Haunted Page 4

  "Well, it sure looks haunted," she said as her father pulled up next to the Volvo.

  "Yes, it does." He turned off the engine. "Home, sweet home?" he asked lightly.

  He is nervous, she thought. She was, too. Usually, a house that looked haunted, wasn't, and she knew the mansion's imposing appearance should be a relief. But it wasn't.

  As she climbed from the truck, ocean air kissed her face, chill and moist. The house watched and waited, silent and still as death.

  She heard a sound like distant laughter, cruel and feminine. Startled, she glanced at her father. He just shrugged, and looked at Pelinore, who stood beside her Volvo. Again, the

  laughter, more distant, just as cruel.

  "Birds," the woman said, her voice not quite steady. "It's only the birds. You'll hear them all over Red Cay at night."

  You're lying, Amber thought.

  "According to my research," her dad said, "one of the hallmarks of the Baudey House haunting is disembodied feminine laughter."

  Pelinore cocked her head and gave him a brown-nosed smile. "Pish posh," she said.

  Pish posh? Amber rolled her eyes for her father's benefit.

  "Just a silly old wives' tale." the realtor added.

  "Boy," Amber said innocently. "You really want to unload this place, don't you?"

  "Amber, please. Theo, you don't have to be coy about the house's reputation. Remember, I bought it for its phenomena, not in spite of it."

  "Well, I hope you won't be disappointed then, David, because I think you'll find this house will be a wonderfully peaceful and quiet place to live."

  "Gee, I hope not." He grinned boyishly. "I'd be very disappointed." With that, he turned and walked across the dirt road then turned, arms folded, and stared up at the old house, a thoughtful smile on his face.

  Chapter Four

  Body House: 8:19 P.M.

  Monolithic, stone cold, the Mephisto Palace seemed to grow out of the ground, its towers stretching up, like tortured fingers grasping at the moon.

  "Is your father all right, dear?"

  Pelinore's concern amused Amber. Her dad had been standing back there, staring at the house and wearing his goofy smile, for about five minutes now. She'd seen him space out like that about a gazillion times, but people who didn't know him sometimes thought he was having a fit or something. "He's fine," she said. "He's just writing in his head, he does it all the time."

  Their words made David's cheeks warm with embarrassment, and he gave the two women a sheepish smile. "It's very impressive," he said, his eyes already drawn back to the huge old house.

  Tonight, in the muted moonlight, it appeared to be breathing, sucking the oxygen from the air to make him lightheaded, then wrapping him in its foggy exhalations. Built of squared rough-cut stone and trimmed in dark brick, the pale gray mansion the Mephisto Palace of his upcoming novel--was the archetypical haunted house, with its tall tower, cross-gabled roof, and dark, fathomless windows. Softening the severe lines of the house was a graceful wrought-iron railing that edged the second-story balcony situated on top of the heavy stone arches of the shadowy front veranda.

  "Well," said Theo Pelinore as she tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, "I'll have to speak to Mrs. Willard first thing tomorrow morning."

  "Mrs. Willard?" David asked.

  "She's the housekeeper I hired for you. I specifically instructed her to leave the lights on when she finished up for the day." Theo smiled apologetically. "I'm afraid there isn't much to choose from around here... Mrs. Willard is usually quite reliable, though she has a little bit of a, you know, small-town attitude. And she does gossip a bit much for my taste."

  "Don't worry about it," David said. "I'm sure she just forgot. This place could rattle anybody."

  "Or maybe she's still in there," Amber added darkly, "splattered all over the walls."

  "Knock it off, kiddo," he said mildly. Chances were, she was talking like that more to bolster her own courage than to get under Theo's skin.

  David brandished the keys. "Shall we go in?" He took one step toward the house and halted as the soft sound of laughter filtered through the air. "What kind of bird did you say that was, Theo?"

  Her grip tightened on his elbow and her laugh was artificial. "You know, I'm not sure what they're called. Night birds of some sort. I think they're a sort of whippoorwill. Sounds like laughter, doesn't it?" she added nervously.

  Amber took his other elbow and he could practically hear her eyes rolling. "I studied ornithology in my natural science class last quarter, Mrs. Pelinore," she said sweetly. "Whippoorwills are not common to the western states. I think it's a blue-throated pacific night warbler. It belongs to the condor family."

  Theo paused a long moment. "You know, I think you're right. Please, call me Theo, dear." To David, she said, "I'm not married."

  "Come on," David said, pulling the women attached to his arms along with him. "Let's go in."

  As they mounted the sweeping stone stairs and stepped onto the shadowy porch, the air chilled perceptibly. Theo's fingers dug painfully into his forearm. "I have to find the lock," he said as he gently reclaimed his arm and felt for the keyhole.

  "I've got a flashlight." Theo rummaged in her purse and brought out a penlight. She aimed its weak beam at the door.

  "Take a look at this, Amber," David said, inserting the key in the lock, which was the eye of an ornate brass peacock. The latch plate was a foot long and the tail plumage flowed halfway across the front door.

  "Beautiful." Amber reached out and trailed her fingers over the molded brass.

  "Utterly charming, don't you think?" Theo asked.

  Instantly, Amber withdrew her hand, acknowledging the woman with a bare grunt. David resolved to talk to her about her hostility toward Theo later as he slipped his hand around the pull hidden in the peacock's breast and pressed the thumb latch. The door creaked and opened inward on perfect blackness. Chill, antiseptic air assaulted his nose.

  "The switches are just inside," Theo said.

  The little kid he kept buried deep inside him screamed Don’t put your hand in there--it it’ll get chopped off! and he hesitated for just an instant before he reached in and flipped a switch. Dim yellow light illuminated the porch, revealing the dull tarnish on the peacock, and several pieces of plywood--a two-foot square in the center of the door, and long strips at either side of the entryway.

  "Is the door broken?" Amber asked.

  "No," Theo said. "We kept the panels up to keep the stained glass safe." She turned to David. "Wait till you see what's under there."

  "It's in good shape, then?" When he'd seen the house, all of the stained glass art had been hidden under layers of paint, the first no doubt dating back to 1917, when Baudey House was converted into a home for retired seamen. Though it cost him dearly to have the paint removed, David was glad it had been there: otherwise the erotic art beneath it would never have survived.

  "Virtually all of it is intact," Theo said, "And it's beautiful. Utterly beautiful."

  "I can't wait to see it." David flipped the upper switch and light blossomed within the house. "After you." He stood back and gestured to Theo to enter. She barely hesitated before stepping inside. Winking slyly at his daughter, he extended his arm. She took it, grinning approval, and they stepped inside.

  "Wow!" Amber let go of David's arm and stepped forward. She slowly turned, taking in her surroundings.

  The foyer opened into a spacious parlor. That room and what he could see beyond looked very different from the way it had the first time he'd viewed it. David smiled to himself. The damp, musty scent of mildew that had permeated the house had surrendered to fresh paint, wax, and Pine-Sol. Not a speck of dust or string of cobweb remained. Instead, the walls and woodwork were pristinely coated with eggshell white paint and the Arenberg parquet floor gleamed, richly golden, under a fresh coating of wax.

  "All the outside repairs have been completed, except for some touchups where the plywood panels are protect
ing the first story windows." Theo gestured toward the protected stained glass. "They'll take care of all that tomorrow."

  Nodding absently, David examined the careful job the painters had done on the wood trim in the foyer. "My compliments to the workmen," he said. "And to Mrs. Williams."

  "Willard, Dad," Amber called over her shoulder. "You know, like the rat."

  "Thank you, dear," he said dryly.

  "Here's something we found in the storage room off the kitchen, of all places." Theo led them to a cove across the room which contained a huge upright piano. "We cleaned it up, but didn't have any repairs done. It used to have a player action, but I'm sure it doesn't work."

  The oak body badly needed refinishing, but the eight-inch tall stained glass mirror that depicted nude fairies cavorting the entire length of the instrument was in fine shape. Delighted, David lifted the key cover, revealing yellowed ivory keys stained here and there with dull dark-red spots. "Looks like somebody shot the piano player," he said, running his fingers over the keys. It needed tuning in the worst way, along with a few new strings, but the richness of the off-key tones told him the soundboard was intact. He resolved to get it refurbished immediately. "It's wonderful."

  Theo had moved to the center of the room and was examining everything with a critical eye. "Hiring the painters was difficult," Theo said. "The locals are so superstitious, but we finally hired Mr. Willard and a young man from town, Eric Swenson." Theo paused to push a stray strand of glossy dark hair from her face. "Eric also helped Mrs. Willard with the heavy cleaning. He'll be here tomorrow to finish the work around the windows and to help you in any other way you desire. I think he'd be happy to do the gardening and odd jobs for you. He does excellent work."

  "He sounds perfect," David told her.

  "Well, not perfect, but close to it."

  "Not perfect?" he asked doubtfully.

  Theo smiled disarmingly. "Who is? Intellectually, Eric is a bit slow," Theo said. "You might need to explain unusual jobs more thoroughly to him. But he's well worth the trouble." She paused. "He also has a very vivid imagination."

  "And he's willing to work here?"

  "You know, it's funny. Sometimes, he talks about ghosts as if he can see them, but he's so matter-of-fact that I don't think he believes in them at all. He certainly isn't frightened of them. He's a sweet boy. I think you'll like him."

  David glanced at Amber, who was examining the ribald stained glass doors fronting a series of cabinets and lawyer's cases built in to the far parlor wall, near the central stairwell. He turned back to Theo. "How old is Swenson?"

  "Twenty-one or-two. You do still want the agency to find you extra help, don't you?"

  "A housekeeper and a handyman, yes."

  "As I told you before, it's difficult to find anyone willing to work in this house," Theo explained. "Mrs. Willard and Eric are both amenable, and they come with my recommendations." She frowned slightly, the corners of her full lips pulling down in an alluring pout, and shook her head. "This is a small town, David, and, well, people here are superstitious. Frankly, I was surprised that Mrs. Willard was agreeable."

  "What about Mr. Willard?" David asked, thinking that if he could get a married couple, they might be willing to live in the house.

  She shook her head. "No, we just talked him into helping with the painting. He owns the hardware store in town. They have a lovely little cottage on Gull Road."

  "Oh."

  "Eric refinished the dining table for you." Theo turned and walked through the parlor into the dining room, glancing back to make sure he was following.

  The Tiffany chandelier in the center of the rectangular room blazed to life, illuminating one of the pieces of original furniture, a narrow, fourteen-foot-long walnut table with matching ladder-back chairs. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

  "Yes, it is." David cleared his throat. "Theo, may I ask you a question?"

  She turned, looking at him with eyes like liquid chocolate. The light cast red and purple highlights into her gleaming black hair and her tongue poked out to wet her lips. "Yes, David?"

  Suddenly, he became dizzyingly aware of her perfume and, for an instant, he lost his question in a testosterone haze. The fragrance, familiar and erotic, stirred an embarrassing physical reaction. Down boy! he ordered.

  "Ah, I wanted to ask you a little more about this young man, Eric." He tilted his head toward the parlor, where Amber continued to explore. "In private."

  "Certainly," she said, all business.

  "Is there any chance he might… bother… my daughter?"

  Her eyebrows lifted in brief surprise, then she smiled thinly and patted his arm. "What a good father you are! But you have nothing to worry about. Eric seems to have the mental capacity of a ten-or twelve-year-old."

  And the gonads of a twenty-year-old--what a combination! He almost blurted out the thought. A dozen more comments occurred to him, all centering around Theo's ignorance concerning twelve-year-old boys. But he said nothing, remembering all the times Melanie accused him of being too protective of his daughter. He suspected she might be right--besides, he reassured himself, Amber usually brought home intellectual or artistic types, boys who read books instead of Cliff Notes, or took art classes instead of drooling over comic books. And if a young man was tall and thin with dark hair and glasses, she seemed to like him even more. A slow-witted handyman with a blond name like Swenson wasn't likely to fit the bill in any way.

  What the hell am I thinking? He was fixating on a man he hadn't even met yet. On top of that, he trusted Amber and she knew how to take care of herself. Theo’s perfume is making me crazy. Finally, he said, "Theo, at twelve, all I could think about was the opposite sex." Just like now.

  "You must have been a very precocious little boy." Theo slowly rewet her lips.

  "Perhaps. At any rate, I'll trust your judgment and give Eric a try. After all," he couldn't help adding, "it's not like I won't be here to keep an eye on things."

  "You won't be sorry, I promise," Theo said warmly.

  Her renewed friendliness unnerved him and her perfume seemed to envelop him. He couldn't understand why he couldn't keep his mind out of his pants. "These insets are amazing," he said, forcing himself to cross to the short back wall and examine the built-in china cabinets. If you looked closely, you saw that the tile-like squares of stained glass which bordered the clear glass doors did not contain pink, red, and blue flowers, but human bodies, erotically entwined in subtle but endless daisy chains around each cabinet door. Here I am worrying about my daughter, and I bring her into the porno palace of all time.

  "You're an overprotective daddy," Theo said, as if she could read his mind. She came up behind him and touched a finger to one of the glass squares.

  Embarrassed, he turned away from the stained glass.

  "Melanie always told me that, too," he said.

  "Melanie?" She sounded slightly taken aback.

  "My ex."

  "Wife?"

  "Almost."

  "Your decree isn't final yet?"

  "No, she's my ex-girl—I mean ex-significant other," he corrected. "We were going to get married, but..." Why am I telling you this? Because I'm as nervous as a cat, that’s why. "What kind of perfume are you wearing?" he asked suddenly. As soon as the words left his mouth, he prayed she wouldn't take them as a come-on.

  "Obsession."

  Obsession in a haunted house, he thought, amused. How appropriate.

  "I'm surprised you noticed," she was saying. "I only put on a little dab, early this morning." She cocked her head at him. "Is something wrong, David?"

  "No, no. Maybe it's not your perfume I'm noticing. It smells more like flowers. I can't quite place it, but it's something familiar."

  "Probably flowers..." She sniffed. "I don't smell anything."

  "It's faded away." It occurred to him suddenly that the scent might be part of the haunting and, despite his standing as a good skeptic, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

 
; "Dad?" Amber entered the room, her smile disintegrating when she saw how close Theo stood to him. "What are you doing in here?"

  "Just looking around," David replied, happy that she had joined them. A pressure valve seemed to have been released the moment she walked into the room. "This is the original dining table, hon. Theo had it refinished for us."

  "The table they found all those bodies on?" Amber asked, watching Theo. The right corner of her mouth curled up with restrained amusement.

  "Yep." David noticed that the flowery scent had dissipated completely.

  "You're joking," Theo said. "Aren't you?"

  "Not at all." David pointed, warming to the subject. "Just there, in the middle, under the lamp, you can see some deep gouges."

  "A maniac with a meat cleaver did it," Amber supplied.

  "Amber, please."

  "Sorry, Dad." She crossed to the china cabinets and frankly studied the glass insets. "Boy, these are dirtier than the ones in the living room."

  "That's called the parlor, dear," Theo said.

  "Whatever." Amber shrugged indifferently.

  "If they bother you, kiddo, we can cover them or something."

  "Nah. You really have to look to see what they are anyway." She grinned. "When you first said this house had really dirty windows, Dad, I thought you meant we had to wash them." Fixing Theo with a frank stare, she said, "So, let's see the rest of the house, Mrs. Pelinore."

  "Certainly, dear. By the way, it's Ms., not Mrs., but in Red Cay, we're all good friends, so please call me Theo."

  Amber looked supremely unimpressed.

  "Let me show you the rest of the first floor," Theo said, leading them into a long tunnel of a kitchen. At the far end was a walk-in pantry, and a screened-in breakfast room that gave an illusion of width to the L-shaped kitchen. Stepping out onto the porch, David was pleased to see that the workmanship on the painting and screen replacement equaled that in the other rooms. A row of Monterey pines obscured the view of what lay beyond, their limbs scrabbling like fingers against the screen as fog sifted, wraithlike, through the branches. The muted crashing of waves and tang of seawater in the air reminded him how close the house was built to the southern cliffs.