Randy White: Haunted

Several phrases were highlighted in yellow. The attorney recited them without having to refresh his memory by looking. “Real or rumored events that can adversely impact a property’s value. Note the wording. Think about the Vortex episode. A lot of people saw it. Presumably, there are potential buyers and neighbors, too, who actually believe the property is stigmatized . Haunted, cursed, bad karma-the house scares people, in other words. The seller didn’t disclose that to me or Mrs. B at closing. He also didn’t disclose the fact that a Civil War battle took place there, that it’s possibly even the site of a field cemetery. Did he know or didn’t he? Well, the fact is, it doesn’t matter. The seller sure as hell knew about the TV show. Superstitious baloney or not, I’m convinced this is Mrs. B’s way out.”

Pressing his point, the man scooted closer. “If this gets to court-which it won’t-we don’t have to prove the place is haunted. All we have to prove is there are rumors or events that adversely impact the property’s value. The seller didn’t disclose those facts at closing. Hannah, that’s where you come in. You’re from an old-time Florida family. Locals are more likely to talk to someone like you. The small-time ranchers, the mom-and-pop campground people, anyone who lives nearby. I want you to talk to them. See what they have to say. And you’re a-I hope you don’t mind a bit of chauvinism here-you are a very attractive woman. And the lead archaeologist is a man.”

The attorney saw my expression change so was quick to add, “Don’t get the wrong idea. Because of the federal Antiquities Act regarding graves-we’re getting into legalese here-I’m not privy to what the archaeologist finds. But he might talk to you, even let you take pictures. That would be a nice little addition to the case I’ll present. Do you have a good camera?”

“A friend just loaned me a Canon with a good lens,” I said, meaning the biologist.

“Perfect. They don’t have to be professional quality, but we need lots of close-ups. A cell phone wouldn’t do.”

I glanced at Birdy, who shrugged her approval. “I’d love to see the place. And if it helps Bunny, I can go with Hannah on my days off.”

The attorney nodded. Good. “I’ve already advised your aunt not to pay next month’s installment. We’ll put it in an escrow account. If need be, she’ll write off the quarter million loss, but it saves her a million dollars in cash and further assessments down the road.”

Birdy asked, “You just came up with this?”

“I’ve been working on it for several weeks. Last night your aunt called me, very excited. Even as smart as she is, she follows her horoscope, as you probably know. She told me a transectingconnection -some type of astrology phrase-was predicted for yesterday. I forget exactly. She believes the connection is you, Hannah. I was dubious until”-the attorney’s eyes shifted to mine-“well, until I read about your background. Now I see it as a stroke of good luck. We’ll win the case either way, but what you provide could be helpful-if you’re willing.”

I felt uncomfortable being the center of attention but also was unclear about a few things. I asked about the fee and how much time was required and what exactly he and Mrs. Tupplemeyer wanted me to do. Then, “What about the other investors? You said they’re friends of hers. Are they pulling out, too?”

He pursed his lips, cleared his throat. “I’m the one who found a loophole in the real estate laws, but I’m not paid to advise them. We’re much better off keeping everything under the radar.”

The attorney looked at Birdy, then me, to confirm we understood his meaning. “Trust me, in Palm Beach people know the rules when it comes to money. Business is business. They’d do the same to your aunt in a heartbeat.” Then he smiled. A man who could afford to have his teeth capped and wear an expensive silk tie of blue on this Monday morning, the second week of October.

Which is why, a week later, Birdy Tupplemeyer suffered the shock of scorpions falling on her face and ran out the door, screaming.

I took another look at my friend’s neck and said, “I was wrong about the Benadryl, it’s in my SUV,” then went down the porch steps, through the trees, limping a little because of my stubbed toe. A stone wall, a gate and No Trespassing signs hadn’t protected the old house from vandals, but a chain had forced me to park outside the gate.

That’s where I spotted the man. He was watching Birdy from the shadows: tall, swoop-shouldered in a hoodie, only his head and torso visible above the four-foot wall.

My breath caught. I stopped. The archaeologist? I wondered but wasn’t sure. He was focused on Birdy, who was pacing, waiting for me to return with the first-aid kit I’d thought was upstairs in my bag. Why the man hadn’t noticed me leave the porch, I could only guess. Maybe trees and hanging moss had absorbed my shadow. Maybe it was the way darkness shifted from milky blue to gray. It was a thick October night with wind, clouds drifting across a moon that would be full in two days and bright enough that I didn’t need my flashlight.

There was another possibility: That afternoon, the archaeologist had been smitten by Birdy, with her lean body and her minor in archaeology, but he had ignored me after a contentious exchange.

The assistant professor had insinuated that Florida’s role in Civil War history had more to do with profiteering than patriotism. When I objected, his coolness toward me had bloomed into dislike.

My feelings hadn’t suffered any. Kindergarten through high school, I was a gawky beanpole of a girl, so the inattention of men is nothing new. I have grown into my body, however, and my confidence has improved. Being ignored by an oddball archaeologist was no big deal, even though Theo was decent-looking in a dark, loose-jointed sort of way.

Birdy had enjoyed their flirting. Traded barbs and puns, with her sharp wit. Ivanhoff had obviously found her attractive. A fixation -was that a term that applied to Peeping Toms? I didn’t know. Nor was I certain it was the archaeologist. The shape was tall enough, but there was no Greek fisherman’s cap and no sign of a walking stick. Dr. Theo had carried one, carved cypress, which I considered a foppish affectation. Birdy, in her current frame of mind, had claimed it was a phallic symbol that hinted at the man’s availability. Which had seemed silly but humorous in a girlish, sleepover way, but wasn’t fun now, standing alone in darkness, separated from a stranger by fifty yards of weeds, trees, and a stone wall.

I stood, glancing from Birdy to the man, watching him watch her. Then he crouched, perhaps aware I had disappeared from the porch.

Finally he saw me. Straightened to his full height and turned his back. Did it in a nonchalant way to pretend I wasn’t there or that he wasn’t spying. In my hand was the key to my SUV. I pressed Unlock . The flashing lights startled him but weren’t bright enough to confirm his identity. The man stretched as if bored and ambled toward the river, which was down the road, through the trees and down a bank. His sneaky behavior irritated me. It also gave me courage. I angled toward the road, the stone wall between us, and shined the flashlight. When the light hit him, he was too far away to reveal details. And he walked faster. I hollered, “Who are you?”

He didn’t turn. Instead, he hunkered down low and jogged toward the trees with an odd limping stride as if he had a bad leg.