“Nightmare!” Jeannie shrieked. She must have heard the shrill tone of her own voice because she fought to control it. “I wasn’t sleeping.”
“So what exactly was the problem?” Roger asked, an underlying irritation rising beneath his concerned exterior.
“I think I should get some brandy,” Penny said.
“I think Jeannie should get some clothes on!” Roger said, his anger starting to crack through.
“Clothes?” Jeannie said. She stared down at herself and realized that she was covered in nothing but the antique quilt.
“I’ll make tea with brandy,” Penny said decisively.
“While she’s making the tea, Jeannie, you can run up and get dressed. Then we can all sit down and you can explain just what you’re doing,” Roger said, a thread of anger in his voice.
“What I’m doing?” Jeannie repeated, frowning. “Roger Thomas, I was scared to death, don’t you understand?”
“Scared enough to run around naked?”
Matt could have groaned aloud. He shouldn’t have been swayed to allow the Lee Room to become a honeymoon hangout. He glared at Penny. She had talked him into it, reminding him that they needed the money for Melody House.
Penny shrugged innocently, giving him one of her knowing looks.
Melody House was reputed to be haunted. Matt always saw the rumors as simply par for the course. The main house was well over two hundred years old. It had survived the American Revolution, the Civil War, and every manner of conflict in between. As he well knew, nothing that old went without a certain kind of history. And apparently, most of the world wanted to believe in things that went bump in the night. People couldn’t just look back on the personal tragedies of the past with sorrow—they just had to make something else out of them.
Matt simply didn’t believe in ghosts. He’d worked in the D.C. area long before he’d taken up working in his old home haunts, and he knew that the things that living men and women did to one another could be so violent, barbarous, and cruel, that there was simply no reason to worry about those who were long dead and buried.
“Go up and put clothes on!” Roger said, his voice almost a roar.
Jeannie, blue eyes still huge, stared at him in rebellion and defiance.
“I am not—get this straight!—not going back up to that room. Ever! There is a ghost up there, and it—it threatened me.”
Matt shook his head, praying for patience. He looked up at the bride and groom. Wow! How quickly there was trouble in Paradise.
“Jeannie,” he said patiently, “there are no such things as ghosts. Hey, I’ve lived here most of my life. I’ve spent nights in the place with no electricity, you know, in the pitch dark. I swear, there are no ghosts. I would know.”
He had tried to say the last lightly. He knew, however, that his voice had an edge. He was sick to death of the whole ghost thing.
“Look what you’ve done,” Roger said to Jeannie. “Great. Really good honeymoon we’re going to have here—you’ve just really pissed off Matt Stone.”
“Sorry, I’m not angry,” Matt said quickly. “I just don’t believe in ghosts. Jeannie, it was a big day for you. I’m sure for you both…I’m not saying that anyone is totally inebriated, but come on, now, you both had a hell of a lot to drink. You’re wired, Jeannie. Excited. Hey, it was the wedding of the century, huh? You don’t have to go back into the room. We’ll get your things. And you and Roger can finish out your honeymoon in the caretaker’s cottage, how’s that? I can clear it out in a matter of minutes, while Penny makes tea.”
Jeannie spun around again. She looked as if she wanted to run from Roger’s side and come flying into his arms.
Don’t do it, Jeannie, don’t do it! He pleaded silently.
“Not one of you has suggested coming up to see if there is something in the room,” Jeannie said indignantly.
Matt lifted his hands. “I’ll go up to the room.”
He strode past the newlywed couple on the stairs. As he neared the upper landing, he could hear Roger whispering angrily to his wife. “Ghost, hell! You’re a little exhibitionist. You’ve had a bit of a thing for Matt Stone your whole life, you know, Jeannie. What, you just had to have an excuse for him to see you naked?”
“Roger Thomas! How dare you suggest such a thing, you bastard!” she whispered back. Then her voice rose. “We don’t need the caretaker’s house! I’m going home. Home—back to my family. They’re not a bunch of idiot jerks!”
“Hey, there!” Penny protested cheerfully. “You know, everyone is really tired, but we’ll get to the bottom of this. Matt, he’s all he-man practical and doesn’t believe in ghosts, but I’m telling you, Roger, don’t you go being hard on your new missus! Lots of folks believe that this house is more than a little haunted, I do tell you!”
Matt walked on into the Lee Room. As he suspected, there was nothing there. The French doors to the balcony were open, and the drapes were drifting in. They must have been what scared the new bride so badly. Either that, or she just wanted the place to be haunted so badly that she had made it so.
He found Jeannie’s peignoir robe, then discarded it as being far too see-through for this situation. Her groom would not be happy with it, he was certain. Striding to the closet, he found a pair of robes with “Melody House” inscribed on the pockets—items Penny had insisted they needed to provide a real luxury touch for those few times when he decided to rent the room. He pulled one from the hanger and headed back downstairs.
By then, Penny, Jeannie and Roger had headed into the kitchen. It was vast. The integrity of the historical aspects had been maintained with the massive hearth and the many copper pots and herbs that adorned wall mounts, but the huge refrigerator, sub-zero freezer, and stainless steel stove were all necessary modern conveniences for the many social events, dinners, luncheons, and meetings that were held at the property.
The newlyweds were seated at the table with Penny. She had apparently moved like lightning, microwaving water and hurriedly supplying brandy, because they were all sipping out of huge earthenware mugs already.
They had been joined there by several of the other residents of the property, probably all awakened by the screaming. Matt’s cousin Clint, who, like Penny, lived in one of the apartments above the stables, was seated at the table. Clint’s eyes flashed with humor as they met Matt’s. Sam Arden, the caretaker, old, thin, and crusty, his white hair wild, was at the table as well. He shook his head and rolled his eyes when he saw Matt. Rounding out the group was Carter Sutton. He was actually an old college friend of Clint’s from the next town over. He owned a lot of local property, and had just bought a house nearby. Since it was still being held hostage by construction workers, he’d taken a room over the stables as well. It worked well. Carter made his living off his investments, and was sometimes “paper rich and cash poor,” so he was happy to look after the horses and serve as stable boy and trail guide when they rented out the horses.
Matt silently offered the robe, and walked around to take a seat at the end of the table. Penny was happily talking about ghosts. Roger was convincing his wife that there had been nothing there at all, other than the excitement of the day.
“And if there was a ghost, it was probably more scared than you,” Clint assured the bride.
“Hell, there are ghosts,” Sam said sagely, nodding his old head.
“Sam,” Matt protested.
“She meant to hurt me!” Jeannie said with certainty.
“I don’t think that ghosts are supposed to hurt people,” Carter said. His mustache twitched. He was as bearded as a goat, since