house.
“Is something wrong?” he asked her.
“No, no, nothing. I was thinking maybe I’d go to the
Tarleton-Dandridge House with you now.”
He arched a brow. “You’re afraid the intriguing Cherry Addison
will step in—and give me incorrect information. Or that she’ll convince me the
ghosts of her ancestors are running around and our investigation would make a
great TV show.”
She sent him a stern glare. “You wanted me to talk. You wanted
my opinion on people there. You want to know about the history of the house. I’m
too keyed up to sleep, so I’ll come back with you, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. I’m a big believer in plunging right in.”
He kept a smile in place.
He wondered what was going on with her. The last thing she
really wanted to do, he thought, was to go to the Tarleton-Dandridge House with
him.
She just didn’t want to go home. Why?
* * *
She was surprised that he hadn’t come right out and
demanded to know what she was lying about.
But he hadn’t.
She sounded like a liar to herself, and she was seriously
worried about her sanity.
What a choice!
Home—where Julian Mitchell might suddenly appear to be sitting
in the chair by her sofa. Or the Tarleton-Dandridge House with Tyler
Montague.
Montague was alive. That meant he won.
The question was, how long could she pretend to be helping him
at the house?
She’d already been through the crime scene. The idea of walking
through it again just made her feel numb.
They went into the mudroom and then the foyer. The entry was
large, which was convenient when they were doing tours. People could disperse
and look into the different rooms so they weren’t all trying to crowd into one
area at the same time.
“Here we are,” Tyler said.
“Where are you sleeping?” she asked him.
“The master bedroom. I’m the first one here, so I get first
choice.”
“That’s a rope bed. The quilt on it is from the 1800s.”
“The quilt is safely in a closet. I brought sheets and a
blanket.”
“What about the rest of your people?”
“They’ll come with bedding, as well.”
“As well,” Allison repeated. “As
well as cameras and all their ghost-hunting equipment,” she said scornfully.
He stopped and turned to her. “I’m sorry you find us laughable.
My unit has an extraordinary record of solving every case we’ve been brought in
on.”
“There really isn’t a case here—I mean, not worthy of your
effort. I can’t see how there could be.” She thought she must have sounded
desperate and tried to calm her voice. “There is nothing in that attic. Nothing
worth taking. I keep thinking that Julian had to be playing a prank and it got
the best of him. Who knows, maybe he thought he’d create a mystery for us, and
that I’d find him in the study playing Beast Bradley and he’d scare me.”
“That may be the case,” Tyler said mildly. “If so, we won’t be
here long. Look, Allison, there’ve been a lot of deaths in this house.”
She unfastened the red velvet cord that sectioned off the
period sofa and sank into it. “It’s an old house,” she said stubbornly. “People
die.”
“I’m not talking about the natural deaths, and you know
it.”
“The unnatural ones, like the poor kid who electrocuted
himself?” Allison asked. “Sam Daily. That was eight years ago. I never met him.
I was a college student back then, working occasionally on my breaks. There is
no real protection against human stupidity. He started ripping out wires and got
an electric shock. That’s what happens.” She winced, remembering. They’d shut
down the house then, too. But only for a few days.
“You were here?”
“Like I said, I never saw the student—or the police or anyone.
It was horrible, tragic. As tragic as when a spring-breaker gets drunk and goes
over a balcony at a Florida hotel. Everyone felt terrible, especially for the
parents. When we came back to work…it was uncomfortable. And still, there was
nothing
“Is something wrong?” he asked her.
“No, no, nothing. I was thinking maybe I’d go to the
Tarleton-Dandridge House with you now.”
He arched a brow. “You’re afraid the intriguing Cherry Addison
will step in—and give me incorrect information. Or that she’ll convince me the
ghosts of her ancestors are running around and our investigation would make a
great TV show.”
She sent him a stern glare. “You wanted me to talk. You wanted
my opinion on people there. You want to know about the history of the house. I’m
too keyed up to sleep, so I’ll come back with you, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. I’m a big believer in plunging right in.”
He kept a smile in place.
He wondered what was going on with her. The last thing she
really wanted to do, he thought, was to go to the Tarleton-Dandridge House with
him.
She just didn’t want to go home. Why?
* * *
She was surprised that he hadn’t come right out and
demanded to know what she was lying about.
But he hadn’t.
She sounded like a liar to herself, and she was seriously
worried about her sanity.
What a choice!
Home—where Julian Mitchell might suddenly appear to be sitting
in the chair by her sofa. Or the Tarleton-Dandridge House with Tyler
Montague.
Montague was alive. That meant he won.
The question was, how long could she pretend to be helping him
at the house?
She’d already been through the crime scene. The idea of walking
through it again just made her feel numb.
They went into the mudroom and then the foyer. The entry was
large, which was convenient when they were doing tours. People could disperse
and look into the different rooms so they weren’t all trying to crowd into one
area at the same time.
“Here we are,” Tyler said.
“Where are you sleeping?” she asked him.
“The master bedroom. I’m the first one here, so I get first
choice.”
“That’s a rope bed. The quilt on it is from the 1800s.”
“The quilt is safely in a closet. I brought sheets and a
blanket.”
“What about the rest of your people?”
“They’ll come with bedding, as well.”
“As well,” Allison repeated. “As
well as cameras and all their ghost-hunting equipment,” she said scornfully.
He stopped and turned to her. “I’m sorry you find us laughable.
My unit has an extraordinary record of solving every case we’ve been brought in
on.”
“There really isn’t a case here—I mean, not worthy of your
effort. I can’t see how there could be.” She thought she must have sounded
desperate and tried to calm her voice. “There is nothing in that attic. Nothing
worth taking. I keep thinking that Julian had to be playing a prank and it got
the best of him. Who knows, maybe he thought he’d create a mystery for us, and
that I’d find him in the study playing Beast Bradley and he’d scare me.”
“That may be the case,” Tyler said mildly. “If so, we won’t be
here long. Look, Allison, there’ve been a lot of deaths in this house.”
She unfastened the red velvet cord that sectioned off the
period sofa and sank into it. “It’s an old house,” she said stubbornly. “People
die.”
“I’m not talking about the natural deaths, and you know
it.”
“The unnatural ones, like the poor kid who electrocuted
himself?” Allison asked. “Sam Daily. That was eight years ago. I never met him.
I was a college student back then, working occasionally on my breaks. There is
no real protection against human stupidity. He started ripping out wires and got
an electric shock. That’s what happens.” She winced, remembering. They’d shut
down the house then, too. But only for a few days.
“You were here?”
“Like I said, I never saw the student—or the police or anyone.
It was horrible, tragic. As tragic as when a spring-breaker gets drunk and goes
over a balcony at a Florida hotel. Everyone felt terrible, especially for the
parents. When we came back to work…it was uncomfortable. And still, there was
nothing
Similar Books
