Haunted Read online

  August 8

  Body House: 1:15 P.M.

  Amber, her dad, and Kelly Cox stood in the downstairs room they called "Lizzie's salon." One entire wall of wardrobes stood open to show off the two dozen antique evening gowns hanging within.

  "Wow!" Kelly said. "There're so many! And they're gorgeous!"

  "There were tons more," Amber told her, "but they fell apart."

  "So, are you two sure you want to wear these to the dance?" her dad asked.

  "Yeah!" Kelly breathed. "Jason's grandfather is letting him and Rick get old-fashioned sailor's uniforms out of his attic, so we'll all look great together."

  "For sure," Amber seconded.

  A look of concern crossed her dad's face. "Okay, but there's one condition you have to agree to before I let you use these dresses--"

  "We're not little kids, Dad. We won't spill anything on them."

  He smiled thinly. "That goes without saying."

  "Anything, Mr. Masters," Kelly breathed. "Anything."

  "All I ask is that you don't tell anyone where you got them or who their previous owners were. You can call yourselves opera enthusiasts, stage actresses, pre-flappers, or anything else you want--as long as it's not ladies of the evening."

  "Sure, Dad."

  "No problem."

  His smile turned genuine. "Good. I wouldn't want the town gossiping about how I'm ruining the morals of teenagers by letting them dress up as hookers!"

  "You told him about the--?"

  "Shut up, Kelly," Amber hissed. She hadn't said a word to her dad about the stories Minnie had told about him picking out her underwear. It was just too mortifying. She hadn't called Melanie, either, because she knew her dad would be ultra-ticked if he found out she was messing around in his personal life.

  "Told me what?" he asked, his brows raised questioningly.

  "Forget it, Daddy," Amber said quickly. "It was just some stupid gossip. You know how you hate gossip."

  He shrugged. "Okay. I'll be down the hall in my office if you need anything." He gestured at the hanging dresses. "You two go ahead and start trying them on."

  "Can we model them for you when we're done?" Kelly asked.

  He looked surprised. "Sure, if you want. Just give a knock." He turned and left, pulling the door to the salon closed behind him.

  "You want to model the dress for my dad?" Amber asked as soon as he was gone.

  Kelly blushed and shrugged.

  Amber put her hands on her hips, disgusted. "You think he's cute, don't you?"

  "Well..."

  "Don't you?"

  "Sort of."

  "Yeah, well, listen Kel, you'd better not let him know it. A couple of my girlfriends back in Boston kept hanging around him and stuff and he caught on that they had the hots for him and you know what he did?"

  "What?" Kelly asked breathlessly, her eyes wide and waiting. "Did he--"

  Amber didn't want to hear it. "He wouldn't let them come over to see me anymore, that's what he did." She fixed her friend with a knowing look. "You wouldn't want that to happen, would you?"

  Kelly shook her head.

  "Then be cool. He's really, really sensitive about stuff like that, okay?"

  "Okay. But how come you didn't tell him about the underwear stuff? If he's so sensitive, he'd fire that old busybody on the spot, wouldn't he?"

  "Yeah, he would." Amber took a red dress from the wardrobe and held it up. "But it's just too embarrassing, you know?"

  "Yeah, I guess," Kelly said as she examined a slinky violet dress. "I'm going to try this one on." So saying, she laid the dress over a chair and began undressing.

  Even though it was mortifying, Amber had been ready to tell her dad two mornings ago, but then that weird stuff with that disgusting doll had happened and they decided to hurry and clean up the laundry room so Minnie wouldn't see it. Then everything got put on hold after that. He put the dolls in Ziploc bags and locked them in his office, then insisted on taking her out for brunch and a matinee. She knew he was really scared, mostly for her, even though she kept telling him she was fine.

  And she was, pretty much. A little creeped-out, maybe, but that was all. She didn't care to be alone anywhere in the house except in her room, which she shared with the pleasant ghost identifiable only by the faint fragrance of lavender that she secretly believed belonged to Lizzie Baudey.

  The smell of lavender preceding the laundry room attack didn't really worry her because she thought that Lizzie's spirit had wanted her to find the pin and the dolls. It had gone bad because she'd dropped the doll--she couldn't conceive of the gentle ghost meaning her any harm.

  Amber put the red dress back and began looking over the four rich green ones, which she thought had belonged to Lizzie. She would have liked to wear any one of those beautiful gowns, but Lizzie must have been very tiny-boned, maybe a size three or five, at the most. Amber needed a nine. It was too bad Melanie wasn't here; she could wear one--and she even had red hair, just like Lizzie. Oh well. She picked a black dress next It appeared to be the right size and she decided to try it on--after all, Kelly was getting into a third dress already, and was completely off in another world.

  The other day, after the matinee, her dad had insisted on a walk on the beach. Finally, they sat, jeans rolled to the knee, bare toes dug into the warm sand. "Do you want to leave the house, kiddo?" he'd asked her quietly.

  "And go where?" she asked.

  "Well, I think that after the Jerry Romero show, I might try to sell Body House," he admitted. "I don't sleep so well there, you know."

  "It'll be hard to sell."

  "Not too. Gaylord was telling me that George Frankenberg has been asking if I'm ready to sell it or lease it yet." He laughed. "He wants it now that it's restored."

  Frankenberg was one of the hottest directors in Hollywood. "You'd take a big loss, wouldn't you?" she asked.

  "No. Nothing's set in stone yet, but George wants to buy the rights to Mephisto Palace. And he wants to film it on location. I can make the house part of the deal." He paused. "Don't repeat any of that, okay."

  "No problem," she had replied, realizing how serious he was about this--her dad's most major rule was that he never, ever said anything about any projects until everything was signed. "Are you thinking about renting another house in town for now?"

  He didn't speak for a long time. "Frankly, I hadn't considered that. I don't really want to leave here until I'm done with the first draft."

  "Atmosphere?"

  "Yeah. I was thinking that you could go back to Boston and stay with your Aunt Barbara. That way you could go back to Revere High to finish your last year. I'd come back before the end of the year and we could find a new house."

  She was silent. Her father's plan held a lot of appeal for her. On the other hand, she had new friends here and she really liked the California weather, the beach, and the slower pace. But most importantly, she'd go nuts wondering if Dad was okay all alone in Body House. "I'm not going anywhere until you do," she said at last.

  "Are you sure?"

  "Positive. Besides, you told me hauntings can't hurt you, remember? You can only get scared and hurt yourself."

  "I can't argue with that." He studied her. "Okay, then, we stay, but I don't want you ever to be alone in that place again. If you happen to come home and no one's there, wait outside. Deal?''

  "Sure. Or I can stay in my room."

  "I'd prefer you stay outside. It'll probably never happen, but if I'm away, I'll be back fast."

  "Dad, my room is completely safe."

  "I'm not so sure."

  "Why?"

  "No reason," he said uncomfortably.

  She could tell he was keeping something from her, but she decided not to bug him about it. "Okay. I'll wait outside." She had pushed her toes deeper into the sand. "Dad?"

  "Hmmm?"

  "Where were you this morning?"

  "Oh, ah, I had an errand to run..."

  If David Masters was lousy at skirting t
he truth, he was an absolute disaster when he tried to lie. "Dad," she said reprovingly. "Come on."

  "An errand," he said slowly.

  "Where?"

  "I didn't expect the Spanish Inquisition," he said, but his attempt at humor failed dismally. "Theo Pelinore called. I had to go sign a paper. You know, a real estate thing."

  "Oh." She'd forgotten Pelinore, who was reason enough in herself for Amber not to return to Boston. Her dad would be a sitting duck and she could end up with a bona fide wicked stepmother.

  "So, you want to go back to the house and start checking out those crates of goodies you told me about at lunch?" she asked abruptly.

  He'd put her in charge of the clothes while he slowly began examining the contents of the trunk that contained the books.

  The rest of that day and night had passed uneventfully. Yesterday, things seemed really normal and he even asked her if she'd like to stay in the house permanently if they could dispose of the hauntings. She'd very honestly said yes, at least if she could get a car of her own to go into town with, and he'd said it wouldn't be a problem, then talked about getting in touch with a parapsychologist and physicist he knew from way back and seeing if he couldn't fly them out to run some scientific studies. He went on and on about electromagnetism, physics, and hauntings, saying he thought it might be possible to neutralize the house, though he didn't want to do it until he'd finished with Romero and the first draft.

  Fastening the black dress, Amber thought her dad was the weirdest thrill-seeker in the world.

  "Wow, you look incredible!" Kelly told her.

  "You think so?" Amber studied her reflection in the mirror. She did look pretty good, she thought. The off-the-shoulder sleeves were made of thin chiffon that fit so that they began below her shoulders, even with the lacy sweetheart neckline.

  The layered satin and lace skirt trailed gracefully down from the empire waistline, stopping a few inches below the knee, where the luxurious folds of material were gathered to drape to the sides and extend to the ground, much as Lizzie's dress in the portrait. She took a step and showed a brief flash of calf.

  "Sexy, sexy," Kelly told her. "Rick's tongue will be on the ground when he sees you."

  "You really think so?" she asked, but it wasn't really a question because, suddenly, Amber felt confident and adult. "Dress for success, isn't that what they say?"

  "For sure," Kelly breathed. "Can you hand me that red dress?"

  "Sure." Amber examined her reflection while Kelly slipped into the crimson gown. The black dress made her look grown up. More than that it made her look experienced, she thought, but not slutty. Rather, it gave her an unapproachable air. "It says 'Look but don't touch.' "

  "Huh?"

  "This dress. That's what it says, I think."

  Kelly grinned. "Yeah, like the Spider Woman or something. It'll keep all those dirty old men away."

  "Oh, my dad'll do that." As she said it, she realized that he might have a cow if he saw this on her. It wasn't that it revealed much more than any of the other dresses. It was just so... sexy. She started to unfasten it. "I guess I'll keep looking."

  Kelly turned. "You're kidding. That's just so perfect! You have to wear it!"

  "Really?"

  "Really! It's totally sophisticated. Now, what do you think of this dress?"

  Amber studied it. "Your boobs are too big for it. You'd have to bind them."

  "Oh, gross!" Kelly made a face.

  "That's what they did back then. Strapped them down. Flat chested girls were the ones everybody wanted."

  "Eoo-ooh!" Kelly whined. "No offense, but I like Candy and Sue just .the way they are and I'm not going to tie 'em down for anybody."

  Candy and Sue? Amber turned to the wardrobe, hiding her amusement among the gowns. "Here's another red one," she said, "And it looks like it's got mondo boob room."

  "Cool." Kelly said breathlessly, "Hand it over."

  Amber did, then changed into her street clothes and settled down on the floor. She'd been to Nordstorm's once with Kelly and, from that experience, she knew her friend would have to try on everything in the wardrobes before she could choose.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Body House 2:35 P.M.

  Out of the half dozen crates, only the sixth one contained anything other than clothing. Like the other boxes, though, this four-foot tall, eighteen-inch wide wooden carton was constructed so that it could only be easily opened at one end, and David had to dig down, deeper and deeper and layer by layer, through crumbling magazines and newspapers, as if he were an archeologist looking for prehistoric treasures.

  Perversely, he enjoyed the job and had been taking his time, examining each item slowly and carefully before going on to the next. He had only inspected about a fourth of the contents thus far and he had every intention of extending the process for as long as possible.

  Yesterday, Amber had watched him for a while and told him how annoying he was, pointing out that he was acting just like he did when he got a Christmas or birthday present he routinely took fifteen minutes to unwrap a single gift. She was right of course, but he didn’t apologize. Instead, he gave her a big stupid grin and drawled, "Anticipation, my dear girl, is the best part." With a groan, she'd gone back to sorting the dresses to take to the dry cleaners.

  He'd watched her work for a moment, thinking that, despite his worries about letting her remain in the house after the laundry room incident, he was very glad she'd refused to leave. Chip off the old block. The thought made him proud--the girl had been born with nerves of steel. After they'd returned to the house, he'd felt obligated to tell her about the encounter he and Eric had had with the two female ghosts in her room--though he didn't want to worry her, he couldn't, in good conscience, allow her to choose to remain without that knowledge. The story told, he waited an anxious moment before she told him that she still intended to stay, that she had faith that her room would remain utterly safe.

  She'd been so level-headed about the whole thing that he wished now that he could discuss his nightmare problems, however circumspectly, with her. But he couldn't. Wishing he had someone to discuss them with made him think fleetingly of Melanie.

  The phone rang, interrupting his reveries. Seeing it was the business line, he snagged it up. "Hello?"

  "David." Georgie Gordon drawled his name in her sophisticated, smoky voice. "Darling, how are you?"

  "Georgie," he said warmly. "I was just thinking about you.”

  She laughed, low and knowing. "Wondering where your royalties are, huh?"

  "Not at all," David laughed. "Did Gaylord call you?"

  "Yes, it's wonderful, isn't it, what a hard-on Frankenberg has for Mephisto Palace."

  "It's terrific."

  "He told me about the Jerry Romero Show too," Georgie continued. "He's just such a turd, don't you think?" She laughed. "Jerry, not Gaylord."

  "Is he?" David asked. "I don't know too much about him."

  "Oh, he's a charming turd, but he can be so obnoxious. You’ll need to hire a guard to keep him from snooping through your whole house."

  David chuckled. "There's a thought. We have a room on the third floor that seems to turn people into raving sex maniacs. Maybe I should take him up there."

  "Really? Sex maniacs?"

  "I swear it on a stack of contracts."

  "That's marvelous, David. Are you writing about it?"

  "I haven't worked it in yet. Who knows?"

  "Why don't you tell Jerry he can spend the night in there if he promises to behave himself?" she suggested with a throaty laugh.

  "He wants me to find the dungeon, Georgie. He's calling it the "Lost Chamber of Sexual Tortures.’”

  "Sounds like a gas, darling. I wish I could get away. I'd love to come for a few days sometime around the filming.”

  "We'd love to have you!" he said, very honestly.

  "You're a love, David, but that's not why I'm calling."

  "Oh?"

  "I had lunch with your edito
r today. She looks wonderful. She's such a dear, isn't she?"

  "Yes, she is."

  "And she adores you," Georgie added, mimicking a Joan Rivers gush perfectly. "She had drinks with Melanie last week."

  David's good mood twisted into a leaden knot in his stomach.

  "Oh?"

  "No, no, David, don't get upset."

  "I'm not upset."

  "Don't lie to your agent. You sound like you just sat down on a broomstick."

  "Georgie, what's this about?"

  "I thought you'd like to know that Harry Rosenberg at Dorner Books made Joanna a huge offer to get her and you to leave Randall House."

  "Oh, God." He could feel the headache coming on already. He hated the business end of publishing. "What does Melanie have to do with this?" Suddenly, he couldn't understand why the hell he'd been missing her so much.

  "It's not what you're thinking, David. It seems she told Joanna about the offer before it came down."

  "Melanie did that?" He couldn't believe it: Melanie never did anything that wouldn't further her career, and though warning Joanna Scanlon might not hurt her, it couldn't possibly help in any way he could imagine. "Why?"

  "Well, David, I don't know, but I'm guessing she had an attack of conscience."

  "What do you mean?''

  "Melanie told Joanna that it was her idea, that she suggested to Harry that he make the offer as a way for Dorner to acquire you, and that she'd felt like a shit about the whole thing ever since. She decided to confess."

  "That doesn't sound like Melanie," David said slowly.

  "No, it doesn't, does it?" Georgie cleared her throat. "Anyway, the offer was made--"

  "What happened?"

  "Joanna parlayed it into a nice raise and a corner office with two windows at Randall House."

  "Good." David couldn't think of anything else to say; all he could think about was Melanie.

  "I've got to go, darling. I'm late for a dinner engagement."

  "Wait--"

  "Yes, David?"

  "What's Melanie up to these days?"

  Georgie chuckled. "Well, she's frequently seen with Ray Blaisdell."

  "She's seeing Meat? The cocksman of science fiction?"

  "Be nice, David. She wouldn't have confessed to Joanna if she wasn't still pining away for you, Meat or no Meat." She cleared her throat suggestively. "How much do you want to bet he shrinks when you cook him? Now, darling, I've got to go."