Heather Graham - Haunted

“See, Mae? You can’t rush into marriage,” Carter said. “Look at the whole Lavinia thing. There she was—the most gorgeous thing breathing on earth, and what a manipulative witch.”

“We just didn’t have the same concept of a life well lived,” Matt said, wondering why in the hell he should suddenly defend even his ex-wife. Simple fact, Lavinia had been a bitch. Rich, spoiled, and heedless of anyone around her.

“We’re all missing the point here,” old Anthony Larkin suddenly pointed out. “Mae, seems to me the world has changed a lot since I was a young man. Hell, yes, these young people should find out if they’re going to make it in an affair before tying the knot. Divorces are too easy these days, and they’re still hard as hell on people. Especially on their kids!”

“Well, thankfully, Matt and Lavinia didn’t have kids. A devil’s tail might have shown up on one of them,” Clint said. “I think Lavinia’s had plastic surgery to get rid of hers, but genetically, it would have still been there.”

“Lavinia is gone, and it’s over,” Matt said flatly.

“That Sibel, Shana, or Sheila girl Clint was dating wasn’t a bitch,” Mae said with a sniff. “Opinionated, and intelligent, and ready to take care of herself. But she wasn’t a bitch.”

Clint offered an exaggerated sigh. “Mae, her name was Sasha. Sasha Bennett. And the problem with our great affair was that she wanted me to move to Texas! And wait a minute—we’re getting off the subject here.”

Anthony shook his white head in a way that made his beard rake back and forth over his chest. “All right, here’s my opinion from an old geezer, Matt. Let’s forget about past transgressions—committed by the lot of you. Every woman isn’t a potential affair. This one seems darned regal and intelligent. She was sent here to work. Matt, you’re having trouble up at your place. You told me yourself, you called your grandfather’s old friend Harrison after you received his letter. Key concept here—you called him. So—just why were you such a jerk to that girl?”

“She looks too much like Lavinia,” Clint said.

“No, she doesn’t,” Carter argued. “She has the walk, the movement…kind of like a natural grace. That’s all that’s the same.”

Matt scowled at them both. “Hey, looks have nothing to do with anything, gentlemen.”

“Gentlemen?” Mae said with a sniff.

“I’m unhappy about the whole thing, I suppose. And yes, I called Adam after I got the letter, but that’s the point—I expected Adam Harrison himself,” Matt admitted ruefully. “And then again, maybe it all did have something to do with her appearance.” He glared at Clint and Carter. “Not that she resembles Lavinia in any way.”

“She doesn’t. She’s really much prettier,” Mae put in.

“But,” Matt continued. “She doesn’t look like any hard-core investigator, does she?”

“Looks can be deceiving,” Carter said.

“Hey, they say you’re going to let Liz do a seance,” Anthony Larkin reminded him. “How hard-core would that be?”

“Liz was close with Gramps, too,” Matt said. “A really great nurse to him toward the end. I owe her.” He shrugged. “She begged when I told her that I had people coming down who were supposedly ghost experts. She wanted first crack at a seance, before any out-of-towners took over. She also holds her Women’s Town Meeting in the house once a month, and it’s a big event that makes the house a good income.”

Anthony shrugged. “Figured it had to be something like that. I ran into her down at the drugstore. She said that she’d been pleading with you, just for herself, since she’s so sure she feels all that cold stuff, especially in the upstairs bedroom. And she said that the writer could come in, and the new guy from the Chamber of Commerce. So…it’s a crock if you’re keeping out that pretty girl because she’s more about ghosts than finding out if something natural is going bump in the middle of the night.”

“And damn, but she is good-looking,” Clint supplied.

Matt nodded slowly. They were all right—and he had been one hell of an ass to the woman. She had just hit a raw nerve with him, he supposed, looking as if she had just stepped off a fashion page, heels clicking on the floor, manicured nails expressive in the air as she spoke, her face that of a sophisticated angel—or siren, one or the other.

Redheads were always trouble.

“I’m just irritated, I guess. Maybe I do owe her an apology.”

The phone rang stridently from the bar. He felt a surge of anger. She was already calling. Mae picked up the phone.

“Hello…yes, Penny, he’s here. He’s got his cell phone turned off again, huh? Well, he’s sitting here, sure as can be. Shouldn’t have that cell phone turned off, Matt, you know that,” she said, her hand over the receiver.

“Shirley at the station knows where I am, and that’s all that matters,” Matt said.

“Penny knows you’re here now, come on over and talk to her! Please!” Mae insisted, seeing the stubborn set to his jaw.

Matt cast Mae an evil eye, then rose to accept the receiver from behind the bar. Penny came on the line.

“Yes?”

“Matt, I heard you gave that girl from New York an absolutely wretched time!”

“Penny, I really did no such thing. And how did you hear so fast?”

Matt looked around. Sure enough, Marty Sawyer—Penny’s nephew—who had been watching Carter’s pool game was now nowhere to be seen. He’d slunk out already.

“Matt Stone! There is so much good to be done here! Principal Joe from the grade school was telling me how much the schoolchildren just loved the living history productions we did last summer, and you know as well as I do that you can’t keep that kind of program going if we don’t make sure that the house is entirely safe. And you’ve already agreed that we can let the seance go on.”

“Because even though I don’t believe in such a thing as a ‘medium,’ I like Elizabeth!” he said irritably.

“You’re going to make a tiny percentage off Elizabeth—compared to what Adam Harrison is paying to investigate your property. He usually charges people for his services. Now you know that I personally think that the ghosts are wonderful, but even I’m getting nervous here. Think about poor Clara’s face—and don’t go telling me she bumped into a wall. We need our ghost stories, some of them are so great. Passion, spurned lovers, murders, suicides! But…there’s something not at all right going on as well. Oh, Matt, please! If you really love the house and our history and want to keep the place open, not to mention in the family!—please let this girl come and get started on her investigations, no matter what it is, exactly, that she does.”

He gazed back at the bar. Everyone was staring at them. Penny was speaking loudly. They could all hear. “Penny—you’re right. Murders and suicides. The woman in white who’s been seen floating around the staircase. You know what? It isn’t going to matter what I do—the stories are going to circulate forever.”

“I’ve seen the woman in white,” Penny said stubbornly.

“Penny, you drank half the wine cellar that night,” he reminded her.

“Nevertheless, this is important. Yes, we’ll have stories, no matter what. But you said yourself that you were suspicious that someone was causing some of the ‘haunting.’ How will you ever know, or prove anything?”

“Penny, I am the sheriff. I know a few things about investigating occurrences on my own.”

“Matt, where’s your patriotism?”

“What?” he said incredulously.

“The house is so important. What if someone really gets hurt?”

He almost smiled. It was a new line of attack.