The Dead Room by Heather Graham

chummy.
    She rose and walked over to the window, looking out. She could see Robert Adair standing out on the sidewalk, on the other side of the fence, talking earnestly to a tall, light-haired man. Her heart began to thud. Tall and light-haired—like Matt. His head was bowed in concentration, as Matt’s had so often been. He looked up. Matt’s features. Not…
    He said something to Robert, thanking him, she thought. Then he turned away.
    â€œHey!” she cried.
    â€œWhat is it?” Hank demanded.
    â€œThat man…Excuse me, Hank, but I have to get to Robert….” The trailer was narrow; she almost stumbled over him in her haste to get away.
    â€œLeslie—”
    â€œThanks!” she called over her shoulder. “See you later.”
    She streaked across the site, avoiding the ropes and stakes of the grid out of habit. She headed straight for the fence.
    But Robert was gone.
    And the other man was gone, too.
    As if he had never been.
    As if he were…
    A ghost.

5
    T hat night, he came to her at last, but not as she could ever have expected.
    It was late when she left the dig. Her hasty exit from the trailer had exposed her to the reporters again, and there had been more pictures to be taken. This time she posed with Brad. Inevitably, there had been questions about the events of last year, and even some unexpected concern about her health. She was grateful to realize, during the course of the questioning, that no one had mentioned that she had chosen to stay at Hastings House, so she was spared any inquiries on that score. Still, the whole thing seemed to take forever, and she was longing for a shower and solitude. She realized, however, that she had been given an opportunity to remind everyone that this had been a graveyard and the remains found here deserved to be treated with respect and consideration. “I’m hoping we can put some families back together again,” she was able to say.
    Finally it was over.
    Laymon had ordered pizzas for everyone who wanted to stay, so, still dirty and very tired, they crowded into the trailer, ate and called it a day.
    â€œI’ll walk you home,” Brad told her.
    â€œI live down the block,” she reminded him.
    â€œI know. I’ll walk you.”
    â€œI’m a New Yorker and can take care of myself,” she reminded him.
    He looked straight ahead. “I don’t know. Matt always called you a rebel.”
    â€œYou remember that?”
    â€œSure. But I want to walk you home just because…well, I don’t care how street-smart you are. I’ll see you in, and then I can stand on the curb and pray for a cab or just wander over to Broadway and get one. And thanks, by the way.”
    â€œFor what?”
    â€œYou tossed all the press attention in my direction again.”
    â€œWe’re partners.”
    â€œYeah, but you’re the one who always knows where to dig. Anyway, the limelight finds you no matter what. The reporters love you. You’re young and gorgeous, and you dig up the dead. That kind of thing fascinates people.”
    â€œI don’t dig up the dead, I dig up history,” she said.
    He shrugged.
    â€œAnd besides, you’re young and gorgeous, too.”
    â€œThanks for noticing,” he told her, laughing.
    She laughed, too, and they walked arm in arm to the house.
    He saw her to the door and left her. The moment he was gone, she dialed Robert’s number.
    â€œAre you all right?” he asked immediately.
    â€œI’m fine.”
    â€œGood. You home? Or at Hastings House, I mean.”
    â€œYup.”
    â€œIt was a zoo out there today. A good zoo, though.”
    â€œSure. I guess. So…what’s up?”
    â€œUm…Robert…” She hesitated, trying to sound light. “You haven’t started seeing ghosts, have you?”
    â€œWhat?” He sounded astonished—and then worried again. “Leslie, what are you talking