. After that I think we need to check through the older records, see if there's anything about the history of the farm that preceded this place."

"Do you need me for that?" she asked, rising to her feet.

"No. Why?" He looked up at her. "Got something else in mind?"

She laid her hand on his shoulder, stooped and kissed him briefly. "I thought I'd look around that place by the drive where we saw the fire while it's full daylight!"