Authors: Laura Childs
11
It was a
perfect night for ghost hunting. Wisps of gray clouds scudded across a thin sliver of moon, revealing an occasional tangle of constellations in the blue-black sky. Wind sang softly through the leaves of live oak and crepe myrtle. And Ravencrest Inn, ground zero for the ghost hunt, was steeped in dark shadows and seemed practically deserted.
“It’s the awful publicity,” Frank Rattling told them with the mournful face of a funeral director.
“And the murder,” said Sarah Rattling. “That murder is keeping guests away in droves.”
Frank Rattling gave a miserable nod.
“Five cancellations,” said his wife Sarah, shaking her fist. “And this is supposed to be our busy time!” She had her hair slicked back in a ponytail and wore not a speck of makeup. She couldn’t have done less to make herself look plain.
They were all gathered in the lobby: Theodosia, Delaine, Jed and Tim Beckman, and the very angry Frank and Sarah Rattling.
But even if the Rattlings hadn’t been there to vent their wrath, the lobby still wouldn’t have been any cheerier than the rest of the place. It was small and bare-bones. A large, scarred wooden registration desk dominated the room. Over by a bay window, four faded upholstered chairs of an undetermined peach or rose color were clustered around a round coffee table. Two torchieres cast light onto the dingy ceiling but left the corners of the lobby lost in shadows. The de rigueur postal box was stuffed full of brochures for low-country day trips, sport fishing, antiquing, sailing, and, yes, even literature on Charleston ghost tours.
Only, as Theodosia was quick to note, they had their own little ghost tour going tonight. No pesky route map to follow, no talky, overbearing guide to contend with. Just a traipse up the back stairway to room 313 . . . and who knows what?
“This is very kind of you to allow us back in here,” said Delaine. She was wound up and jittery but exuded politeness.
“It doesn’t matter to us,” said Frank. “Not anymore.”
“It’s pretty much out of our hands,” said Sarah Rattling, though no one seemed to know exactly what she meant by that.
“We’d like to begin in room three-thirteen,” said Jed. “If that’s okay with you.”
Sarah Rattling gave a defeated shrug. “Go ahead, go on up.”
“And if you don’t mind, we might want to explore the basement, too,” said Jed.
“Basements are often a hotbed of activity,” said Tim.
“Sure,” said Frank Rattling. “You need us for anything?”
“We can manage,” said Jed, as he and Tim grappled with their equipment.
“You need anything, just scream,” said Frank, trying for a joke and failing miserably.
Theodosia led the way up the back staircase. To the second-floor landing, where it was absolutely pitch-black. And then up to the third floor. Here, the hallways were dark, but with a few dim lights set high on the walls at distant intervals. As they traipsed along, going from one puddle of light to the next, they still hadn’t seen or heard another soul.
“The Rattlings weren’t kidding,” said Tim. “This place really is deserted. Which works perfectly for us.”
“That’s right,” said Jed. “No outside interference.”
Theodosia knew he meant no interference in the airwaves, not a guest strolling down the hallway in his flannel bathrobe.
As they crept down the hallway toward room 313, Delaine hung back. Theodosia noticed this and quickly let Jed and Tim assume the lead.
“Are you okay?” she whispered to Delaine.
Delaine put on a brave face and forced a smile. Then she managed a strangled, “I think so.”
“Like I said before, if you don’t want to do this, you certainly don’t have to,” said Theodosia. “There’s no hard-and-fast rule. I only want you to do what your head and heart tell you.”
“That’s the problem,” said Delaine. “My head tells me this is probably a bunch of hooey, but my heart asks, ‘What if I could talk to Dougan for one last time?’”
“Honey, I don’t think you’re going to be able to talk to him.”
Delaine gulped hard. “Really? You don’t think so?”
“I don’t think it works that way,” said Theodosia. “At best, we might hear a faint noise or feel some sort of presence.”
“No talking?” said Delaine.
“Probably not.”
Delaine seemed to debate this for a few moments as they watched the Beckmans pull down the crime-scene tape that crisscrossed the doorway of room 313. Then she said, “Still, just feeling Dougan’s presence would be better than nothing. It would be a kind of good-bye.”
“It’s your call,” said Theodosia.
* * *
Room 313 remained
dark even as Jed and Tim moved about quietly, setting up their equipment, plugging in cords, and turning on dials. A green screen glowed faintly as Jed waved around a small piece of matte-black equipment that was the size of a paperback novel.
“What’s that?” asked Delaine. Her eyes were huge and she jumped at every little sound and movement.
“An EMF,” said Jed, tilting it toward her so she could see. “An electromagnetic field detector.”
“And it does what?” asked Delaine.
“Locates and tracks energy sources,” said Tim. “But it also detects fluctuations in electromagnetic fields.”
Delaine gulped. “What does it mean when an electromagnetic field fluctuates?”
“It means there’s a high probability of paranormal phenomena,” said Tim.
Besides the EMF, the boys had also brought along a video camera, motion detector, and thermal scanner.
“Will you look at this?” said Jed, staring at the readout on a small device. “The thermal scanner is already indicating a two-degree drop in temperature.”
Delaine pounced on this, too. “What does that mean?”
“A rapid drop of eight to ten degrees is also clear indication of paranormal activity,” said Tim.
“Like a cold spot,” said Theodosia.
“Exactly,” said Tim.
“It’s happening,” said Delaine, giving a little shiver. “I can feel it. I’m getting cold already.”
“Or else the Rattlings just cranked up the air conditioning,” said Theodosia.
* * *
Once the Beckman
brothers had all their equipment set up, there wasn’t much to do except wait. They’d placed most of the equipment on the table in front of the fainting couch and were now seated on that same piece of furniture. Delaine perched tentatively on the edge of the bed, while Theodosia stood with her back to the windows. Interestingly enough, at least to Theodosia, the glass paperweights were all on their shelf except for one that still remained missing.
“I think I hear something,” Delaine whispered. “Like . . . a creaking sound.”
“Nothing registering here,” said Tim, scanning his meters.
“It’s probably Ravencrest Inn just settling on its haunches,” said Theodosia. The building was old and arthritic, like a nonagenarian whose bones snapped and popped with each little exertion.
Then Jed put an index finger to his mouth and said, “Shhh.”
They all sat quiet and motionless for a good thirty minutes. Wind sighed in the eaves, boards creaked, somewhere a faucet dripped. But no apparition filled the room with glowing light, no eerie noises emanated from within hollow walls.
Tim glanced at Jed. “You getting anything?”
Jed shook his head. “No. Not yet.”
“What’s the protocol for something like this?” asked Theodosia. “Do you guys just hang around all night?”
Hoping for the best?
“Sometimes we do,” said Jed. “And sometimes we try to make things happen. We try to prompt a spirit to manifest.”
“How on earth do you do that?” asked Delaine. She’d had her initial five minutes of high anticipation but was now reaching the limit of her patience.
“We move around,” said Jed. “Try to shake things up.”
“You mean you move your equipment?” said Theodosia. “To another spot?”
“Sometimes we do that, yes,” said Tim.
“Maybe worth a try?” asked Delaine. “I mean, it would be nice if
something
happened.”
So they picked up all the equipment and moved downstairs to the basement.
* * *
The basement of
Ravencrest Inn was just as dreary as the rest of the place. Two dim overhead lights cast faint illumination on a floor of packed earth. Rafters overhead were dusty with cobwebs. And a strange assortment of junk—a spinning wheel, an old tricycle, broken lamps, a coffee grinder—was piled alongside discarded and broken furniture. A small mountain of old steamer trunks was stacked against one wall, as if long-ago guests had checked in, unpacked their belongings, then mysteriously disappeared, leaving all their luggage behind.
“Cold down here,” said Delaine, crossing her arms in front of her and shivering.
“That’s good,” said Jed. “Now maybe we can coax something to happen.”
Theodosia really wondered if temperature was a key factor in determining whether a spirit might or might not appear. Somehow she doubted it. If spirits or ghosts really did dwell in some nether world and had the ability to manifest at will, she didn’t think a few degrees either way was going to make much difference to them. And she certainly couldn’t envision them checking the Weather Channel for favorable conditions.
Tim was staring intently at the miniature screen of his motion detector. “Something’s moving,” he said in a low voice.
“Already?” said Theodosia.
“Where?” asked Jed.
Tim flapped a hand toward a dark corner.
Delaine looked suddenly hopeful. “Dougan?” she said. “Is it Dougan?” She stumbled to her feet and said in a hoarse warble, “Is that you, sweetheart?”
Theodosia tiptoed across the dirt floor and positioned herself directly behind Tim. She leaned forward and stared over his shoulder. Yes, amazingly, shards of green zigzags were blooming and moving erratically across his screen. Indicating . . . what? The presence of an entity? Or something else?
Tim suddenly stood up and began to walk slowly toward that corner of the basement. “It’s going crazy,” he whispered excitedly.
Delaine put a hand to her chest. “It’s happening, it’s really happening. Oh, dear Lord, I feel faint!”
Everyone basically ignored her.
“Flashlight,” Tim said, pointing at the corner. He snapped his fingers at Jed. “Do it now!”
Jed grabbed a large Coleman lantern and aimed twelve hundred lumens of light at the corner. Everyone strained to see what was there.
Liquid eyes appeared in the sudden burst of light!
“Holy smokes,” Theodosia muttered as her heart gave a little hitch. Had the ghost hunters really found something? Were ghosts for real? Her heart thumped again,
wanting
this to be real. Hoping, for everyone’s sake, that something was about to make contact.
Dust motes swirled around shining eyes. Then the eyes blinked and, just like that, a cat strolled out of the shadows! A large black feline with glinting green eyes.
“A cat!” cried Delaine. “It’s a cat!”
“False alarm,” said Tim. He sounded tremendously disappointed.
But Delaine wasn’t one bit put off. “You realize, cats are very adept at detecting spirits. They have the innate ability to see things our human eyes cannot.”
“Face it,” said Theodosia, who was ready to call it quits. “We gave it a good try.”
“Oh, we’re not finished yet,” said Jed. “Now we’re going back upstairs to set up again.”
Are you really?
Theodosia thought to herself.
Why?
Delaine was all for it, too. “I think that’s a smart idea. I mean, we’ve been here for a while, so now the spirits realize we’re serious. Maybe this time they’ll manifest.”
“That’s the spirit,” Jed told her. “No pun intended.”
12
They trooped back
through the lobby, which was completely deserted—no sign of the Rattlings at all—and climbed the back stairs again. Delaine, her energy suddenly renewed, chatted breathlessly with Tim.
“Do you think maybe I could hold the thermal scanner this time?” she asked.
“I don’t see why not,” said Tim, handing it to her.
“This whole process is really quite intriguing,” said Delaine, as they rounded the second-floor landing and headed up the final flight of stairs. “I don’t understand why . . .”
Up ahead of them, a step creaked. And then an enormous shape suddenly loomed up out of the darkness.
Delaine saw the amorphous shape rise up, unleashed a shrill, high-pitched scream, and teetered backward on her high heels, almost losing her balance.
“Watch out!” cried Tim, as he juggled equipment while trying to catch her.
“It’s happening!” Delaine cried. “I just knew it! Something is manifesting!”
Jed struggled to raise his video camera and point it at the dark apparition before them.
All Theodosia could do was peer up the stairs as she murmured, “Dear Lord. What now?”
“What’s going on?” a loud voice demanded.
Theodosia suddenly checked her surprise and did a double take. She knew that voice! It sounded very familiar.
“What are you people
doing
here?” said the voice.
“Tidwell?” Theodosia muttered. Had to be. Who else would be creepy-crawling this old place?
It suddenly dawned on Delaine, Tim, and Jed, too, that this was no supernatural being before them. It was a flesh-and-blood human. An
angry
flesh-and-blood human.
“It’s Tidwell,” Theodosia said from directly behind them.
“Of course, it’s me,” snarled Tidwell, stepping into the light. “Who were you expecting? The Green Hornet?”
“It’s just that . . .” began Delaine. She fumbled for the right words. “We were trying to . . .”
Tidwell descended two steps. “What exactly
are
you people doing here?” he asked as the steps creaked again in protest to his weight.
They all shifted about nervously until Jed finally spoke up and said, “We’re doing paranormal research.”
“What?” said Tidwell, as if he was hard of hearing. “What’s that you just said?”
“They’re engaged in a form of ghost hunting,” Theodosia said, trying to clarify things.
Tidwell rocked back on his heels and stared at them with dark eyes that were decidedly not amused. “How very strange,” he said. And now an undercurrent of sarcasm colored his voice. “I had the distinct impression someone actually uttered the words
ghost hunting
.”
“That’s right,” said Delaine. “We came here to try to commune with Dougan.”
“Did you indeed?” said Tidwell. “And whose harebrained idea was that exactly?”
Delaine, eager to deflect blame, suddenly pointed at Jed and Tim. “Theirs.”
“But you’re here, too,” Tidwell chided her. Then his eyes slid over to Theodosia. “And you. I expected more from you.”
“What can I tell you?” said Theodosia. “It was an experiment.”
“More likely a cheap parlor trick,” said Tidwell. He drew a wheezy breath and said, “Who tore down my crime-scene tape?”
When no one answered, he snorted, “A ghost hunt. How utterly preposterous.”
“I’ll have you know,” said Jed, “that we’re utilizing the very latest in ghost-hunting equipment. All our gear is completely field-tested.”
“Good for you,” said Tidwell. “Now kindly remove yourselves from
my
field.”
* * *
That pretty much
broke everyone’s spirit. They trudged back downstairs, lugging gear, looking thoroughly chastised. Only Theodosia lagged behind so she could talk to Tidwell.
“Are you really still poking around here?” she asked him. She couldn’t imagine what more he’d find in room 313. Or maybe he’d just dropped by to sniff the turf again. Maybe
he
was the one who was psychic.
“Isn’t it obvious?” said Tidwell.
“We were just in room three-thirteen and I noticed there’s still a paperweight missing from the collection.”
“Yes,” said Tidwell.
“Have you found it yet?”
He stared at her for a long moment, then said, “No.” With that he turned around and disappeared into the dark.
Back downstairs, Delaine was dispirited. “It didn’t work,” she said. “I hoped I’d have a chance to say good-bye to Dougan, to commune with him, but I didn’t.”
“Better to say good-bye at the funeral tomorrow,” said Theodosia. “Think of that as his final send-off.”
“Yes,” said Delaine, as if she’d forgotten all about the service. “The funeral. I better go home and figure out what to wear.”
Time to pull out the grief garb
, Theodosia thought. She herself had a sedate little black suit she’d earmarked as her funeral outfit. Although, with the weather warming up, she wondered if it would be more like a sauna suit. Maybe better to pull out a black cocktail dress and wrap a modest shawl around her shoulders. Maybe add a pair of black gloves and a hat. And then she’d look like . . .
Just like Morticia from the Addams Family. And I really don’t want to do that.
It might be better, Theodosia decided, if she wore her navy dress.
“Hey,” said Jed, extending a hand. “Thanks for all your help.”
“You’re welcome,” said Theodosia, shaking hands and wondering just what help, if any, she’d dished up.
“See you later,” said Tim. “We’ll for sure try to drop by your tea shop again.”
“Great,” said Theodosia as Jed, Tim, and Delaine banged their way through the front door and out onto the street.
Theodosia stood there, glancing about the lobby, wondering again where the Rattlings were. Probably upstairs in some dark room, watching TV and feeling regretful about all the cancellations.
Or had they locked themselves in their owner’s suite, still nervous about the killer who had prowled through here? Did the specter of Granville’s murder keep them awake at night?
Theodosia whirled around when she heard Tidwell’s heavy footsteps descending the staircase.
“Did you find anything new?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No, but I didn’t expect to.”
“I need to ask you something,” she said.
Tidwell didn’t say yes, but he did offer an inquisitive tilt of his head.
“Did you tell Allan Grumley not to release the contents of Granville’s will?”
Tidwell stared at her. “Why would I do something like that?”
Theodosia stared back at him, stunned. “I don’t know. But that’s exactly what Grumley told Delaine and me this afternoon.”
Tidwell crossed the lobby, moving swiftly for such a large man, and put a hand on the front door. “Perhaps he was simply mistaken.”
“No,” said Theodosia. “I think he was rather deliberate.”
* * *
What was Grumley
trying to hide? Theodosia wondered, as she lingered in the lobby. Or better yet, what information was he trying to delay? Had Delaine inherited the whole shooting match? Granville’s home, his assets, and half of the law firm? Or was something else going on?
She wandered into the Fireplace Room where, three days ago, a plethora of guests had congregated for Delaine’s wedding. Now it was silent and empty. No crackling fire, no pots of hot tea or crystal snifters filled with fine brandy. Metal folding chairs were stacked; vases of wilted flowers looked sad and droopy. And they exuded a distinctive past-their-peak aroma . . . almost like flowers in a funeral home.
Theodosia continued to ponder what had gone on here. Had one of the guests conspired to murder Granville? Or had someone else sneaked in? She walked over to the fireplace, touched a hand to the mantel, and came away with dust on her fingers.
Another question that had been plaguing her was the missing murder weapon. If someone had clunked Granville on the head with a paperweight, then skipped down the back staircase to escape, would they have taken the murder weapon with them?
To her, the answer was a resounding no. If she’d been the killer, the paperweight would have been too much of a hot potato. She would have gotten rid of the darned thing as soon as possible.
But where?
Theodosia wandered back into the lobby and glanced around. Not very many hiding spots here. Then again, the murderer could have rolled the paperweight down the basement stairs to be lost forever among heaps of rubbish.
Sighing now, Theodosia wondered briefly if she should turn off the lights and lock the front door. Then she figured it really wasn’t her call. The Rattlings would probably do a final check and take care of all of those things.
Theodosia slipped out the front door and headed for her car. Then, on a whim, she hooked a right turn and followed a narrow stone path, overgrown with grass and vines, around the side of Ravencrest Inn and into the backyard.
She saw at once that the backyard, in its former life, had been a classic Charleston garden. Once, when it had a gardener to care for and prune the plants, the place had been a walled oasis filled with magnolias, camellias, and jasmine. Moths had fluttered and frolicked here at night, perhaps even a magnificent giant luna moth.
Now the garden was completely overgrown. Flower beds were a tangle; trees and shrubs were unruly and untrimmed; a wall of ivy looked more like a jungle of kudzu. As she wandered in, wondering why the Rattlings had allowed the garden to fall into such disrepair, tendrils of Spanish moss swung low from the live oak, practically brushing the top of her head.
Theodosia shuddered as she skittered beneath it. Tourists always found Spanish moss so elegant and romantic. They didn’t realize it was really a convenient nest for bugs!
Sitting down on a semicircular stone bench, Theodosia gazed upon an old marble statue. It was a woman wearing a Grecian toga and balancing an urn on her shoulder. But the piece was dirty and chipped and pitted with age. And the poor woman’s facial features had pretty much melted away over time.
Five feet ahead of her was a small fish pond, similar to the one she had in her own backyard. She doubted the presence of any goldfish but could see a shiny purple water beetle, swimming and skimming its way across the surface.
Wind riffled nearby pond fronds, bringing a hint of salt air. And Theodosia wondered again why this lovely garden hadn’t been cared for.
Maybe the Rattlings are just too busy. Maybe Ravencrest Inn is too much for them to handle. Then again, maybe they just don’t care.
Spotting a penny on the ground, Theodosia leaned forward and picked it up. It was a wheat penny, one of the older ones. Figuring the Rattlings could use a smidgen of good luck, she stood up, moved forward a few feet, and tossed it into the pond. As the penny landed in the water with a little
plunk
, it set off a small circle of ripples.
And that was when Theodosia noticed the colored rock.
She leaned closer and gazed into the pond. And suddenly inhaled sharply.
Because the colored rock wasn’t a colored rock at all.
It was a glass paperweight.
Theodosia stared at it for a few moments longer. Then, anxiously, she dug into her bag for her cell phone. When she found her phone, she fumbled it twice before punching in the correct number.
Answer, answer, please answer.
Tidwell answered on the second ring with, “This better be good.”
“It is,” said Theodosia. “So please get back over here.”
“What on earth for?” Tidwell chuckled. “Did you by chance locate a wayward spirit after all?”
Theodosia glanced down into the shimmer of water again. Yes, it was still there. She hadn’t just seen a mirage. “Nothing that dramatic,” she told him. “But I did find the missing paperweight.”