Ghost Memories by Heather Graham Read Free Book Online

them out of there before they do damage to the place. Craig Beckett might have closed it down a few years ago, but it still has all of the exhibits in place,” Katie said.
    â€œWhat if it’s not a frat boy?” Bartholomew protested.
    â€œKatie, don’t go in there.”
    â€œYou’re with me. I’ll be fine.”
    â€œKatie! Awake and see the sunrise, lass! Me—ghost. I love to remember the days when I was strong and tough and could defend a girl with certainty and vigor. If you get into real trouble because the place is being pilfered or plundered by a criminal—”
    â€œBartholomew, what thief turns on the lights?” Katie demanded.
    Bartholomew groaned. “A drunk one? Katie—!”
    Bartholomew groaned. Katie had jumped the low white-picket gate that surrounded the place.
    â€œKatie!”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œMurder, murder most foul!” Bartholomew cried.
    He’d always been fond of quoting and paraphrasing Shakespeare.
    â€œMurderers do not turn the lights on!” she tossed over her shoulder in return.
    â€œHow do you know?” he demanded
    She ignored him and walked up the limestone path that led to broad steps to the porch and the door.
    She felt him close behind her.
    Was she crazy? No! This was about to be her place, and she could speed-dial the police in two seconds. She wasn’t going in with lights blazing; she would see what was going on by lurking in the darkness. She knew the place.
    At the door she paused. She reached for the knob and as she did so, the door opened, creaking a bit, as if it had been pushed by a sudden wind.
    â€œI did not do that!” Bartholomew whispered.
    She shook her head impatiently and stepped in.
    The once beautiful hardwood floors did need work, she noticed. Workmen had been in and out through the years, and their boots had done some damage. The gate area still boasted an old-fashioned cash register, but the mahogany desk, where an attendant sold tickets, was beautiful. It had been bought from an auctioneer and had once been the captain’s desk in an old sailing ship. The swivel chair behind it was equally old, handsome and still comfortable. Katie was familiar with everything; she had walked through with Liam Beckett just a few days earlier.
    The light that she had seen from the street had come from the entry. It was the muted light of the foyer’s chandelier, and it cast a gentle glow over the place.
    Katie opened her mouth, about to call out, but she didn’t. She chose not to twist the turnstile—the noise here would be like an explosion. She sat atop the old mahogany desk and swung her legs around, then stepped to the other side.
    Looking up was eerie. Figures of Papa Hemingway and his second wife, Pauline, were posed coming down the stairway. They had always been a big hit at the museum, with eighty percent of those going through the place having their pictures taken with the pair.
    â€œDon’t you dare go up those stairs,” Bartholomew commanded sternly.
    Katie almost smiled, grinning at him. “Bartholomew, you’re scared. A ghost can’t be scared. My God, Bartholomew. You were a pirate.”
    â€œPrivateer. My boat was authorized by the government,” Bartholomew corrected irritably. “And don’t be ridiculous, I’m not frightened. Yes, wait, I am frightened for you, foolish girl. What is the matter with you? I know your family taught you better. Innocent young ladies do not wander into dark alleys.”
    â€œThis isn’t a dark alley.”
    â€œNo, it’s worse. You can get trapped in here.”
    â€œI’m not going upstairs,” she assured him.
    She walked to the side, realizing that she was going in the wrong historical order. She wasn’t going up the stairs; she just wanted to see what was going on.
    â€œKatie,” Bartholomew warned, following her.
    She turned and stared at him. “What? I’m going to