Penny shook her head.
He leaned forward suddenly, abruptly. “Penny, you wouldn’t be playing some kind of game up there, determined to convince the rest of the world, if not me, that the place is haunted?”
She gaped at him in such affront that he was immediately sorry.
“Matt, I would never—”
“But maybe someone would.”
“Maybe,” Penny agreed grudgingly. She wagged a finger at him. “You know, you are far too trusting at times. Too many people could have access to this place.”
“Penny, I’m not too trusting. We’re a fairly small town.”
Penny shook her head decisively. “You’re right, of course. But you’ve got to remember that even in our small town we have had a few pretty grisly murders. Why can’t you just accept the fact that something strange is going on?”
“Penny, you’ve wanted nothing more than a real ghost for years.”
Penny shook her head, suddenly troubled. “Ghosts…that cause a cold spot, or breeze by, or…I don’t think this is a good ghost,” she murmured.
She patted his desk, rummaging through the unopened letters. “What about that letter you got from Harrison Investigations? Call Adam. You respect him. He was friends with your grandfather long ago.”
He groaned.
“Please, Matt. You’ve suggested that maybe someone is breaking in, or doing something to make it appear that there are ghosts. Adam can tell you what’s real, and what’s not.”
“What he perceives as real,” Matt muttered.
“Hey, I’ve followed some of what he’s done. Last year, he and some of his colleagues proved that the haunting of an old mining camp was nothing more than two modern prospectors digging for gold.”
“Great. I call in Ghostbusters and become the laughingstock of the town. I might as well find a new place to live.”
Penny shook her head. “Matt, maybe they can just do the same thing here.” She hopped off the edge of the table. “Please, promise me you’ll think about it, at least.”
She left him, closing the door softly in her wake.
Matt walked to his own set of French doors out to the wraparound balcony. The moon was full. In the distance, he could see the vague shape of the mountains, and the sweep of the valley. God, he loved this area. Loved the house, the stables, but mostly, just the natural beauty of the area.
He returned to his desk, reflective. Clara’s face had been marked, as if she had been hit. He still didn’t believe in ghosts, but…
He reflected on the number of people who lived on the property. Penny, Sam, Clint, Carter, even Clara now and then, and through the years gone by, various friends and relatives. Could someone have set the place up so that it appeared haunted?
He strode to the Lee Room, searched under the bed, in the closet, all around. Nothing.
Still…
He returned to his own suite, toyed with Adam Harrison’s letter for a moment, and picked up the phone. He dialed Harrison’s number. They spoke briefly. “Matt, good to hear from you.”
“You weren’t certain that you would?” Matt queried dryly.
“Nope. Not this time.”
“You know I don’t believe in the supernatural in any way, shape, or form.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“If you come down here, I’m only having you because I think you’ll be able to prove that I don’t have ghosts.”
“Maybe,” Adam agreed.
“When can you come?”
“My schedule is a bit of a mess, but…I’ll arrange to see you soon.”
“And according to your letter, Adam, you’re going to pay me?”
“Yes. And like I said, I am anxious. I’ll arrange something as soon as possible.”
“You can usually find me around lunchtime at the Wayside Inn.”
“All right, my office manager will call, set a date.”
“Good,” Matt said. “Look forward to seeing you, Adam.”
Adam Harrison was still talking when Matt hung up the phone. He stared at it, already thinking that he had made one hell of a mistake.
On the other end, Adam Harrison, too, stared at his phone. He did so with fond amusement. He’d always liked Matt. “My boy. You’re about to learn a lesson. All the courage, brain power, and brawn in the world can’t cut it against a real ghost,” he said softly. “Ah, well.”
He had meant to warn Matt that he wasn’t even sure he could come himself right away, that he’d be sending his topnotch aide.
But he didn’t want to call back. Matt Stone wasn’t at all pleased with this arrangement, even though he was surely having trouble.
It would all be fine. Darcy could handle any man, living…
Or dead.
2
From the moment she walked into the bar, Darcy felt at a distinct disadvantage.
It was called the Wayside Inn. It should have been called Bubba’s Back-then Barn.
She was nearly overcome by the wave of smoke that almost knocked her over when she opened the door; it sat like a fog over the decades-old plastic booths and bar stools. There were two pool tables to the left, stuffed away from what might have been used, at times, as a dance floor.
There were actually still a few spittoons for tobacco chewers scattered around.
When she stepped in and the door closed behind her, the place came to a standstill. The four pool players and the broken-toothed wonders watching the games all stopped their play and stared at her. Behind the bar, a heavyset woman with teased red hair styled in something like a sixties beehive looked up from washing glasses. In what looked to be a dining area, the four men seated at one of the chipped wood tables also looked up.
She stood in the miasma of smoke and stared around, taking it in as her eyes adjusted from the sunlight. And she knew, instantly, that Adam was the one who should have come here. And he should have worn jeans and an old plaid or denim work shirt. Of course, the concept of Adam dressed that way was an amusing one, but Adam was a determined man. And for some reason, he was determined that they were getting into Melody House.
She had come in a business suit, the same attire she usually wore when conducting business, she reminded herself, defending her choice of clothing when she was so obviously out of place. But though she hadn’t imagined the Wayside Inn to be a five-star restaurant, she hadn’t thought that it would be quite this…colloquial.
“Can I help you, honey?” the redhead called from behind the bar. Her voice was warm and friendly, giving Darcy a bit of encouragement. She smiled in return. But before she could reply, one of the men who’d been sitting at the table had risen.
“Miss?”
He was tall, somewhat lanky, and when he smiled, she saw that he had all his teeth, and a single dimple in his left cheek. Light brown eyes, and a pleasant way about him; he seemed to ooze accent and Southern charm with his single word.
“I’m looking for a man named Matt Stone. I was supposed to meet him here.” She hoped that one of the men knew Stone. She didn’t think that he was among them. She’d already pictured him in her mind. He was the descendant of a man who was practically a Founding Father. He would be tall, straight, and aging with incredible