Haunted (11 page)

Then she sat back in one of the rockers, closing her eyes and savoring the soft, cleansing sweep of the breeze, and wondering herself just who had done the tapping.

She was startled a minute later as she felt a presence next to her.

One that was very much alive, and carrying a low-key scent of aftershave.

She opened her eyes to see that Matt had joined her, taking the chair at her side. He watched her for a moment without speaking.

She turned back and stared at the night, not waiting for him to speak. “No, I don't believe that the tapping was a ghost.”

With peripheral vision, she saw that a slow rueful smile curled into his lips.

“Thank God! I'd have lost all faith in you if you had said differently.”

“Oh? I didn't realize that you had faith in me to begin with.”

“That all remains to be seen.”

“I've found that most people don't believe in the occult,” Darcy told him. “Yet just the same, most people have a little
voice of suspicion somewhere within them that suggests there might be something more between the living and the dead.”

“You mean they're open-minded?” he said.

“Maybe minds aren't all open, but there's often a crack there somewhere.”

He rocked thoughtfully for a minute. “We've always had a military tradition in my family. I went straight into military schools and served in the army for several years. The dead bodies I saw all stayed that way. I first became a cop in the D.C. area, and though much of the country might suggest that the main crimes there are political, I can guarantee you, there were plenty of criminals in the area who know how to kill. Death is usually ugly, but always complete. Then, again, I'm the direct heir to all those years of history, tradition, murder, and mayhem that have gone on at Melody House. If someone were to see something or have a link to the past, wouldn't it be me?”

Darcy laughed. “Not when there's not even one of those cracks in your mind to allow the dead to try to speak to you.”

He was silent again, rocking, then looked at her with one of the smiles that suddenly sent a streak of warmth to quicken her limbs whether she wanted to admit it or not.

“When my dad died, I wanted him to speak to me somehow in the worst way. I was willing to do anything—I would have crawled into the coffin to go with him, I loved him so much. It was just about the same with my grandfather, except that I was older then, and more aware that he had lived his years, good years, and gone on.”

The emotion with which he spoke touched her deeply. Then he said, almost scowling, “You weren't the one pulling off that tapping sound, were you?”

She stiffened, cold and indignant instantly. “No, I was not! And come to think of it, your words just now were quite interesting. You didn't mention your mother. Do you have something against women, Matt?”

He turned to her, those strange dark gray eyes of his bearing something of a dangerous spark. “I like women just fine, Darcy. Especially the really honest ones, and yes, they are out there. I didn't mention my mother because she died when I was a few months old, which didn't allow me a great deal of time to get to know her well.”

She turned back to the night. “Sorry.”

“What about you?”

She gazed at him, and suddenly smiled despite herself. “I don't have anything at all against other women.”

“No, I meant, how did that crack in your mind turn into a gaping hole where the dead came rushing through to speak to you at all times?”

“Oh,” she murmured.

“Well?”

“I was in a car crash with a really good friend. And he died.”

“And then he spoke to you?”

“Something like that.” She thought that he was going to scoff at her again, but it seemed that he could be quite mercurial in his manner. She was startled when his hand lay upon hers where it rested on the arm of the rocker and his words came out soft and gentle.

“Don't you think that sometimes people see people, or hear them, just because they so desperately want to hear that person speak again?”

“Sometimes, yes.”

“But not with you?”

“I wish that was all that it had been,” Darcy told him.

His eyes were almost affectionate, and he watched her with an appreciation that once again sent her heart thundering, her blood racing. And she was startled to realize that she hadn't been so strongly, almost magnetically, attracted to anyone like this in years. Maybe never. There was something in him beyond his extraordinary looks, and even the sense of power and
security that he emitted. Something that made her want to crawl against his skin, stroke his face, and feel the warmth burst into sensations far greater. She was almost afraid to hear him speak, because the temptation to lean closer to him was so strong and aching. He was about to speak, and she was beyond fascinated to hear what he was about to say.

Except that words never left his mouth.

The great double doors at the front of the house flew open and Delilah came bursting out, full of smiles and charm.

“Aren't you all coming in to join us for a drink and some snacks? I must say, Penny is just the most priceless human being in the world. In a matter of minutes she's created the most delightful spread in the kitchen!”

They both stared at her rather blankly for a minute.

Darcy had liked Delilah from the start. She was a nice woman, and seemed intelligent, and really concerned about her job for the county.

At that moment, though, she could have hit her.

Delilah continued, “Oh, Matty, please, don't be upset about the silly tapping tonight. Penny and Liz are right—we did come close to contact. Don't be angry with all of us!”

“I'm not angry,” Matt said, rising and sounding only somewhat impatient. “We'll join you.”

Delilah started back into the house. Matt reached out a hand to Darcy. “Coming?”

She accepted his hand and rose. It was as if there were sparks in his fingers. At that moment though, she wasn't sure that he noticed in the least.

“Matty?” she said lightly, arching a brow.

“It's what happens when you've lived in a small town and known people too long and too well.”

“Ah,” she murmured, wanting to ask,
how well?

She refrained, and let him lead her on back into the house.

Penny
had
created quite a spread. Tea, coffee, mixed drinks,
chips and dips, buffalo wings, Southern pecan pie, and other little desserts that Darcy knew she had prepared earlier in the day.

Darcy had never been less hungry, but since Penny had baked the pie herself, she toyed with a piece and opted for an Irish coffee—made with decaf, Penny explained, so she wouldn't keep anyone up all night. Clint and Carter were in rare form, accusing one another of the tapping, Delilah was flirtatious, and Mae was excited, thanking Matt over and over again for letting her come, and begging to be invited if they tried a seance again. Liz scolded the boys for being silly when she was up to something important. Penny seemed a little quiet when she wasn't being the perfect hostess. David Jenner spoke about the different qualities of tape and film, and asked Darcy her preferences for her work. As they picked up the remnants of their meal, Delilah charmingly cornered Matt over a parking problem they were having near the town hall.

Darcy rinsed plates and put them into the dishwasher with Clint and Carter bringing in the used utensils and only half helping as they flirted. She had grown to like them both, even though she did get a start, feeling as if she were speaking with a modern-day Jeb Stuart every time she met Carter's eyes above the growth of his beard. Still, she was strangely keyed, and exhausted at the same time. When she could, she left the two of them dealing with the dishwasher and excused herself to Penny, Mae, and Elizabeth and escaped up the stairs to the Lee Room.

As she prepared for bed, she didn't feel a thing in the room. Not the slightest intuitive whisper of a presence. Not even the sense of being watched. Despite the fact that it was her business to discover just what was going on, she was glad she was ready for a good night's rest.

She fell almost instantly and soundly into a deep sleep.

And that's when she was awakened.

Darcy's head jerked up, because a silent scream seemed to enter into her mind, pierce through her subconscious, and seize
her attention with a start. She looked around in the night as if she had been rudely prodded by a fire poker.

And there she was, a woman in a silver nightgown, standing in the doorway, hand to her throat in terror, issuing that silent scream.

Darcy saw the image in the dim and hazy light, saw the woman trying to bolt the door, but the force behind it, trying to enter from the hall, kept her from doing so. Then the woman came racing toward the bed, and for a moment, her eyes met Darcy's. There was a terrible plea within them.
Help me!

It was as if the woman saw her there as well, and the plea was as silent as the scream, heard only in Darcy's head. But God, that scream! It sounded again within her mind, and the woman's beautiful lips moved, beseeching Darcy to hear her. But she couldn't understand the words; she knew only that they were desperate.

Because this wraith was running from death.

The killer, Darcy sensed, was coming from behind the woman. From the hallway. The bedroom door now burst open. Darcy could make out a hazy image of someone large and shadowy, shielded by the night, coming forward.

Toward the woman.

Then, above the woman's shoulder, she saw the flash of the knife, as clearly as if a spotlight hit the blade, and glinted from it.

The scream sounded again…more terrible than ever.

And the knife…

The knife flashed above Darcy.

She wasn't easily frightened. She communicated with the dead after all.

She sought them out.

But that night…

The malevolence was so strong, the danger seemed so real. The blade…it was threatening her, and she knew it.

She struggled for calm, for sanity, trying to convince
herself that she was seeing nothing but an image from the past. There was no knife wielded by a dark and deadly murderer. Not now…what she saw was nothing but an image from the past.

But it moved again, glinting, and…dripping.

Dripping blood.

And she was terrified suddenly that if it touched her…

Darcy sprang from the bed, screaming herself. The image wasn't fading, it wasn't a whisper, a hint of what had happened. It was pure evil. And something deeper than her intuition, than her acceptance, than any peace or calm she might have garnered over the years, deserted her completely. Terror, older and more basic than any human emotion, lit into her. She raced beneath the images, and tore out of the room, shrieking herself as she tore out of the room.

Darcy ran down the stairs, mindlessly fleeing.

She came to the landing and it was there that she heard her name shouted. She had probably been called several times before the sound had made its way through to her conscious thought.

Darcy stopped dead still, sanity filling her mind as quickly as it had deserted it.

She could have kicked herself, thoroughly.

It was Matt Stone calling her name, rushing down the stairs. He was in boxers and a robe, haphazardly cast over his shoulders.

Even as she saw him appear at the top of the stairway, Penny, gray hair tousled, came rushing behind him in a pair of pajamas.

The front door burst open as Carter, Clint slamming into his back, appeared.

It was uncanny, almost as bizarre as the dream, or reality, she had just experienced, the way they all appeared so quickly, the entire household, within minutes. She almost felt as threatened, watching as Matt and Penny came down, and Clint and Carter came forward, and they gathered in the foyer at the foot
of the stairs, alarmed, and then, as they saw her, saw that she was fine, disgruntled.

Matt Stone's eyes were hard and suspicious.

“The Lee Room sent you racing out in a panic?” Matt said, an edge of derision in his tone. “I thought you were the great ghost hunter.”

Clint was kinder. “Are you all right, Darcy?”

She stared at Matt. “Yes, and I'm terribly sorry. I must have had a nightmare.”

“Ghosts don't scare her—nightmares do,” Matt murmured.

Penny was staring at her sagely. “You saw the lady in white.”

Carter let out a long sniff. “Oh, Penny! I used to spend a lot of time in that room. I never saw any lady in white.”

“I've seen her, Clara Issy has seen her, and she sent a bride running out of that room naked as a jaybird!” Penny said indignantly.

Matt stared hard at Penny, Carter, and Clint, one by one, then turned around, starting up the stairs. “Tapping on a table is one thing,” he said irritably. “But if you two have rigged that room somehow…”