Haunted by Heather Graham Read Free Book Online Page B

go jump in a lake.
    She walked over to the table. The first man—he with the great dimple—had drawn out a chair for her. She looked at the other two who had been sitting at the table, now risen, as she approached. One was older, white-haired, white-bearded. She kept imagining him in a butternut and gray Confederate Army uniform. The fourth in the party was somewhere around thirty as well, had a decent haircut, and was actually in a tailored shirt and chinos, and looked as if he might have a real job somewhere in a civilized town.
    â€œWhat’s your business here?” the tall, chiseled-face man asked abruptly, sitting as he did so. They all stared at her.
    â€œMy name is Darcy Tremayne. I had an appointment with Matt Stone. I was supposed to meet him here. I believe I’m in the right place. Do any of you know him?”
    She spoke evenly and politely—she was here on business. But she felt as if hostility oozed around her. She longed to bolt from the chair and fly out the door. She knew that everyone in the bar was still staring at her.
    â€œKnow him?” the tall, lanky fellow with the dimple said.
    But he was interrupted. The man Darcy had mentally begun to refer to as Chisel-face cut him off. “Are you one of the psychics?” he asked.
    Darcy arched a brow. Be pleasant with the locals, Adam had told her.
    All right, she could be friendly.
    â€œI suppose you could say that. I’m with Harrison Investigations,” she said. This was definitely a small town. Okay, so she had come from a fairly small town herself, but this one seemed even more rural. Maybe that was because she’d spent so many years in New York, and had been living in the D.C. area for so long now. It seemed that any event regarding Melody House was news in the area, and that everyone knew everyone else’s business.
    â€œA real live ghost buster?” the fellow with the dimple teased.
    â€œGhost buster?” She ever so slightly hiked a brow once again, sitting back, determined that she would be cool, cordial, and dignified. “Harrison Investigations is actually a small, private company, and what we do is investigate strange occurrences in old homes and the like.” She smiled. “Most of the time, we find squeaky floorboards and leaky plumbing, but when a place is as historically relevant as Melody House, the history alone could create a very old and spiritual feeling.”
    â€œMelody House is pretty damned cool,” the dimpled man said, flashing another warm smile.
    The old white-haired codger spoke up. “Ms. Tremayne, lots of folks have come wanting to set up cameras, tape machines, and all kinds of hocus-pocus stuff at Melody House. The owner has just flat-out told them no.”
    â€œYes, well, that’s why I’m anxious to meet Matt Stone. Mr. Harrison and he are well acquainted. Mr. Stone respects my employer, and knows that we’re not sensationalist in any way. We know history and architecture, and people, and naturally, we’re very discreet. I can understand any hesitation Mr. Stone has had in the past. I’m sure that many people come ready to cash in on the ghosts.”
    â€œI see,” interrupted Chisel-face. “You’re here to investigate some of the eerie stories associated with the house, but you’re not trying to cash in on ghosts?” His voice was deep, the words were evenly spoken; somehow, they still dripped scorn.
    â€œNo. I’ve just explained. We’re investigators.”
    â€œUm,” Chisel-face murmured. He stared at her hard. “You said that most of the time what you discovered was creaky floorboards or leaky plumping. What happens when it’s not ‘most of the time’?”
    â€œWe do our best to right matters,” she said, wishing that she’d never gotten into the conversation.
    â€œAnd how do you do that? Without, of course, making a bid to fascinate people—or cash in on the