she was alone with the man in a deserted building, and no one knew where she was. And yet with a boldness that shocked her, she persisted. “Then I wonder if you could tell me a bit about Dr. Alaistair Leish.”
Anton raised an eyebrow. “Dr. Leish. What about him?”
Laurel took a wild stab in the dark “I understand he was on staff at the Paranormal Research Center before he died.”
Anton smiled thinly. “Again, your information is faulty. Dr. Leish was never on staff at the Center.”
“But you do know of him.”
“It would be unusual to work in my field and not have heard of Dr. Leish. But the Paranormal Research Center is dedicated to scientifically quantifiable results. Leish was exclusively interested in field work, and was notorious for not gaining permissions for his unconventional studies. Since the founding of the Center, our board and researchers have been dedicated to carrying out its research under the most rigorous conditions.”
Laurel had the clear impression that Anton was reciting a policy he might not completely believe in himself. She felt her way carefully.
“I don’t know much about it, but as a researcher I have to wonder … how can you study a phenomenon like a poltergeist in a laboratory setting?”
Anton smiled at her strangely. “You can’t.” As she stared at him, trying to interpret this, he half-turned. “And now, Dr. MacDonald, I’ll see you out.”
There was no option of refusal; the interview was over.
She followed Anton back out into the spotless corridor and he opened the front door for her.
Just before she stepped out, she suddenly turned to him. “How did Dr. Leish die, do you know?”
Another beat of stillness. Then Anton said, “It was a heart attack, I believe.”
They looked at each other, and Laurel was sure he was lying. “At forty-one,” she said. “What a shame.”
“I agree. Good night, Dr. MacDonald.” He shut the door on her.
As she drove home on the nearly deserted highway through the dark tunnel of trees, her unease grew.
He’s lying.
Partially or even totally, but he was lying. Laurel struggled to regain her bearings. Had she completely given away her game by asking Anton about the house? On the other hand, she’d gotten exactly the information she’d come for: the Folger House was not only a real thing, but something significant, if not top secret—that was clear from the mysterious and arrogant man’s reaction.
And the confluence of dates—Leish at the Duke lab just before it closed—if Uncle Morgan was right and Folger closed the lab, then whatever the Folger House was, she was sure Leish had something to do with it.
She turned onto her block and parked her Volvo by the curb outside her house on the quiet, deserted street. All up and down the block, lights were on above the wide porches, but there was not a soul in sight beyond the shadow of a prowling cat. Wind whispered through the oaks and crape myrtles.
Laurel shut the car door and moved to the trunk, opened it to get out her wheeled book bag.
And suddenly the sense of being watched was overwhelming.
She turned under the diffuse light of the streetlamp. A breeze picked up and dry leaves rolled past her feet in a small flurry.
She could see no one, not on the porches, or inside a car.
She grabbed her bag, heaved closed the trunk lid, and hurried up her walkway for the door.
On the porch she pressed the book bag into the door frame, holding it up with her body as she dug in her purse for her keys. Her heart was pounding, completely out of proportion to the situation, but she was overwhelmed with a sense of urgency.
She found the keys, fumbled the door open, and slammed it behind her, locking it.
All right, now? she chided herself, as she leaned against the wall—but she was shaking.
Nothing to be afraid of …
Then she thought of Anton’s cold dark eyes, and was not so sure.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
There is no question that each of us has inherent psi ability. This is
Anton raised an eyebrow. “Dr. Leish. What about him?”
Laurel took a wild stab in the dark “I understand he was on staff at the Paranormal Research Center before he died.”
Anton smiled thinly. “Again, your information is faulty. Dr. Leish was never on staff at the Center.”
“But you do know of him.”
“It would be unusual to work in my field and not have heard of Dr. Leish. But the Paranormal Research Center is dedicated to scientifically quantifiable results. Leish was exclusively interested in field work, and was notorious for not gaining permissions for his unconventional studies. Since the founding of the Center, our board and researchers have been dedicated to carrying out its research under the most rigorous conditions.”
Laurel had the clear impression that Anton was reciting a policy he might not completely believe in himself. She felt her way carefully.
“I don’t know much about it, but as a researcher I have to wonder … how can you study a phenomenon like a poltergeist in a laboratory setting?”
Anton smiled at her strangely. “You can’t.” As she stared at him, trying to interpret this, he half-turned. “And now, Dr. MacDonald, I’ll see you out.”
There was no option of refusal; the interview was over.
She followed Anton back out into the spotless corridor and he opened the front door for her.
Just before she stepped out, she suddenly turned to him. “How did Dr. Leish die, do you know?”
Another beat of stillness. Then Anton said, “It was a heart attack, I believe.”
They looked at each other, and Laurel was sure he was lying. “At forty-one,” she said. “What a shame.”
“I agree. Good night, Dr. MacDonald.” He shut the door on her.
As she drove home on the nearly deserted highway through the dark tunnel of trees, her unease grew.
He’s lying.
Partially or even totally, but he was lying. Laurel struggled to regain her bearings. Had she completely given away her game by asking Anton about the house? On the other hand, she’d gotten exactly the information she’d come for: the Folger House was not only a real thing, but something significant, if not top secret—that was clear from the mysterious and arrogant man’s reaction.
And the confluence of dates—Leish at the Duke lab just before it closed—if Uncle Morgan was right and Folger closed the lab, then whatever the Folger House was, she was sure Leish had something to do with it.
She turned onto her block and parked her Volvo by the curb outside her house on the quiet, deserted street. All up and down the block, lights were on above the wide porches, but there was not a soul in sight beyond the shadow of a prowling cat. Wind whispered through the oaks and crape myrtles.
Laurel shut the car door and moved to the trunk, opened it to get out her wheeled book bag.
And suddenly the sense of being watched was overwhelming.
She turned under the diffuse light of the streetlamp. A breeze picked up and dry leaves rolled past her feet in a small flurry.
She could see no one, not on the porches, or inside a car.
She grabbed her bag, heaved closed the trunk lid, and hurried up her walkway for the door.
On the porch she pressed the book bag into the door frame, holding it up with her body as she dug in her purse for her keys. Her heart was pounding, completely out of proportion to the situation, but she was overwhelmed with a sense of urgency.
She found the keys, fumbled the door open, and slammed it behind her, locking it.
All right, now? she chided herself, as she leaned against the wall—but she was shaking.
Nothing to be afraid of …
Then she thought of Anton’s cold dark eyes, and was not so sure.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
There is no question that each of us has inherent psi ability. This is
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