the “ghosts” heard by everyone. He’d added remote-activated locks to mechanically operate doors. He’d even gotten a special-effects buddy to set up the blood-sweating wall.
Yet there were things Frank couldn’t have done. Namely, the ghosts.
Even more importantly, Frank lacked something else. A motive. He hadn’t been hired by Ricardo. Even if he was lying about that, rigging this house took some serious cash. No journalist would have that kind of expense account—and no newspaper or magazine would knowingly pay for a false exposé.
So who masterminded this? I had an idea. As for motive, well, that wasn’t quite so clear. But as soon as we got out of that room, I had Jeremy slip off to call Savannah with a few questions for Paige’s database.
I let the kids handle the fallout…I mean, take credit for unmasking the villains. I figured it was a reasonable trade-off. I trusted they wouldn’t make me look like an idiot, and I’d get my share of the limelight later. For now, I had to find the real man behind the mask.
As one might expect, the aftermath was chaotic. It was easy enough to tear Gregor away from the questions and the cameras.
With Jeremy accompanying us, I led Gregor to a second-level bedroom.
“I thought you might need a break,” I said.
“Yes, thank you. It is…overwhelming.” He sat on the edge of the bed and exhaled. “I am still trying to understand everything. There were no dead girls?”
“No, there were. That’s what I came to tell you. I talked to Polly Watson.”
“I thought—”
“No, it was her. I’m sure of it.” I told him how I’d seen the girls at the inn and now here.
“That is terrible,” he said, getting to his feet. “You must tell those reporters downstairs.”
“Actually, that’s why I called you in here. I want you to tell them.” I beamed at him. “You have a gift, Gregor. A true gift, and your story really touched me. I’ve had my fifteen minutes of fame. Now, it’s your turn.”
He shook his head. “No, this is yours. You saw them—”
“I’ll tell you everything you need to know.” I took his arm. “Come on. I’ve already seeded the story.”
“Seeded…”
“Oh, I’m sure you know what that means. Your English is a lot better than you let on, which is what I’d expect from someone who lived in the States for most of his childhood.”
“Wh-what? I did not live…”
When he trailed off, I released his arm. “Not sure you want to finish that, considering it’s a matter of public record? So is your real last name. Demidov. I don’t know why you changed it. It’s such a great name. Did you know there’s a family of Russian necromancers by that name? Quite famous. They say one even worked for the Tsars, back in the day.”
“I don’t know—”
“Well, I do. I know you’re a necromancer. You came on this show hoping to make your name by crushing mine. You found Polly Watson’s link to the house and invented a story, which you leaked to Mike. Then you convinced—or bullied—ghosts who looked like the missing girls into putting on a show for me, complete with period costume and tragic death scenes. You hired Frank to help with the scheme. What is he? Half-demon? Telekinesis? Good at slamming doors? Doesn’t matter really. His main role was to persuade me to say on camera that I was seeing the dead girls and the killer. Then you’d refute my claims. When the truth came out, that the letters were fake, it would be obvious I was a con artist and you were the real deal.”
Gregor edged toward the door. “You’re crazy,” he said, dropping most of his accent. “I don’t know what—”
He bumped into Jeremy.
“Hello,” Jeremy said. When Gregor tried to duck past, Jeremy tugged him back. “Not yet.”
Gregor struggled, but Jeremy just stood there, casually holding him fast.
“You know,” I said. “You really need to do more research on the people you try to scam. Do you know who he is?”
“I don’t
Yet there were things Frank couldn’t have done. Namely, the ghosts.
Even more importantly, Frank lacked something else. A motive. He hadn’t been hired by Ricardo. Even if he was lying about that, rigging this house took some serious cash. No journalist would have that kind of expense account—and no newspaper or magazine would knowingly pay for a false exposé.
So who masterminded this? I had an idea. As for motive, well, that wasn’t quite so clear. But as soon as we got out of that room, I had Jeremy slip off to call Savannah with a few questions for Paige’s database.
I let the kids handle the fallout…I mean, take credit for unmasking the villains. I figured it was a reasonable trade-off. I trusted they wouldn’t make me look like an idiot, and I’d get my share of the limelight later. For now, I had to find the real man behind the mask.
As one might expect, the aftermath was chaotic. It was easy enough to tear Gregor away from the questions and the cameras.
With Jeremy accompanying us, I led Gregor to a second-level bedroom.
“I thought you might need a break,” I said.
“Yes, thank you. It is…overwhelming.” He sat on the edge of the bed and exhaled. “I am still trying to understand everything. There were no dead girls?”
“No, there were. That’s what I came to tell you. I talked to Polly Watson.”
“I thought—”
“No, it was her. I’m sure of it.” I told him how I’d seen the girls at the inn and now here.
“That is terrible,” he said, getting to his feet. “You must tell those reporters downstairs.”
“Actually, that’s why I called you in here. I want you to tell them.” I beamed at him. “You have a gift, Gregor. A true gift, and your story really touched me. I’ve had my fifteen minutes of fame. Now, it’s your turn.”
He shook his head. “No, this is yours. You saw them—”
“I’ll tell you everything you need to know.” I took his arm. “Come on. I’ve already seeded the story.”
“Seeded…”
“Oh, I’m sure you know what that means. Your English is a lot better than you let on, which is what I’d expect from someone who lived in the States for most of his childhood.”
“Wh-what? I did not live…”
When he trailed off, I released his arm. “Not sure you want to finish that, considering it’s a matter of public record? So is your real last name. Demidov. I don’t know why you changed it. It’s such a great name. Did you know there’s a family of Russian necromancers by that name? Quite famous. They say one even worked for the Tsars, back in the day.”
“I don’t know—”
“Well, I do. I know you’re a necromancer. You came on this show hoping to make your name by crushing mine. You found Polly Watson’s link to the house and invented a story, which you leaked to Mike. Then you convinced—or bullied—ghosts who looked like the missing girls into putting on a show for me, complete with period costume and tragic death scenes. You hired Frank to help with the scheme. What is he? Half-demon? Telekinesis? Good at slamming doors? Doesn’t matter really. His main role was to persuade me to say on camera that I was seeing the dead girls and the killer. Then you’d refute my claims. When the truth came out, that the letters were fake, it would be obvious I was a con artist and you were the real deal.”
Gregor edged toward the door. “You’re crazy,” he said, dropping most of his accent. “I don’t know what—”
He bumped into Jeremy.
“Hello,” Jeremy said. When Gregor tried to duck past, Jeremy tugged him back. “Not yet.”
Gregor struggled, but Jeremy just stood there, casually holding him fast.
“You know,” I said. “You really need to do more research on the people you try to scam. Do you know who he is?”
“I don’t
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