Haunting Melody

Prologue chapter one chapter two chapter three chapter four chapter five chapter six chapter seven chapter eight chapter nine

Prologue Diana was in her office when Muellin poked his head in the door Monday morning. “Busy?” She was in the middle of typing up her report, but gestured for him to enter. He sat down in the chair across from her desk, waiting. Finally, she stopped, turning away from the computer screen, lifting her brows questioningly. “Heard I missed the excitement the other night.” Diana thought about it for several moments. “I'm sure you aren't sorry.” Muellin shrugged. “Not particularly. It's a shame about the old lady, what was her name?” “Melody. Melody McMillan. They said her heart just stopped.” “What really happened?” “Her heart stopped.” Muellin gave her a look. “You want to know what I think happened?” Muellin nodded. “What I think happened is that, somehow, Mrs. Vanderhorn triggered some memory in a ghost that had been wandering the halls of the Vanderhorn plantation house for many years. Or possibly, it was just the anniversary that did it. In any case, he had been waiting for Melody, because he'd promised her he would never leave her, and also because he couldn't leave when she believed he'd committed suicide, leaving her to fend for herself. “Melody was a red head when she was young. I don't guess you could've known that. I didn't. So, I'm figuring since both me and Dee have red hair, and are generally the same size and build as Melody was when she was young, that he thought we were Melody. Thus, the ‘attacks', although I think he believed he was making love to his beloved Melody. “So, we found Melody and took her to the house. I don't really know what I expected, but it wasn't what happened, I can tell you. I just thought that, somehow, he had unfinished business with Melody, and if we could make her available to him, he would tell her what he needed to and leave. “He did tell her. We all heard it ... that he didn't kill himself. It actually WAS an accident. But then I think Melody decided she wanted to go with him. “Not that I'm at all certain they're gone. I did tell Mrs.

Vanderhorn that she might well have two ghosts now, instead of one, but she seems to think they won't be troubling her now that they're together again so she's satisfied. In fact, she said it was so romantic it made her feel like crying and she wouldn't be at all sorry if they did stay.” “So. You wrapped up the case.” “WE wrapped up the case. Mrs. Vanderhorn is very happy ... not too happy about Mrs. McMillan, but the lady had no living relatives. She'd never remarried, never had any children and she'd out-lived everyone else ... so there really isn't anyone to start a lawsuit, even if someone wanted blame us for her death. “As soon as she realized she wasn't going to get sued, Mrs. Vanderhorn announced that she was totally satisfied.” “Have you given the report to Skinard yet?” “Debriefed, but I'm still typing up.” Muellin looked thoughtful a moment. “I still think the drug thing was the most likely scenario. What happens if something comes up?” Diana shrugged. “We could be hearing from Mrs. Vanderhorn again. But currently, the status is ‘case closed'.” Several minutes dragged by while Muellin studied his hands and said nothing. Finally, he looked up at her again. “I don't really feel that I contributed much to solving the case. I suppose you'll be asking for another partner.” Diana lifted her brows. “Why would I do that? You were invaluable in solving the case. If you hadn't been helping track down leads, it could've taken me weeks to eliminate all the possibilities. As it was, we had everything tied down neatly with a week and it only took another week to clean things up completely. Skinard is VERY pleased.” Muellin still looked unhappy, but finally seemed to shrug it off. “What now?” Diana grinned. “Skinard's briefing us on another case this afternoon. You're going to LOVE it!” “Oh God! Not another ghost!” Diana shook her head. “Werewolf.”

Chapter One “Don't get me wrong, it's not that I mind being partnered with a woman. I've heard she's a darned good investigator, but....” Despite his best efforts, Muellin felt a tinge of heat flush his cheeks. Leonard ‘Lee’ Skinard, head of operations at P.I.A. Inc., did not look amused. “But?” “I've heard things that lead me to believe I could serve the company best if I was partnered with someone a little more ... uh ... serious.” This time Skinard's bushy brows rose almost to his hairline, or would have except that his hair line had receded beyond capture. “She's one of our best,” he said lazily, leaning back in his chair and toying with the pen he'd been tapping on his desk. Muellin saw that beating around the bush wasn't going to get him anywhere. He wanted the job, needed it, but his goal was to build an impressive portfolio. He didn't see that working with a nut case was going to help further his career. “Sir, I'm told she believes in ghosts, alien abductions—in fact pretty much anything that's weird and unbelievable. They call her Miss Gullible, among other less charitable things.” “They?” Muellin stared at the man across the desk from him in tightlipped silence, unwilling to admit that he'd been listening to gossip. He certainly wasn't willing to admit to having taken part in it. It was too undignified. A look of resignation crossed the older man's features. “You've been listening to the talk, I see.” Muellin shrugged. Skinard leaned back in his chair, studied Muellin for a long, measuring moment, then said, “Diana Skelley is one of the most brilliant investigators that I've ever run across. Whatever her personal beliefs, she doesn't allow them to interfere with her doing the best job she possibly can for this company. She hasn't once failed us. Now, I'll admit that she tends to be more ... ah ... zealous than average, but I think that's part of what makes her good at what she does. However, she's not always as discreet as I'd like and that's why I want to partner her with you. She needs someone completely logical and level headed to ... ah ... balance her out, so to speak. With your background, I figured you'd be up to the task. However, if you have some doubts about your abilities....” Muellin wasn't about to get suckered into that one. “I have no doubts—” “Good!” Skinard exclaimed, cutting him off mid-sentence,

then leaning forward to press the intercom buzzer on his desk before Muellin could recover himself. “Alice, show Ms. Skelley in, will you?” Muellin's eyes narrowed. “As I was about to say—” The door behind him opened. Muellin didn't give a damn if she was in the room. He meant to finish his say. Nevertheless, he instinctively glanced toward the woman who had come to stand beside him. His words dried in his throat. The first thing he noticed was that her breasts, which were at eye level with him since he was still seated, looked in danger of bursting free from her tailored jacket. The second thing he noticed was a mane of the most awesome red hair he'd ever beheld, mainly because she tossed it in his direction and nearly put his eye out. “Sir?” Her voice was pleasant, a little husky. It would have made Muellin think dangerous thoughts except that his brain seemed to have ceased functioning altogether. “I wanted to introduce you to your new partner before we get down to the particulars of your assignment.” Skinard gestured toward Muellin. Muellin was grateful for that, because it brought him out of his state of mesmerized stupefaction just a split second before she turned to look at him. He leapt from his chair as if he'd been catapulted out of it, bumping his knee on Skinard's desk in the process. He gritted his teeth, trying to pretend he wasn't in excruciating pain, but found after only a moment that the pain had dissipated as he looked down at the woman—very down. She couldn't have been much more than five feet tall. He wondered if she realized that from his viewpoint of six feet he could look right down her jacket and get a clear view of the lacy strap that held her straining bra together in the center. She crossed her arms. Muellin waited with baited breath to see if the bra would withstand this additional pressure or if those two glorious globes would pop right out the neck of her jacket. He was acutely disappointed when the bra held. “Agent Diana Skelley, this is Agent Sylvest...” “Sly,” Muellin broke in hurried, revolted at the usage of his given name. Skinard nodded, smiling faintly now. “Sly Muellin, formerly of the Florida Bureau of Investigation.”

****

Muellin was never certain afterwards how it was that he found himself briefed, shuffled out of Skinard's office and down the hall to Agent Skelley's office, but he was fairly certain he'd behaved with all the aplomb of a pimple faced teen-ager. Thus, he was not in a wonderful mood.

Diana Skelley studied her new partner with impatience. He was good looking, if one liked the fresh faced, boyish look; clean cut; tall and dark; a bit on the lanky side, but a pretty good build, if she was any judge. He was slouched in the chair in front of her desk, for all the world like a sulking, sullen school boy who'd been sent to the principal's office. Finally, she decided just to take the bull by the horns, so to speak. “I suppose you're not overjoyed about being partnered with me, Mr. Muellin.” It occurred to Muellin that he was slouched in the chair, sulking. He straightened up in an attempt to regain his dignity. “An understatement,” he muttered ungraciously. Diana Skelley's lips tightened. It was the first time Muellin had actually noticed anything above her breasts. Curious now, he studied the face that belonged to the body that was going to be torturing his nights for a very long time. The face was ... actually pretty nice. Small mouth, rather thin lips ... tight ... best not go there, he chastised himself, ever aware of the beast in his trousers that seemed determined to stand up and say hello. Straight nose. Very nice eyes. His gaze went back to her mouth and he crossed his legs unobtrusively. Hell! How was he supposed to keep his mind on business when he'd been saddled with a witless cupie doll, with tits bigger than her brain, a nice round ass and a mouth that looked like it had been specifically designed.... “Excuse me?” “I said, I thought you were a serious investigator,” Diana repeated, more than a little irritated that he didn't seem to have heard a word she'd said, despite the fact that he'd been staring at her unblinkingly. “Do you think you could stop staring at my breasts long enough to carry on a conversation?” For the second time that day, Muellin felt a blush creep into his cheeks, but this time it was only partly from embarrassment. Mostly, it was from irritation. “I beg your pardon. I didn't realize I was staring at you. I had my mind on something else,” he replied with stiff dignity. Diana gave him a ‘right’ look. “The case, perhaps?” “As a matter of fact—” “All right. I thought it would be best to clear away any misconceptions you might be harboring about me, but if you want to get right to work. What did you think?” As a matter of fact he had no opinion about the case, mostly because he couldn't recall a word that had been said after Agent Skelley had entered the room. “I'd be interested in hearing your opinion first, since you're senior agent here,” Muellin replied finally, pardonably pleased at his clever repartee.

Diana studied him suspiciously for a moment, but decided to let it slide. He hadn't sounded patronizing. Perhaps he was actually being sincere. “According to the report Skinard gave me, the client believes her lakeside cottage is haunted. She wants us to—” Muellin sat bolt upright. “Haunted?” he said incredulously. “How the hell ... excuse me. How are we supposed to investigate that, let alone resolve it! Put together a seance? Call ghost busters Inc.?” Diana looked at him in surprise. “Were you thinking of another case I'm unaware of?” “What?” Muellin asked, all at sea. “You said you weren't staring at my breasts. You were thinking about the case. Now you act as if you've never even heard anything about the case.” Muellin found his brain simply could not function at these speeds, not under present circumstances. Since he couldn't think of a logical response, he fell back on the old ‘attack defense'. “Contrary to what you apparently believe, Agent Skelley, every man who comes in contact with you isn't out to get in your ... ah ... bed. Don't get me wrong. I think a person should use whatever they have at their disposal to achieve success in their life and if sleeping your way to the top—” Muellin felt the air leave his lungs as he landed flat on his back on her office floor, effectively cutting his last thoughts, and comments, off. Uncertain of just how it came about that he was seated one moment and lying on the floor the next, he stared up, bemused, at the furious red head now straddling his mid-section. “Let's get one thing straight, Muellin, so we don't get off on the wrong foot. I'm a senior agent in this company because I'm very, very good at what I do.” After a moment, she stood up, straightened her jacket and offered him her hand. He looked at it suspiciously, wondering if she'd decided to pull his arm out of the socket while she had him down. “Can I give you a hand? You seem to have fallen.”

****

Muellin glared at the closed door of Skinard's office as they passed it on their way to the parking garage. He was tempted to burst his way in, demand to be given another partner, or tender his resignation on the spot. The one thing stopping him was that he wasn't sure his manhood could withstand another assault to his dignity in such rapid succession, because instinct told him that Skinard's response wasn't going to be what he wanted it to be. He gritted his teeth and looked straight ahead. He suspected Skinard was testing him. Maybe Skinard had wanted to see how he handled himself on a ‘fake’ case? Or

maybe it was sort of like hazing? He didn't like the idea of being tested. Hazing, he could take. The new guy always caught hell and he'd expected at least a prank or two, particularly since he'd been a government investigator before. Private investigators had an inferiority complex when they came up against government boys. P.I.A. was considered the most prestigious private investigation firm on the east coast. If they hadn't been, Muellin would never have considered joining the firm, even after the debacle that had convinced him to resign from his former position with the Florida Bureau, but it was still a private firm, a business. Some of the other agents, like himself, were government trained, but most were not and even those who had been government trained were primarily here because they hadn't been able to cut it in the government trenches. It was to be expected that they wouldn't accept him as one of their own until they'd made his life a living hell for a while. As they stepped on the elevator and turned to face the doors, he glanced at the diminutive tigress beside him. No wonder her other nick name was the ‘ballbuster'. She was just the right height for it and mean as a snake. He'd never liked red heads. The parking garage was open and the wind that whipped around them as they left the building was a tad on the brisk side, even for a late February day. Not that Muellin minded particularly. He was hot enough the cool air was welcome. Skelley's car, which she'd decided they would take to the meeting with their client, was a mid-sized foreign job—but then most cars were foreign these days, at least in part. Muellin waited while she did her little thing with her car's security system, unlocking the doors and deactivating the alarm. “Are you going to sulk all the way out there?” Diana demanded as she got in the car, fastened her seat belt and pushed the key in the ignition. He hadn't said one word since they'd left her office and it had taken a good twenty minutes to exit the building and reach her car on the third level of the parking garage. “I never sulk,” he responded sulkily. “How old are you, anyway?” Diana asked. He glanced at her. His eyes narrowed. “I worked for the bureau for ten years.” Diana's brows rose. “So you're, what? Thirty?” “Ish. How old are you?” “Twenty-ish. I've been working for P.I.A. for almost six years now.” Diana had started the car, but she switched the ignition off. “Look. I know you're not happy about the assignment, not happy about being stuck with me as your

partner. The fact is, I'm not happy about this either, but we have to work together and it'll be a lot easier if we just call a truce.” Muellin felt like saying, not on your life. Instead, he gave her his best, boyishly charming smile. “Sure. Why not?” Diana studied him a long moment. Obviously the answer was a resounding no. Well, so be it. It wouldn't be the first time she'd worked with a difficult partner, but Muellin, at least, was a true, seasoned professional. Whatever their personal differences, she felt relatively certain that as long as they stuck to business they'd be able to rub along. Not that she had ever had any intentions of doing otherwise, be he ever so very nice to look at, and she admitted he was. But she'd been stung twice before when she got involved with a fellow PI. Never again! The whole lot of them were ho’ dogs, and couldn't be trusted to keep their mouth shut when there was a chance of boasting about a conquest. She had a hard enough time being taken seriously. She had no intention, ever again, of allowing a partner to get too close and then having to run the gauntlet of smirks, sneers and nasty innuendo for months or years afterward. She couldn't help but be disappointed, though. She'd actually been looking forward to working with him. She released a deep sigh of resignation and started the car. Catching the freeway, she headed north east out of Atlanta. They'd been driving for almost an hour when Muellin finally spoke again. “Where are we headed anyway?” Diana resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “We're meeting the client just outside of Augusta.”

****

“You sure this is the place?” Diana consulted her directions again. “Yes. This is it.” Muellin smiled faintly. “Some cottage.” Diana glanced at Muellin in surprise and chuckled. “I suppose you'd have to know Mrs. Vanderhorn to understand her idea of a cottage.” They had stopped at the gate leading up to what, in most people's minds, at least, could only have been termed as a mansion. It's glory days had undoubtedly been well over a hundred years earlier, but the antebellum mansion had either been carefully renovated, or carefully maintained over the years since it had been built. Nestled on a rise above one of the Savannah River's tributaries, the white columned lady was surrounded by neatly trimmed lawn and tremendous, ancient oak trees dripping long gray beards of moss. Crowded close upon the manicured lawns on either side was a thick tangle of forest. It looked like a scene right out of Gone with the Wind—

except for the tan Mercedes that was parked on the circular drive in front of the house. Diana glanced at her watch. “Shi—Damn! We're late.” She put the car in gear once more, pulled up—not too close— behind the Mercedes and parked. Mrs. Vanderhorn's driver opened the rear door as Diana and Muellin got out of the car and started forward. At a distance, the woman who stepped out of the car could easily have been perceived as a woman in her mid-to-late thirties. Her figure was very good, her blond hair carefully styled, her make-up just as carefully applied, but as they drew closer Diana realized the woman was probably a lot closer to fifty than thirty. “You're late!” Diana, who'd already pasted her best smile on and extended her hand, felt her smile stiffen. “The traffic—” Muellin leapt, almost literally, into the breach. Smiling very engagingly, he took her hand. “I apologize for keeping you waiting. It's entirely my fault. I'm new to the agency and had to be briefed before we left.” Diana felt her jaw go slack as she watched him flirt outrageously with their client, torn between indignation and relief when she saw Mrs. Vanderhorn's whole demeanor transform before her eyes. “And you are?” “Sly Muellin, ma'am.” Diana cringed inwardly. Muellin had been well trained in southern manners, but northern ladies tended to be insulted by this old fashioned southern term of respect, certain that it meant they were ‘old'. To her surprise, Mrs. Vanderhorn actually blushed faintly. Either she hadn't heard the ‘ma'am’ or she was southern born and bred. “Diana Skelley,” Diana said, stepping forward to offer her own hand once more. Mrs. Vanderhorn's smile returned. “Mr. Skinard has told me very good things about you, Agent Skelley. He seemed to think you could handle my ... uh ... problem if no one else could. “I'll—we'll certainly do our very best, Mrs. Vanderhorn.” Mrs. Vanderhorn nodded, but had turned to look up at the house. “I suppose I should show you around the house,” she said reluctantly. “That would be helpful, but it isn't absolutely necessary if you don't feel up to it,” Muellin said. Diana frowned at Muellin. “Actually, we do need you to give us a tour of the house, show us where ... it happened ... if you feel up to it.” Mrs. Vanderhorn smiled wryly. “I don't particularly want

to, but you're right. I should show you where I....” She broke off, glancing uncomfortably at her driver. “William. The key, please.” He fished in his pants pocket and handed her a set of keys on a simple ring. Mrs. Vanderhorn handed the keys to Muellin. “Wait with the car, William. I'll be ready to leave shortly.” Diana and Mrs. Vanderhorn trailed after Muellin as he went up the steep flight of stairs and crossed the wide porch that fronted the mansion. He had the door open by the time they caught up with him and had stepped inside. Mrs. Vanderhorn paused on the threshold, obviously unnerved about entering the house. In a moment, however, she stiffened her resolve and followed Muellin inside. Diana took up the rear. When she stepped inside the shadow laden interior, she saw the layout of the house, despite it's grandeur, was actually very typical of the majority of southern houses built in the days before air conditioning. A hallway, wider than main rooms in many modern houses, ran the depth of the house, bisecting it. In modest houses built pre and post civil war, this type of construction was often referred to demeaningly as a shotgun house, meaning one could fire through the front door with a shotgun and the pellets would go through the back door without encountering any obstacles between. Mrs. Vanderhorn's house, having been built on a grander scale, the main hallway was broken up roughly in the center of the house by a wall and wide doorway that split the hall into the front and rear hallways. On either side of the hallway, Diana could see two doors, leading to a total of four large ground floor rooms. A grand staircase formed a horseshoe in the front hall, becoming a single stair above the doorway to the back hall of the house. There would be a similar layout on the second floor, Diana knew. Since unbearable summer temperatures were the main trial of southern folk, the primary focus of architecture, after beauty of course, was to maximize air circulation. The wide, central hallways acted rather like a chimney, or enormous vent, pulling air up and out of the center of the house through widows taller than most men. “The lights work?” Muellin asked, moving to a switch and flicking it up and down, then peering up at the enormous chandelier overhead when nothing happened. “The power's on,” Mrs. Vanderhorn responded. “We've never actually used the house more than a week or two at the time, but my son brings his family occasionally for a brief visit ... it's just more convenient to keep the power on, and makes it easier for maintenance. There may be electrical shorts, however. It seems to me that my late husband said the house was wired for electricity sometime in the early 1900's. The

plumbing's just about as old,” she added wryly. “It's long overdue to be ‘modernized’ again, but we stay here so infrequently that it's never been a high priority.” “Electrical shorts? Sounds like a fire hazard,” Muellin said. Mrs. Vanderhorn almost seemed to shrug. “The electricians I've had in here to check the place out couldn't find anything, but it's almost impossible to keep lights in here. They blow out almost as quickly as we change them and with ceilings as high as these,” she added as she moved into the room to the right of the hallway, “it's a bit tricky changing them out.” She gestured toward the darkened ceiling in what was obviously the main living area, probably referred to as the front parlor. “Sixteen feet. Which requires a very tall ladder, and a single bulb doesn't give off much light anyway. I got tired of having the maintenance people dragging ladders all over the place. We have problems with the bulbs in the lamps too, but at least they're easier to reach.” Diana frowned. “Has this always been a problem?” “Frankly, I have no idea. As I said, we've never stayed here much. It was my family's ancestral home. They fell on hard times after the war ... the civil war ... and lost it. My husband bought it back for me in the mid sixties and had it restored. I suppose I shouldn't have argued against having all the wiring and plumbing pulled and replaced, but I was a bit of a romantic and hated the thought of tearing out any of the original structure that wasn't absolutely necessary.” She moved into the next room. “This is the back parlor.” Briefly, Diana and Muellin looked the room over, then followed Mrs. Vanderhorn into the rear hallway. She moved to the back door and opened it. “The old kitchen was in far worse shape than the house, but still standing. We had that renovated also. They built them away from the main house in the old days, because of fires. And this side of the house is closest to the river so if they'd had a fire it would be easier to get to water to put it out. I didn't really want to change it, but one can only stand so much inconvenience so I had the rear hallway here converted into a butler's pantry and laundry area. We spend so little time here that the bar sink and microwave are about all we use anyway. There's a little refrigerator here too, under the counter.” They moved through the rooms on the opposite side of the hallway, a ‘breakfast room’ for informal family dining and then into a banquet sized dining room that could have comfortably accommodated upwards of twenty people. Returning to the hallway, Mrs. Vanderhorn hesitated at the stairs, but apparently her courage failed her. “The bedrooms are on the second floor. The third floor is the grand ballroom.” “Is that where you had ... the encounter? In the bedroom?” Diana asked.

Mrs. Vanderhorn's chin quivered ever so slightly, then she nodded jerkily. “In the master bedroom on the front and to the right of the hallway.” “Did you get a look at your assailant?” Muellin asked quickly. Mrs. Vanderhorn gaped at him a moment, then shuddered. “I thought you said you were briefed?” “I'd like to hear it straight from you,” Muellin countered. Several emotions crossed Mrs. Vanderhorn's face, but fear was uppermost. “No! I did not get a look at ‘him',” she snapped. “Because no one was there! It was a ghost, Mr. Muellin!”

Chapter Two “She seemed rational ... right up till she started relating her encounter with the ghost, that is,” Muellin commented as he and Diana stood on the front porch, watching Mrs. Vanderhorn shake the dust of the estate from her ‘heels'. From the speed the car attained before it even left the driveway, one would presume Mrs. Vanderhorn had somewhere she needed to be. Diana looked at him, started to speak, then paused. “Yes, she did,” she said finally. “And I believe she is. She didn't strike me as slowwitted, someone with an overactive imagination, a lonely widow trying to get attention, or someone out for publicity.” “You're not buying into that bullshit, are you?” Diana gave him a long look. “I think the first thing we need to do is go over the house and look for any signs of breaking and entering.” “My thoughts exactly.” Muellin was immensely relieved. Maybe he'd been wrong all the way around about this. Maybe the rumors about Diana Skelley were just nasty tales made up by people that were jealous of her? Maybe this really was a real case.

****

The daylight, unfortunately, was working against them. Therefore, they decided to check the outside of the house first, while they still had some light to see. There were no basement windows an intruder might have used to enter the house, because there was no basement. Like the vast majority of houses built during this period, the house sat nearly five feet off the ground on brick piers to allow for good circulation beneath the house. This height also meant that the ground floor windows would not be easy to climb into, despite the fact that they were tall enough a grown man could stand in one without his head brushing the top frame. Nevertheless, Diana and Muellin very carefully checked the windows and the area around each window, looking for footprints or drag marks that would indicate that someone had dragged something over to stand on to enter through a window. Diana didn't expect to find anything, but she said nothing. According to the report, which Muellin obviously hadn't read, the ‘encounter’ had happened well over a month earlier and Mrs. Vanderhorn hadn't been in the place since. The time, and the elements, were working against the possibility of finding visible evidence ... at least of that particular incident. If this was a simple case of burglary, however, why had the perp decided to burglarize the place while Mrs. Vanderhorn was in residence? With the place standing empty most of the time,

surely it would be a snap, even with the skeleton maintenance staff, to come, take, and go without hindrance. Unless, of course, Mrs. Vanderhorn was the target. “She is wealthy,” Diana said, voicing her train of thoughts aloud. “My thoughts exactly,” Muellin responded, looking up at her from where he'd knelt to examine the dirt beneath one of the rear windows. Diana was torn between pleasure that his thoughts seemed to follow hers so closely, and suspicion that he'd meant something else entirely. “Maybe somebody just wants to get her out of the way,” Muellin added. Diana nodded, then turned to study the river. “So the question is, family? Or outsider? I checked the map. This tributary spills into the Savannah and the Savannah—some sort of smuggling operation, you think?” Muellin stood up, dusting his hands, frowning as he, too, gazed at the river. “Possibly. The main drug route seems to be straight up Interstate 75, but there's a good bit of trafficking up Interstate 95 now, too. This could make a sweet little operation here. I noticed this whole area is mostly agricultural ... plenty of room for concealing a crop of marijuana. They could use the river to take it down, or even land a small plane on the lawn.” “I checked that earlier, while you were crawling around under the house,” Diana said. “No way a plane's been landed here. Even a small one would leave noticeable tracks. The lawn is immaculate.” Muellin brushed at the debris clinging to his trousers. “It's getting too dark to really see anything, but I haven't found any sign of a break in.” Diana shrugged. “A perp wouldn't necessarily have to. This house was built well before the days when people had to worry about that sort of thing. And I noticed the locks on both the front and back door are antique, possibly even original hardware. It wouldn't take much effort to breach the security around here.” Muellin nodded. “I think we've seen about all there is to see around here, at least for now.” “You don't want to check out the house before we go?” Muellin looked up at the darkened windows. “I think we need to do a little research ... get some idea of what we're up against here. Mrs. Vanderhorn mentioned a son....” “She has a daughter in college. Her son is married, has two children.” “So, let's find out if the darling little ones don't want to wait until mommy dearest is gone before they inherit.”

**** For the next several days, Muellin and Diana split up so that they could cover more territory. Muellin explored the surrounding area and talked to everyone he could strike up a conversation with. Diana checked out Mrs. Vanderhorn and her family, focusing most particularly on their finances to see if any member might have pressing money concerns that would give them a motive for removing Mrs. Vanderhorn, or scaring her badly enough they could claim that she was incompetent. When Muellin entered Diana's office Monday morning, she was bent over at the waist, rummaging through a box of files on the floor. He halted as abruptly as if he'd hit a brick wall, his words dying in his throat. She was wearing a thong. He knew this because her skirt, obviously short already, had ridden up almost to her waist. “Muellin? Are you all right? You look a little flushed.” Muellin blinked. Her face came into focus. When had she straightened and turned? He cleared his throat, but his voice still croaked when he tried to speak. “Sure. Nice ass....” Her eyes narrowed. “Set. Nice asset.” Diana chose to ignore the comment. “You coming down with something?” she pursued, studying him with a frown of concern as she moved to the chair behind her desk and sat. “I wouldn't be surprised if I was. I've spent the better part of three days wandering in the woods and through swamps. I've been gnawed on by every insect known to man, and some previously unknown, I think.” “Come up with anything?” Something had come up, but he didn't think she was referring to his physical dilemma. He casually moved to stand behind the chair that faced her desk, leaning his elbows on the chair back. “Just out of curiosity—don't get pissed— because I don't really want to check out your carpet padding again—but your office attire is somewhat ... uh ... suggestive and I'm wondering if you're aware, or if you have a particular reason....” Diana laughed a little self-consciously, looking down at her breasts, which were once more on the verge of spilling out of her jacket. “My bimbo disguise? Sorry. You'll just have to get used to it.” “Disguise?” Diana had flipped open the file and was leafing through the documents inside. “Mmm. For lack of a better description.” “I don't get it.” “Men find it distracting. Women tend to dismiss me as a bimbo when I dress like this. It makes it easier for me to do

my job, because they don't find me intimidating and I can get information easier. Honestly, Muellin, I thought you would've figured it out by now.” Muellin stared at her a long moment and finally smiled crookedly. “You mean to say men are actually able to converse with you when you look like that?” “Actually, it has to be interpreted. There's a lot of throat clearing, usually long pauses, interspersed with grunts and ... I'm joking! Look. We're PI's. I can't just walk up to complete strangers, flash a badge, and demand answers. I have to disarm people into thinking I'm no threat.” “I find it very distracting myself, to be honest with you.” “Really? I hadn't noticed,” Diana said dryly. “As I said, I'm afraid you'll just have to get used to it.... Could we get down to business now?” Muellin decided he was decent, moved around the chair and sat. “Sure.” “What did you find?” “Zilch.” Diana lifted her brows, but she didn't look terribly surprised. “So, you think we can dismiss drug running as a possibility?” Muellin shrugged. “I don't think we can rule it out completely—not yet—unless you've come up with another lead, but, so far, I haven't been able to come up with anything.” Diana nodded. “Same here. As far as I can see, Mrs. Vanderhorn and her children have a good relationship. Her son is doing well for himself—no vices that I could discover that might put him in trouble financially. Her daughter has a very handsome trust fund to live off of and lives well within her means.” Muellin didn't look pleased. “So, we've been working on this almost a week and have absolutely no progress to report. Skinard isn't going to like it, to say nothing of Mrs. Vanderhorn.” Diana leaned back in her chair and lifted her legs, propping her crossed ankles on the corner of her desk. Muellin couldn't help it. His mind immediately left the case as his gaze was captured by a pair of perfect, shapely legs. It didn't help that his mind's eye immediately recreated an image of bare ass and thong at the top of those legs. “They would've been happy if we'd come up with something, but don't start worrying yet. I've already talked to both of them. Neither of them expected this to be resolved so quickly and I've arranged with Mrs. Vanderhorn to spend some time in the ... uh ... cottage.” Muellin was pleased that the key word ‘cottage’ immediately brought his mind back to the conversation. He

was getting better at this. “What do you expect to find?” Diana shrugged. “I'm not sure,” she responded evasively. “I just think it's going to be a lot harder to crack the case from here.” “You're going to be staying IN the house?” Diana nodded. “It's so isolated I don't see much point in staying in a motel and driving back and forth. That would waste almost as much time as staying here.” “What am I supposed to be doing?” Again Diana shrugged. “I'd thought you might want to come too, but you could continue to focus on the drug ring possibility, or follow any other leads you happen to come up with.” Muellin wasn't so sure he liked the idea of staying in the house, but he wasn't about to allow his partner to leave him out of the circle either. And then there was also the fact that his partner needed backup. Then, too, he had to consider the possibilities inherit in close, continual contact with his partner. He wasn't going to allow himself to get too hopeful, but there was always a chance he could score. Stranger things had happened. “I'll have to stop by my place and pack a few things.”

****

It was dusk when they arrived at the cottage. A blue panel van was parked out front, the sort commonly used by service companies. “You know who that is?” Muellin asked, instantly alert, though he'd been dozing most of the drive. “It's a friend of mine.” The woman—he could tell it was definitely a woman—was standing at the rear of the van, apparently reaching for something just out of reach inside the back. She was wearing a thong. He couldn't tell what else she might be wearing because all he could see was long, lithe legs and a round ass. She straightened and turned as they pulled into the driveway and stopped a short distance behind the van. The clothes she was wearing were eerily similar to those Skelley was wearing. Her hair was red, somewhat longer than Skelley's but almost the same shade of red, he'd be willing to bet. Even though they were still some fifteen feet away he could tell her face was ... Skelley's. As rapidly as a high speed computer, his brain registered that fact and sent back an image of him sandwiched between the two identically lush females. His erection beat his thought processes by several heart beats. And then reality reared it's ugly head. No just God would thrust him into such a ripe and wonderful fantasy and then NOT let him have a taste of the fruit ... would he?

He looked over at his partner. Diana shrugged. “All right, so she's also my sister.” “She looks just like you. Or you look just like her. Older sister? Or younger?” Muellin asked, surprised, but pleased, that he sounded so off hand when visions of rollicking with Diana and her sister were still dancing in his head. “Similar,” Diana said argumentatively. “And she's older.” “No. Identical.” Diana switched off the ignition. “She's my twin,” she said shortly and opened the car door. “But she was born first, so she's older.” “You two argue about that a lot?” Muellin asked as he came around the car to join Diana. “We don't argue, a lot, about anything.” She paused. “But she was born the day before I was. When we were growing up, she always taunted me about being the oldest. Now that we're older, she doesn't much like it, so I tease her about being the oldest.” She turned toward the other woman, who had returned to her search as soon as she identified them. “Hi, Dee! Glad you could come! Don't worry about that heavy equipment. My new partner decided to come. I'm sure he won't mind carrying it in for you.” A twinge of irritation effectively deflated Muellin's arousal. He would have volunteered to help. He didn't much care for Diana's high handed assumption that he was along only to play bellhop. Despite his irritation, however, he gave Diana's sister a friendly smile. “Sure. No problem.” He was rewarded by a very warm smile, and then further rewarded by a glance that ran the length of his body, lingered with interest for several moments on his hands and his crotch and then returned to his face with obvious interest. “Why, hello!” She glanced at her sister with a look of mock censure. “Diana! You didn't tell me he was so ... yummy. Oh! And he blushes! I've always found that so adorable. Deidre Skelley,” she said, stepping forward and extending her hand. “But you can call me Dee. All my closest friends do, and I've got a feeling you and I are going to be really close ... friends.” “Sly Muellin,” Muellin responded, shaking her hand briefly. “And I'll bet you are. Diana tells me you have a very impressive resume'.” Surprised, Muellin glanced at Diana. Diana was busy looking over the contents of the van. He moved closer to have a look, as well. “What's all this? Looks like surveillance equipment.” “In a manner of speaking ... just tools of the trade.” “Cameras, tripods ... some very sophisticated looking electronics. What trade, exactly?”

“Oh! Didn't Diana tell you? Naughty, naughty! I'm a parapsychologist.”

Chapter Three “We need to talk,” Muellin said quietly. “Can it wait?” Diana asked absently, busily running wires from one electrical component to another. She glanced up at her sister, Dee, who was walking around the front parlor with something that strongly resembled a Geiger counter. “Anything?” “Off the charts! I've never seen anything like it. Massive activity. Did Mrs. Vanderhorn mention more than one?” Diana shook her head, but Dee was busy scanning the room. “No. She said she was assaulted by one in the master bedroom.” “You didn't mention that! You said she saw one. No wonder the readings are so high. It takes massive amounts of energy to manifest a physical presence strong enough to produce force. What happened?” “She didn't really give any details. She just said ‘assaulted'. Her driver cum bodyguard rushed in and hustled her out of the house. She hasn't been back since, except when she brought us in to show us around and we didn't go upstairs when she was here.” “You think it could be her?” “Seems probable. She didn't mention any history, but then she indicated that the family rarely uses the house, said her son had been a few times with his family. The place was in pretty bad shape when her husband bought it. They had it renovated, which I understand was done over a period of nearly ten years. Her husband had some trouble keeping workers here, so it's possible there could have been activity for a while, but I'm thinking somehow Mrs. Vanderhorn is the trigger ... I think I've about got this set up. You want to check the equipment?” “Are you telling me you believe there are ghosts in this house?” Muellin demanded in irritation. Both women stopped what they were doing momentarily and stared at him as if he was a moron. “At least one,” Dee said. “With the readings I've been getting, it could easily be three or four, but we won't know that for awhile.” Muellin studied both women for several moments. “Skelley, we need to talk.” Diana looked at him but finally shrugged. “I was just about to take the cameras upstairs. You want to run the lead for me?” Reluctantly, Muellin took a roll of wire and began reeling it off as he followed Diana to the stairs. Upon reaching the top, she paused to set up a camera on a tripod on the upper landing.

“I thought you said you didn't buy into that bullshit.” Diana glanced at him. “I never said that. And what makes you think it's bullshit?” Muellin was speechless for several moments. “So what was all the running around checking leads we did this past week? A smoke screen?” “Hardly. Mrs. Vanderhorn said it was a ghost. She seemed pretty convinced of it, but we needed to eliminate other possibilities before checking it out. Dee is a busy woman. She doesn't like being called out on a wild goose chase.” “Dee doesn't...!” Muellin gasped, outraged. “Does Skinard know what you're doing here?” “He probably has a fairly clear idea. I discussed it with him and the client. I had to get clearance before I could bring a para-psychologist in—Particularly since Mrs. Vanderhorn insists on discretion. Which is why Dee didn't bring her crew. Generally, she works with a two man crew. You and I will have to be her crew, though, because Mrs. Vanderhorn objected very strongly to bringing in anybody else.” Effectively silenced, Muellin stared after Diana as she moved back down the stairs. He was still standing at the head of the stairs when she came back up again carrying another camera and tripod. “You think you could run the lead for this one?” Muellin was more inclined to tell her he wanted nothing at all to do with her and her sister's little seance. He merely stalked down the stairs and grabbed up another reel of video lead, however. Diana was in the master bedroom when he returned, surveying it. “I think this set up gives us the widest view. We're going to need another one for the master bath, though. Mrs. Vanderhorn said she was in there when she first noticed the manifestation.” “The ghost, you mean?” “Right.” “I'd be willing to bet everybody at P.I.A. is laughing their asses off about this.” Diana's brows rose. “Why on earth would you think that?” Muellin gave her a look. “Muellin, P.I.A. is known for it's discretion. It's one of the reasons we're the top PI firm on the east coast. Skinard does NOT encourage discussion of our cases. He certainly wouldn't be making anyone else privy to Mrs. Vanderhorn's case. We can't afford to alienate rich clients.” It made sense, but Muellin was still more than a little inclined to think he'd been made a laughingstock. He was beginning to realize that just by virtue of being assigned as Diana Skelley's partner he'd become subject to ridicule by any serious investigator. And to think he'd been concerned that

his libido might precipitate him into a sex scandal with his partner and ruin his reputation!

****

Despite the fact that they'd started setting up well before dusk, it was approaching mid-night when they finally finished checking all of the equipment, even though they only broke briefly for a supper of sandwiches and chips. Diana had agreed to be first ‘bait’ and went upstairs with her suitcase while Dee and Muellin discussed which of them would take the first watch. She placed her suitcase on the bed in the master bedroom, dug out toiletries and a nightgown, then headed for the bath. She had noticed earlier that the bath was luxurious, having obviously been upgraded since the initial renovations. It contained both a glassed in shower and separate whirlpool tub. She debated briefly—the whirlpool really looked inviting and it was rare that she got the chance to use one—but she finally decided a quick shower would have to suffice. The camera was on. She resisted the urge to turn it off. She didn't particularly care for the lack of privacy, but neither was she really squeamish and Murphy's law ordained that as surely as she turned the damned thing off, the apparition was bound to appear. She adjusted the water, then disrobed quickly and stepped inside. The glass didn't offer any privacy, but the steam was sure to remedy that, at least to an extent, very shortly. The steaming water felt wonderful. Resolutely closing her mind to the camera, Diana merely stood under the shower head for some minutes, allowing the hot water to stream over her, relaxing tired, aching muscles. She would've lingered under the spray longer, but was afraid she'd run out of hot water before she'd finished. She was in the middle of lathering her hair when she felt a sudden prickling sensation along her spine, as if a breeze had wafted through the shower. At first she thought she hadn't closed the shower door properly. She tried to peer toward the door to check, but discovered shampoo was streaming into her eyes, blinding her. She put her hands out, touched the glass shower wall, then slid one hand along the glass to check the closure. The door was closed. She frowned, wondering if the window was open. Feeling behind her now for the water, she decided to rinse the soap from her eyes so she could see to check. Even as she reached behind her, however, a hard body slammed into her back, pushing her against the cold glass. Stunned, she gasped, forcing her eyes open despite the sting of shampoo, angling her head in an attempt to see who was behind her. “What the hell?” It was definitely a male body. She could feel him pressing

full length against her, could feel his swollen member nudging her buttocks and the cleft between. Resistance was instinctual. Held solidly against the wall, she knew she couldn't turn enough to do more than bend one knee, but the shin, her goal, was a sensitive area. A hard enough blow would, at least temporarily, disable anyone. She encountered absolutely nothing. He pressed more tightly against her, until she was sure she could feel every hard ridge of muscle on his body. “Melody.” The word was a husky breath of a whisper, a trace of little more than air against her ear. It sent shivers racing down her spine, shivers of pleasure that awoke her flesh to sensation. A strange sort of lethargy swept over her in a tide, almost as if she had fallen into a dream state, or that odd realm at the edge of sleep where one is half awake and half asleep, aware of things happening around one, but divorced from them. “Muellin?” “Melody.” Her hair was grasped, tipping her head back and she felt his hot breath along her throat, the tingle of his teeth as he lightly scored the tender skin along her throat. A hand covered her breast, massaging, capturing her nipple between two strong fingers and squeezing it almost to the point of pain. Heat flooded her belly. His other hand encircled her, his fingers probing her cleft, stimulating her clit. Instantly, her body responded to his touch, her femininity becoming engorged and wet, her mind sinking further into oblivion as her body leapt into a dizzying arousal. Dimly, Diana realized that she must not give in, that she must fight the urge to cease her struggles and enjoy his caresses. She swiped at the arm she could feel. Again, she encountered nothing but air. Pressing her palms against the glass, Diana tried to get leverage to push him back so that she could turn and meet his assault. Almost as if he read her mind or sensed her intentions, he released her abruptly. In the next moment, she was spun around and lifted up as if she weighed no more than a doll. She swung her arms in front of her, as much because she feared falling as in self defense, and still she could grasp nothing, touch nothing. She lifted her arms, grasping the upper edge of the shower even as she felt him spread her legs wide and impale her with his engorged member. She gasped, squirmed to evade him, but felt him filling her, sinking deep inside her. Opening her eyes, she discovered she'd squeezed her eyes so tightly so long that only darkness greeted her. Dimly, a mirage of a face floated before her. At first the face was Muellin's, but as she blinked her eyes against the stinging

soap, she realized that it was not Muellin's face at all. His face was long and lean like Muellin's, but, rather than boyishly handsome, this man's face was all harsh angles and planes, oddly compelling, devastatingly handsome. Her heart surged against her chest wall, not in fear, but in happy welcome, as if he was some long lost lover. With that surge of gladness her passions mounted so that she was gasping from the sheer force of it as he, with agonizingly, wonderful slowness, stroked in and out, pushing deeply, deeply, pulling away until she could feel little more than the hard, rounded head of his penis, then pressing inside her again. She became aware of a constant murmur of sound, and realized at last that it was her own moans of pleasure. When she thought she could bear the anticipation no more, she began to struggle to meet his thrusts, urging him to go faster. Again, it was as if he knew her mind, knew her desires. He pressed her more snugly against the shower glass and increased the tempo of his thrusts, pounding hard and fast, faster. Diana released her death grip on the shower and reached for him. Finding she could not grasp him, she grasped her breasts, teasing her nipples. She felt him nuzzle her hands aside, take one nipple into his mouth, suckling hard. It sent her over the edge into a wash of pure pleasure.

****

Muellin wasn't certain what he was supposed to be watching for. Dee had insisted that he monitor the equipment while she went out to get her personal things and lock up the van. Some of the equipment was familiar to him. It was electronics commonly used for surveillance. However, even that had been modified in some way, and some of the equipment she'd brought in looked completely alien. He'd been watching the graph for some moments when it occurred to him that the pin was sketching higher and higher blips. Dee had said it reflected paranormal energy waves, whatever that was supposed to mean. He glanced at the TV monitor for the rear parlor, but, not surprisingly, could see nothing; breakfast room clear; dining room clear. He was checking the cameras on the second floor when he stopped abruptly, staring at the monitor for the camera in the master bath. Diana. He watched as she slipped the clothing she was wearing off, dropping each piece to the floor just outside the shower, almost like a strip tease. His erection was almost instantaneous, and excruciatingly painful. Unconsciously, he rubbed the throbbing member, trying to ease his discomfort by adjusting his confining trousers, but it only throbbed harder as he watched Diana

step into the shower, watched the water stream down her body, leaving it glistening. He'd suspected she had a sexy body, but it surpassed his wildest fantasies. Some sound penetrated his fog of desire and he looked up to find Dee watching him. It took him several moments, in fact, to realize it was Dee. He still identified that face as Diana's. A slight smile was curling her lips. He returned it lazily. “Nice ... lollipop,” she purred. “Can I have some? It'd be a shame to let it go to waste.” Muellin looked down at his crotch, discovering with a good deal of surprise that his swollen member was no longer tucked inside his trousers. He recalled trying to adjust himself because of the discomfort. He didn't recall pulling it out. “Yes, it would,” he murmured. It was all the invitation she needed. He'd no sooner said it than she knelt in front of him, taking him into her mouth. He groaned at the hot, moist heat of her mouth as she suckled his dick as if it was a lollipop, licking, sliding the full length into her mouth, sucking the knob at the end. He tried not to think about what she was doing. He knew he'd cum in two seconds or less if he allowed himself to focus on the pleasure she was giving him. With a mixture of relief and disappointment, he felt her release him after only a few minutes. He opened his eyes, looked at her. She placed her hands on his shoulders, straddling him, undulating against him. He groaned, a sound of both pain and pleasure, feeling her damp heat through the tiny wedge of cloth that covered her. Grasping her buttocks in both hands, he pulled her harder against him, lifting up to meet her. She slid her arms around his neck, leaning forward to place a love bite on the lobe of his ear, then sucking it into her mouth. When he felt her tongue in his ear, his heart nearly leapt out of his chest. He released one buttock, grasped her hair and tugged until she lifted her head. He captured her mouth, thrusting deeply with his tongue. She moaned, with pleasure he hoped, but he was finding it very difficult to think about anything but his need to push his throbbing member inside of her. He released his grip on her ass, intending to push the tiny scrap of cloth aside so that he could enter her. Instead, he felt her slipping off his lap. He released her hair and lifted her up again with both hands this time, intending to push past the barrier of fabric, but discovered the tiny thong was pulled too tightly to allow him to do more than nudge the edge of her wet cleft.

He considered releasing her for a moment, just long enough to rip the damn thing off, but it occurred to him that it would take two hands, and if he let go she'd certainly land on the floor. He pulled away, releasing her mouth. “Here? Or upstairs?” She gave him a heavy lidded, completely uncomprehending look. “Floor or bed? This stool isn't going to work.” “Here's fine,” she whispered huskily, and leaned forward to kiss him again. He returned the kiss, but briefly. Allowing her to slide backwards until her feet touched the floor, he grabbed her arms, pulling them from around his neck, waiting for her to steady herself before he released her completely. He had to adjust his erection before he could get to his feet. Heavy with desire, Dee moved against him as soon as he stood, reaching down to massage his erect member. Something caught her attention, however, and she glanced toward the row of monitors. “Oh my god!” she yelped suddenly, pushing away from Muellin abruptly. “Look!” Thoroughly aroused by Dee's nearness, it took Muellin a moment to clear his head and turn. He wondered for several moments if his brain was functioning at all, however, when he looked at the screen Dee was pointing to. It looked like the shower scene out of a porno flick ... except for the fact that the naked woman was completely alone. He moved closer, peering at the small screen. He could see her flesh undulating, as if massaged by an unseen hand. His mind went completely blank. Chills chased each other down his spine. “He's in the shower with her!” Dee shouted, racing toward the stairs. Stunned by what he was watching ... thought he was seeing, it took Muellin several moments more to react. Dee was halfway up the stairs before Muellin shook off his stupor and raced after her. He reached the bathroom only seconds behind Dee, coming to a halt in the doorway as Dee snatched the door to the shower open. Diana was sitting on the floor of the shower, curled up with her knees against her chest and her arms wrapped around them. She looked up at Dee. “Did you catch it on tape?” “Forget the damn tape! Are you all right?” Diana shuddered. “I ... think so ... I've never been raped by a ghost before.” Muellin picked up a towel and gently pushed Dee out of the way. Crouching, he offered Diana the towel, which she

accepted gratefully. Standing shakily, she wrapped it around her. She looked faint, however, and when she stepped out of the shower, Muellin scooped her up into his arms and carried her into the bedroom, depositing her gently on the bed. She was shivering uncontrollably now. “Is there anything I can do?” he asked sympathetically. Diana shook her head. After a moment, he stepped back. Dee had brought a terry robe she'd found in Diana's suitcase and handed it to her. Diana scurried in to it, still shivering so much her teeth had begun to chatter. “I'll go make some coffee,” Muellin said, feeling uncomfortable. “Sounds good,” Diana said, smiling gratefully at him. In the kitchen, Muellin put water on to heat, then returned to the front parlor, where they'd set up the equipment, drawn by the sound of voices. He could see Diana and Dee. Diana was still sitting on the bed. Dee had sat beside her and was hugging her. “Was it really awful?” Dee asked gently. Diana burst into tears, then started laughing a little hysterically. “It was the best sex I've ever experienced in my life!”

Chapter Four Muellin was still stewing over that comment the following morning when everyone finally assembled in the breakfast room. Diana seemed miraculously poised after her experience, and in fact, her behavior, the previous night. “Sleep well?” “Not really,” Diana responded tiredly. He was obliged to admit she did look a little worse for wear, but wondered cynically whether it was because she was concerned she would, or would not, be assaulted again. “Do you feel up to discussing it?” Diana shuddered, but nodded. “I don't suppose you got a look at him?” Diana stared at him for a long moment, but somehow couldn't bring herself to tell him what she thought she'd seen. “I think it was the ghost.” Muellin started to contradict her, but stopped. Finally, he said, “Look. I looked at that clip a dozen times. I saw nothing that would convince me that it was a ghost that assaulted you. I did, however, see something that leads me to believe that it was a real, live, flesh and blood man, something I'll admit I'm more inclined to believe anyway.” Diana and Dee exchanged a look. Diana didn't doubt for a moment that he'd watched the clip a dozen times, or even more. Men were such perverts! But how he could've seen something that wasn't there was beyond her. “So let's go have a look at that clip,” she said finally.

****

“There! See that dark area? It's a shadow. There's a lot of steam, which is one of the reasons it's so hard to see anything clearly....” Except, Diana noted wryly, her completely nude body pressed full length against the glass. “Mullen, if you made copies of this, I want them right now!” Muellin looked at her blankly a moment, then grinned. “Scouts honor! I didn't make any copies.” “If I so much as see one smirk on anybody's face down at the office....” Muellin's look became serious. “I meant it. I didn't make any copies. Even if I had I wouldn't share them,” he added, grinning again. Skelley gave him a drop dead look. “The point I'm trying to make here is that there could be a perfectly logical explanation for this ... no need to go off the deep end and start screaming ghost. As thick as the steam was in there someone could have slipped in, assaulted

Skelley, then escaped. Look at that gust of steam there. It completely obliterated the image. I'm thinking the guy opened the shower door a crack, poof the camera lens goes white out, then he departs out the back way.” “That theory is as full of holes as a sieve,” Dee said indignantly. “How's that?” Muellin asked, only mildly annoyed. He didn't want to argue with Dee. The situation they'd found themselves in the previous night, just before Diana's assault, had seemed laden with promise. He didn't want to blow his chances by getting on her bad side. “For one thing, there was no water on the floor. The shower was going full blast. If a guy had been in the shower with Diana, he would've slogged water all over the place when he left. Then, too, there's only one stair. We went up it. No one came down. Or maybe you're thinking it was spiderman? Climbed up to the second floor window, came in, did Diana, climbed out again? Because you'd need a ladder to climb in the windows on the first floor, and one hell of a long ladder to access the top floor.” “I didn't say I had it all figured out. I only said it was just as possible that there was a logical explanation,” Muellin said patiently. “I'm a lot more inclined to consider flesh and blood rapist than a ghost.” “We know that,” Diana snapped. “But that doesn't mean you're right.” “Don't you think it's possible? I mean, you said your eyes were full of soap. You couldn't see your assailant.” “I couldn't see him because HE wasn't there,” Diana said indignantly. Muellin gave her a look. Diana ground her teeth. “You know what I mean. Look. At first I thought it was ... uh ... a real guy. I swung at him, over and over. I never touched him. Not even a glancing blow. I would've been able to if it-he had been flesh and blood.” Muellin studied her a long moment. “Well, the fact remains that the clip from last night just isn't clear enough to hold up your story.” Diana's lips tightened. “It's clear enough for my book,” Dee said. “Besides, I also have the graphs. The machine was going crazy last night. Diana you would not BELIEVE the energy this poltergeist manifests!” “Yes, I would,” Diana said succinctly. She turned to Muellin. “At any rate, I'm not interested in proving, or disproving the existence of this entity. We're here to get rid of it.” “Well, if it's a spirit, not a man, how do you plan to go about that?” Muellin responded logically. “A man we could

catch.” “I believe I'm going to have a talk with Mrs. Vanderhorn.”

****

“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Mrs. Vanderhorn,” Diana said as she crossed the room toward the older woman. Mrs. Vanderhorn gestured toward the love seat facing the one she occupied. “Please. Do have a seat, Agent Skelley. Would you care for refreshment? Coffee, perhaps? Or would you prefer something cold?” “No, thank you,” Diana responded. “That'll be all, Betty. Please close the door on your way out.” Betty, the maid who'd led Diana to what she'd referred to as the small parlor, nodded and retreated, closing the French paneled doors behind her. The room Diana found herself in was quietly elegant. Diana had been in the homes of many wealthy families in her time with the agency, enough times to recognize ‘old money'. The Nouveau Riche tended to be a bit flamboyant in their decorating tastes, as if they weren't altogether certain what to do with so much money, or, occasionally, because they were so proud of it they wanted to make certain everyone who entered could tell immediately that they had more money than they knew what to do with. ‘Old money’ preferred to understate their worth while enjoying it at the same time, thus the ‘small parlor’ was filled with a combination of elegant, understated designer furniture and antiques. Diana could have relaxed more if the love seat she'd been sitting on hadn't been a Louis XVI. “I felt you had something rather urgent to discuss with me,” Mrs. Vanderhorn prodded, laying aside the needlework she'd obviously been working on. Now that she was here, Diana wasn't certain where to begin. She finally decided just to start with the assault. “I was assaulted in the shower in the master bedroom last night,” she said baldly. Try as she might, she couldn't help that just a hint of accusation crept into her voice. Mrs. Vanderhorn had failed to warn her that the house had a randy ghost. She hadn't been prepared for that particular brand of assault, never having encountered such a thing before. “When you told me you'd been attacked, I had no idea you meant a sexual assault.” Mrs. Vanderhorn's face went perfectly blank, her jaw going slack for several moments before her entire face transformed into a mask of fury. “I do not for one moment believe you were ... raped by a ghost! The very idea! It's MY house! If he was going to sexually assault ANYONE I'd think it would've been ME!”

It was Diana's turn to gape. She recovered quickly. “I beg your pardon, but I assure you we are completely trustworthy to be absolutely discreet on this matter.” “Are you calling me a liar?” Diana flushed beat read. “No ma'am. I'm sorry if I seemed to imply that. I only thought that, perhaps, you were reluctant to discuss....” “There's nothing to discuss! I told you exactly what happened. I was flung against the wall ... That bastard!” “Who?” “I should have known that cheating snake would be up to his old habits!” “Who?” “My husband! Or rather, my late husband.” “Are you saying you think the ghost is your husband?” “Well, who else would it be? It's OUR house, after all. You don't mean to suggest it's a ... a transient or something like that.” Diana was silent for several moments. “Did your husband die in the ... uh ... cottage?” “Of course not!” Diana stared at her a moment. “I don't think I understand. If your husband didn't die there, why would you think he'd be there?” Mrs. Vanderhorn sat back, studying Diana and Diana was relieved to see her anger had blown itself out. “I never really thought about it at all, to tell you the truth. I don't know anything about ... about hauntings. I've certainly never encountered a ghost before, never believed in them. But then you said ... well, never mind. Who do you think it is?” “To be honest with you, I'm no expert on the subject. That's my sister's field. But generally when a house is haunted, it's by someone who died there ... tragically, or possibly violently ... who's trapped for some reason, or confused, and unable, or unwilling, to cross over.” “Oh.” Mrs. Vanderhorn looked doubtful. “Do you know if anyone died in the house?” Mrs. Vanderhorn almost seemed to shrug, though Diana doubted she ever actually did anything that inelegant. “Not that I know of. Don't they generally have to disclose this sort of thing to a purchaser?” “I'm afraid I'm no expert on real estate either. I rent. At any rate, even if it was required it doesn't necessarily follow that they would report it. Then, too, it might have been something that happened years ago, which they thought of no relevance. Or, quite possibly, your husband was told.” “If he was, he didn't tell me.” “What about historically? You said the house had originally belonged to your family.”

Mrs. Vanderhorn chuckled. “Honey! That was long, long ago, well before I my time.” “But you knew the house had belonged to your family?” Diana prodded. “My grandmother told me. We went there once when I was a little girl, went to see the ‘old place’ as she referred to it. You're so young I doubt you know much about history—young people just don't seem to have any interest in these things anymore. But, it was originally a plantation, primarily rice. That was the main thing they grew in that area, some cotton, but mostly rice. My great, great ... somewhere back there, grandfather had been granted the land back when it was still an English colony, sometime in the early 1700's. It came down through my grandmother's family. “The south was just devastated by the Civil War, though— the war of Northern Aggression, Grandmother called it. Why, right here in Atlanta, there were still burned out buildings from the burning of Atlanta right on into the 1900's. Anyway, the family fell on hard times, just like everybody else. They struggled to hold on to it for years, but they never fully recovered from the war. Eventually, they lost the place. My grandmother was a little girl, but she never got over the family losing their home. I guess that's what made me want it so badly,” she added sadly. “Do you know who bought it?” Mrs. Vanderhorn shook her head. “As I understand it, the place was vacant for quite a few years. The bank took it from the family, but there weren't many people around that had the money to buy it.” Diana sat back thoughtfully, turning the information over, digesting it. “Was the place ransacked, do you think, during the war?” Mrs. Vanderhorn frowned. “Not that I ever heard. It's possible, I suppose, but I don't know how likely. Sherman cut down to Atlanta, then south to somewhere around Macon, I think, then turned east toward Savannah. Savannah's a good distance from the old place. I don't think it was in the army's path.” Diana nodded, mildly disappointed that she hadn't managed to pin down a time frame when the tragedy could have occurred, then suddenly remembered something she'd forgotten. “Does the word ‘Melody’ mean anything to you?” “You mean a song? Or the name of a song? Unchained melody?” “Possibly. Or maybe a name?”

Chapter Five “You do realize, of course, that this is a waste of time, Skelley.” Diana glanced up from the records she'd been pouring over. “You think so?” Muellin gave her a look. “Think of it as a search for a motive.” Muellin's eyebrows rose. “Since you're so convinced it couldn't possibly be a ghost, I suppose it hasn't occurred to you that it could be a disgruntled former owner?” Muellin's expression became arrested. “You think someone who owned the place before wants to scare Mrs. Vanderhorn out?” Diana shrugged. “I think it's a ghost, but there is that possibility.” “Sounds a little far fetched. Why would they sell it in the first place?” “Maybe this someone didn't sell it. Maybe they'd expected to inherit, but didn't. Or maybe they sold it because they had to, but want it back?” Muellin was thoughtful for several moments. “It still sounds pretty weak, but I haven't come up with anything else. I could check it out.” Diana nodded and rose, picking up her notes. “I'm off to the library to see what I can dig up in the way of old newspapers.”

**** The house was totally dark when they returned, even though it was well past dusk. Diana felt immediately alarmed. Dee had been up most of the night, monitoring the equipment. She had only just gone upstairs to rest when Diana had left to interview Mrs. Vanderhorn, but it still seemed unlikely that she would've allowed herself to sleep so late into the evening. The whole place seemed eerily quiet. “You think the power went out?” Muellin shook his head. “The yard lighting is on the same breaker box. If the main had blown, the lights along the drive would be out.” Diana reached over Muellin and popped the trunk, then got out and went around to the back of the car. Muellin followed her, watching, somewhat stunned, as she hefted a shotgun from the arsenal of guns in her trunk and a flashlight. “You going to shoot the ghost?” “Only if he's the kind that bleeds.” Muellin tried to take the gun from her. She refused to release it, however. “Get your own,” she snapped, nodding

toward the guns in the trunk. “There's so many! It's hard to choose,” Muellin said sarcastically. “Quit wasting time! Dee could be in trouble.” Muellin grabbed a .44 and another flashlight, but rushed after Diana, stopping her once more. “If you burst in, we'll loose him again.” Diana pursed her lips impatiently. “I have done this sort of thing once or twice, Mr. G-Man.” “Good. Then I won't have to worry about you shooting me. You take the front. I'm going around to the rear. Remember, if you hear somebody coming in the back way. It's me. Don't shoot.” “Go!” “Give me a count of ten before you go in.” Diana nodded, watching as Muellin darted around the side of the house. When he'd disappeared, she moved as silently as possible toward the front entrance. It wasn't locked. She didn't know whether to be relieved or further disturbed by that. Either Dee was just sleeping and hadn't gotten up to lock the door ... or she hadn't been able to. Turning the knob, she eased the door open. The hinges screamed like a dying woman. Caught off guard, unnerved, Diana leapt into the foyer, quickly scanning with her flashlight and gun. She met up with Muellin in the front parlor. They both jumped. “It's me!” “I know it's you!” Diana whispered irritably. “You see anything?” Muellin shook his head. “The back door wasn't locked, though.” “The front either.” “I checked the breaker box near the back door. Nothing was tripped. The lights should be working.” Diana had a bad feeling she knew what that meant, but she wasn't about to put her shotgun down until she was absolutely positive there was no living intruder inside the house. Together they made a circuit of the rooms on the first floor, arriving a few minutes later in the front parlor once more. “Look,” Muellin whispered. The flicker of light had already caught Diana's attention. She moved toward it and saw that it was the monitors. The camera's were designed to pick up images, even in rooms almost as dark as a cave, but the image was still indistinct enough that it took Diana several moments to realize what she was looking at.

**** Tired as she was, Dee discovered that it was hard to sleep with daylight streaming through the windows. She lay staring up at the ceiling for a while, listening as first Diana, then Muellin, left the house. Muellin had asked to borrow her van to ‘check out a few things’ and pick up sustenance while Diana went to meet with Mrs. Vanderhorn. She'd heard them arrange to meet up at the house again around 2:00, so she didn't bother getting up to lock the doors. She supposed she should, but finally decided the place was just too remote for the odds to favor possible break ins ... whatever Muellin might think about it. The ghost was the only thing she really had to worry about, and so far he'd seemed inclined to confine his wanderings to the ‘witching’ hour. She wondered if that had any significance, the fact that he tended to appear shortly before mid-night and disappear shortly afterwards. It seemed likely that it did. After almost an hour, finding that she wasn't any closer to sleep, Dee rose, pulled on her clothes and wandered downstairs to check her equipment to make sure it was functioning properly, and look over the clips and readings from the night before. Excitement flooded her as she reviewed the data she'd collected so far. Her colleagues were going to have a hell of a time disputing this material! When the excitement waned, she realized that the hours without sleep had begun to creep up on her. She was bone deep tired. Her mind, however, was still way too active for sleep to be anything more than a remote possibility. Recalling her earlier thought regarding the significance of the ghost's appearance, she decided to check the house for possible clues. It seemed improbable that there would be anything, but it didn't hurt to look. She didn't bother with the first two floors. The house had been completely renovated and the family who now owned it used it as a getaway. She would find nothing more in the living areas than the family's belongings. The grand ballroom covered most of the third floor. She, Diana and Muellin had explored it briefly, but there was little to see. What she was interested in were the tiny rooms on either side of the ballroom. She suspected they'd originally been designed as lady's retiring rooms, or possibly servants’ quarters, but all six rooms, three on either end of the ballroom, were now packed floor to ceiling with the debris of what looked like generations. The first room she checked seemed to be primarily devoted to baby things. She found two fairly large trunks.

Each was filled with baby blankets, bibs, cotton diapers, embroidered and tucked clothing, some of it possibly dating back a hundred years or more. She wasn't, exactly, an antiquities expert, but she knew enough to realize that the styles of the clothing dated back quite a few decades. At the bottom of the second trunk, she found a yellowed birth certificate. It was handwritten, and dated December 13th, 1905 ... or possibly 1906. The ink that had been used had faded over the years. She moved to a window where she could get a little more light. Kirkpatrick, M ... Jane. Melanie? Not Margaret. M ... E .... L.... Dee gave up. Placing the birth certificate where she'd found it, she just as carefully returned the clothing and closed the trunk, surveyed the room filled with rocking horses, rocking chairs, cradles and cribs and finally decided there was nothing more to find. The second room was filled to brimming with battered furniture from the bedrooms, wooden bed frames, iron bed frames, several rotten mattresses spewing straw filling. There were several wardrobes, as well. She shoved a mattress out of the way and moved to the first, checking each drawer. One was filled with lacy hankies. Another with ladies under drawers. She took a pair out and held them up. “Good God! I'm glad we don't wear these things anymore!” She tossed the underwear back into the drawer and checked the next one down. It held a ladies torture device, formerly known as a corset. She pulled it out. There were lacings, broken, both back and front. The fabric was old and looked as if mice had been chewing on it. She could see exposed bone in several places. Holding it up to the light, she could see that the corset was shaped in a perfect hourglass. The waist, even loosely laced, couldn't have been more than eighteen inches. She'd always been proud of her tiny waist, a mere twenty inches, and was torn between envy and horror as she examined it. Laced tightly, this thing would've produced a waist of around fifteen inches. “Freak,” she muttered, wondering how many idiot women had ruined their health by deforming or disarranging their internal organs with these things. She threw it back into the draw and slammed it. The drawer at the bottom was missing a handle. She tried grasping the edges but couldn't get a good enough grip to pull the drawer open. After a few minutes of searching, she discovered something that looked like a long skewer ... a hat pin, maybe? ... and used that to pry the drawer open. Something rattled as the drawer was forced open, something heavy, and definitely not clothing. She tossed the pin back on the dressing table where she'd

found it and grasped the drawer again, pulling it open at last. Inside was a picture frame. She pulled it out and moved to the tiny window again. It wasn't a picture ... or rather just a picture. It was a faded, very yellowed newspaper clipping. The picture was of extremely poor quality, very grainy, but she could see it was a man and a woman, the woman decked out in what looked to be a short, flapper style bridal gown. It was black and white, naturally, but the woman's hair was lighter than the man's. It could've been anything from light brown, to medium blond or anything in between. The man's hair was dark. He was tall, at least compared to the woman, whose head barely topped his shoulder, and slender. He looked really dapper in his tux and top hat. She got the impression that they were a handsome couple, but it was little more than an impression because she couldn't make out their features. She looked at the caption beneath the picture. ‘Miss Melody Kirkpatrick of Screven county weds Mr. Alan McMillan, formerly of New York City, N.Y. “Melody,” Dee repeated under her breath, wondering if it was the same as the birth certificate she'd found earlier. It seemed likely. It was impossible to read the article. At any rate, she was more interested in finishing her search. An hour later, exhausted, filthy from plundering through dust laden rooms, Dee tucked the picture frame under her arm and went back downstairs. Setting the frame down, she dropped her clothes to the floor, took a quick shower and then collapsed on the bed. This time she was asleep before her head hit the pillow. Despite the many hours since she'd last slept, and the exercise expended in her search, or perhaps because of it, she slept fitfully, rousing to semi-consciousness over and over. Each time she drifted off again after only a moment, unconsciously noting the path of the sun as it moved across her window, over the roof and began it's descent in the west. It was dark in the room when she roused for perhaps the third time, this time awakened as she drifted upward in slumber by a touch. Drowsily, she lifted her head. A round lump had appeared at her feet. “Not now, Muellin. Finish later,” she murmured, her voice slurred with sleep. Either he didn't hear her or he chose to disregard her halfhearted rejection. She felt his hands glide up her calves, then her inner thighs, his mouth following, weaving a spell of acquiescence over her. Warmth spread through her rapidly. She'd thought she was too tired to have any interest in finishing what they'd started the night before, but realized otherwise the moment he parted her legs and lowered his

mouth to kiss her intimately. “Mmm,” she murmured dreamily as she felt first his hot, moist breath and then his tongue teasing her clitoris. “That feels good.” She clutched her pillow tightly, wave after wave of pleasure rippling through her as his tongue teased and suckled the tiny bud. Languorous sleep gave way to heady passion, lifting her higher and higher with each stroke of his tongue until she was writhing with impatience, could feel impending release. “More,” she murmured. “Suck me. Yesssss. Like that. I love the way your tongue feels on my clit.” She felt him shift. Fearing he was going to stop when she was so close to climax she felt like she would die if he stopped, she reached for him, intending to grasp his head and hold him closer to her. He gripped her hands, forcing her arms up, clamping her wrists down against the bed on either side of her head. It was as if she'd been manacled. Frustrated, she tried to wrench free, but in that moment she felt his engorged member pressing against her. A wave of heat washed through her. “Oh, yes, baby. Put your dick inside me. Fuck me. Fuck me hard and fast.” He thrust his swollen member inside her, sinking deep. Something between a groan, a gasp and a scream of pleasure scraped past her throat. “Oh my God! You're so big, baby! Ohhh, it feels so good.” He pulled slightly away, then thrust again, hard, almost lifting her up on the bed. “Rough,” she said, “Yes! Rough! Fuck me hard and fast!” He increased the tempo of his rhythm, pounding against her so hard and fast and deep she almost felt he would rip her in two. Pleasure built inside her hard and fast. She found that she was gasping for air, her throat gone dry. “Oh God, baby. You fuck me so good. Ohhh. Just like that! Deeper.” She couldn't think. All she could do was feel, and she felt as if she was on fire. Her skin tingled so acutely everywhere their bodies met it was almost as much stinging pain as pleasure. The pleasure built until she felt like she was hanging on a precipice, teetering first one way and then the other, fearful that she would fall back instead of make the leap over. “I'm almost there, baby, almost there. I'm going to cum! Oh my God!” The pleasure was so intense, she screamed when she climaxed. She climaxed again when she felt him explode inside her with his pleasure. She couldn't move for several minutes. She thought her

heart might have exploded inside her chest from the sheer intensity of her climax. He was laying atop her, his weight a comforting warmth. For once she felt so wonderfully sated she was almost inclined to cuddle ... or purr like a well fed cat. “Oh Muellin! You're a wonderful fuck!” He didn't move. Dreamily, weakly, she lifted her head. No one was there. She screamed again, this time from horror.

****

Dee's scream shook both Muellin and Diana out of their shocked stupor. The first scream had scarcely died away before both had whirled and went pelting up the stairs. Muellin, in the lead, slammed Dee's bedroom door back so hard it bounced against the wall and rebounded. He stopped stock still in the doorway. Diana thrust past him, then she, too, stopped. In the glow of their flashlights, they clearly saw the outlined form of a man lying atop Dee, but there was no head where a head should have been, no arms where arms should have been. Muellin moved first, grasping the bedclothes and snatching them from the bed. Dee lay naked and completely alone. The lights came on abruptly. Dee jerked upright, covering herself with her hands. Both she and Diana screamed. Muellin gasped. It wasn't really a scream and Dee and Diana thankfully drowned him out—he hoped. “Who...? What was that thing?” “A ghost,” Dee and Diana answered in unison. Muellin stared at them for a long moment, then stalked to the bed. On either side of the pillow where Dee had been lying, there were deep impressions in the sheets—Dee's arms and knuckle impressions beside her wrists. He pulled the fitted sheet back and saw that the mattress had been covered with a soft polyurethane topper. Before his eyes the impressions slowly vanished as the topper returned to it's original form. “Knuckle prints. That says to me, live, not a ghost, a real man.” “So, where did he go?” Diana asked. “He vanished into thin air.” Muellin looked around the area carefully, but could see no further indications that anyone, besides them, had been there. “Magicians vanish.” “Smoke and mirrors, Muellin! There's nothing here a magician could use for a vanishing act!” “Maybe, maybe not,” Muellin responded, obviously

unconvinced. “Could I get dressed now?” Dee asked plaintively. Muellin stared at her a moment before he realized she was requesting privacy. “Sure. I'll be downstairs.” Diana started to follow, but Dee stopped her. “Stay. Please.”

****

Diana was mixing Margaritas in a blender she'd set up on the counter in the butler's pantry when Muellin returned from an outside search. “Find anything?” she asked without looking up. “Zilch. But it's too dark to really see anything even if there was something there to find. I'll have another look in the morning.” Diana nodded. It was useless to argue with him anyway. He was as certain the intruder was a man as she was that it was a ghost. She'd realized a long time ago that people fell into one of three categories when it came to ghosts. Some believed without any proof whatsoever. Some didn't believe, but could not be convinced to go into a cemetery at night. Some simply could not believe, no matter how overwhelming the evidence one produced. She had once considered herself in the middle category. She didn't really believe, but then she just didn't like the idea of visiting cemeteries at night, or tramping around dilapidated old houses in the dark. She still didn't consider herself a true believer. She had her share of skepticism, and yet there were scientific facts that supported the possibility. “Care for a Margarita?” she asked. Muellin shook his head. He moved past her and opened the under-counter refrigerator, taking out a Corona. “Sure you wouldn't rather have one of these, Skelley?” Diana shook her head. “Dee wanted something with a little more kick after her ... uh ... experience. Me too.” He followed her into the front parlor. Dee was crouched on the couch, hugging her knees to her chest. She looked white enough to be a ghost herself and Muellin felt a pang of sympathy. He hesitated, tempted to sit down beside her and offer her comfort, but one never knew with women. One time you could offer sympathy and they'd fall into your arms, crying their heart out. The next, they'd try to slap your head right off your shoulders, or snarl and show their claws. He had a dim feeling that, since she'd been raped, she might prefer not to have a male in her vicinity. He chose a chair across from the couch. Diana handed Dee a drink. “Here, sweetie. This'll fix you

right up. I made it extra strong.” She retreated then to the butler's pantry once more. When she returned she held the pitcher and another glass. Dee had gulped her drink down in about four swallows. She held up her empty glass when Diana returned. Without a word, Diana refilled the glass, then set the pitcher down on the table next to her sister and settled beside her. “You all right, kiddo?” Diana asked sympathetically. Dee nodded, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Brain freeze.” “Drink this one a little slower.” Again Dee nodded. No one said anything for several minutes. Finally, Dee took a deep, shuddering breath and said, “I think I know who it was ... uh ... is.”

Chapter Six “Who?” Muellin asked quickly, sitting forward. “How did you find out?” Diana asked at almost the same moment. Dee set her half finished glass down and told them about her explorations earlier and the newspaper article she'd discovered in the attic. “I don't know why, or how, but the moment I picked it up I just had this ... certainty that it was him.” “Him who?” “Alan McMillan.” “What did you do with the article?” Diana asked quickly. “I set it down on the vanity in my bedroom.” Diana practically leapt from the couch, set her drink down and dashed up the stairs. She was back very quickly, a little breathless, but triumphant. “Got it.” She held it under the lamp, angling the frame so that she could see past the glare. Muellin was breathing down her neck, trying to read over her shoulder. “1928! Good God! If they were married in 1928, that would make him ... what? Ninety five years old at the very least. No ninety five year old man could disappear that fast.” “He's dead,” Diana said. Muellin and Dee both looked at her, waiting. “When I was going through the old newspapers, looking for anything that might've happened here, I ran across an article from 1929. Alan McMillan committed suicide in this house in November of 1929, almost a year to the day after he married Melody Fitzpatrick.” “They put THAT in the newspaper?” Dee exclaimed. “A suicide? But it was such a scandal! I can't imagine them doing a write up on it.” Diana shrugged. “All right, so I read between the lines a little, plus I talked to the librarian. “Wait a minute,” Muellin demanded. “If he's dead ... oh. I get it. You think he's the ghost?” Diana nodded. “In fact, I'm positive he's the ghost.” “Pretty damn randy for a ninety eight year old man, if you ask me,” Muellin muttered. Both Dee and Diana gave him a drop dead look. “He would have been older than that if he was alive today. He was born in 1895. He was thirty three when he took a swan dive off the third floor balcony one night, broke his neck when he hit the railing on the way down. A lot of it, of course, is pure speculation. The newspaper reported it as an accident, naturally, but people talked. “He was a wealthy young man when he arrived in the area.

Everybody said he was a self-made man, not born with a silver spoon in his mouth.” “What did he do, rob Fort Knox?” “Stock market, I heard. But his prosperity seemed to dry up almost as fast. The stock market crash almost wiped him out financially. That's why everyone figured he'd committed suicide, even though his death could have been construed, and in fact was reported as, an accident.” “Not that I'm buying into this hocus pocus, but you think, just because he died here, or killed himself, that he's haunting the place? This house was built back in the mid 1800's. There could have been any number of people who died here.” “As far as I could find out, three or four children and at least two adults, including Alan McMillan, died in this house.” “Children?” Diana nodded, then shrugged. “It wasn't really all that unusual for children to die of some illness or another back in those days. The family that lived here just before the McMillan's moved in came down with something called scarlet fever. A woman and her three youngest children died. The woman was weak, had just given birth to a little girl. The fever killed her, the infant and two toddlers, both under the age of three.” “But you don't think any of them are haunting the place?” Again, Diana shrugged. “I don't know that they aren't, but I do know that the ghost me, Dee and Mrs. Vanderhorn encountered was a male. That rules out the woman and her children. Besides, they were ill. It's usually victims of violent deaths that haunt a place.” “It makes sense in a totally illogical kind of way,” Muellin said dryly. “But I still don't see how you could be positive it's him. You tracked down him, a woman and three or four children that had died here. There could've been more. Records that far back wouldn't necessarily be accurate or complete.” “I know that. It's not the records I found, the rumors or even the speculation regarding his death that convinced me. It's what he said.” “He?” Muellin exclaimed. “You're telling me now that you spoke to him?” “Diana! You didn't tell me he'd spoken to you!” Dee said indignantly. “I didn't say anything because I was, well, I was shaken by the ... encounter. I didn't remember it until today when I was talking with Mrs. Vanderhorn and I didn't put it together until I saw the article you found. But that night, in the shower, he called me Melody.”

**** “A seance? You're not serious?” Muellin said. “I was being facetious when I mentioned it. It never occurred to me that you'd seriously consider trying that sort of mumbo jumbo.” Dee and Diana exchanged looks. “Muellin, if you're not comfortable with this, you don't have to take part.” “You're damn straight I don't have to take part! Look, Diana, I'll admit we haven't come up with anything concrete in this case, we've been at it for almost two weeks now, and time isn't on our side, but I still think you're way off track here. And we can't afford to waste time with mumbo jumbo if we're going to crack this case.” “I'm not talking about wasting time, Muellin. We have to do it tonight, around the time he usually appears, and we wouldn't be doing anything else then anyway. I don't see how it could hurt to try.” “It hurts, Skelley, because we haven't been pursuing any reasonable leads since you got this idea in your head.” Diana studied him a long moment. “You have. Have you come up with any possibilities?” Muellin got to his feet. “I'm going to have a look around. The way this guy keeps popping in and out of here, he must be staying close by.” Dee and Diana exchanged glances. Diana got to her feet. “I'll go with you.” They paced the circumference of the house once more, stopping at each window. The only footprints they found were their own. Diana didn't dare comment on it. There was a trellis going about halfway up the side of the house facing the river. Muellin stopped, studying it for several moments, and the ground directly under it. “He could be going in and out this way.” Diana looked at the trellis doubtfully. “It really doesn't look very substantial, Muellin. I don't think it would hold me up, much less a man.” Muellin took a step closer to the trellis and took hold of one of the braces, shaking it. He placed a foot on the lowest rung. “Muellin....” He ignored her, grasping another piece of the lathe and hoisting himself up. Surprisingly, the trellis held. Muellin threw her a look of triumph and started up, despite Diana's protests. He encountered a problem when he reached the top. He was still too far from the nearest window to reach. However, he didn't look at all displeased once he regained the ground again. “That's how he's been coming and going. The grass is thick here. He could easily avoid stepping on the bare dirt here at the bottom.”

“He seemed ... a bit brawn ... uh ... heavier than you,” Diana pointed out. Muellin shrugged. “You couldn't reach the window,” she pointed out. “I didn't really try that hard. I don't like heights.” “You could've fooled me. You looked like a monkey going up that shaky thing.” He'd sounded like one too, grunting each time a rose cane caught hold of bare skin or ripped at him through his shirt, but she didn't think he'd appreciate her pointing that out. He was waiting for further comment. Diana nodded. “I'll concede it's possible ... not likely, but possible. He shimmies up the trellis, does a spiderman routine over to the nearest window and in he goes. So, how does he get here?” “The river.” Diana turned to survey the river. The distance from the house to the river wasn't beyond the realms of possibility either if the perp was agile enough to climb the trellis and into the window. “Don't you think we would've heard something? We'd have heard water lapping, either from someone swimming or oars in the water, supposing he came by row boat. It's so quiet here at night a pin drop sounds like a cap gun.” “Except that we were all so stunned by his sudden appearance and disappearance that no one came out to check right away. He had at least ten or fifteen minutes both times, maybe more.” “You find signs anywhere along here where somebody might have pulled a row boat in?” “There's a possibility just in the woods over there.” Muellin led the way. It was actually pretty creepy, even in the day time, certainly disconcerting. The woods surrounded the estate like an impenetrable cloak. From immaculately kept lawn, they stepped straight into forest primeval. There was a path, of sorts. Examining it, Diana wasn't certain whether it was a very old trail that had once been well used and then overtaken when it was no longer used, or if Muellin had worn it down traipsing back and forth in his efforts to capture the perp. “Over here,” he called. Diana stood up, looking around, but finally decided she wasn't about to step off the trail and followed it, hoping it would lead her to Muellin. Despite the heavy undergrowth, she caught glimpses of the river from time to time and decided the trail was running roughly parallel to the river, wandering around some rather large trees from time to time, but basically following the natural bank. “Skelley?”

“I'm coming,” she responded, stopping briefly to untangle a briar from her pants leg. Through a maze of vines and limbs, she caught sight of a ramshackle building just a little ahead. Muellin was standing on a rotten pier when she reached the ‘clearing’ where the building stood, or rather leaned. “This! Here? You mean you think somebody's been staying here?” Muellin shrugged. “Maybe. I was talking about the pier, though.” “My God, Muellin! You can't think anybody would actually be using THAT!” “It's solid enough. There's a lot of planks missing, some rotten ones, but if you were familiar with it....” “You'd still break your neck stumbling around on that thing at night! And how could anybody find it in the dark? I tripped five times coming in here and it's daylight. I can see where I'm walking. If anybody leapt into this thicket in the middle of the night, he'd ... he'd look like brier rabbit!” Muellin leapt off the pier, landing, to Diana's relief, back on solid ground. “My theory is that the perp's been using this place to run drugs. Not the house, this place. But he doesn't want anybody staying at the house ... too much of a threat to his business. He grows a crop of marijuana in the woods here, sheltered from drug helicopters by the dense foliage, harvests it and takes it down, or up, river to sell.” Diana nodded. It was a perfectly logical theory ... minor holes ... but possible. She didn't believe it for one minute, but it seemed to make Muellin far more comfortable than her own theory and she was satisfied to leave it at that. In any event, they shared one common problem. Divergent theories aside, neither of them knew how to solve the case to their client's satisfaction. She knew as well as Muellin did that the seance she'd proposed wasn't likely to help, although for different reasons. As far as she knew no one had ever convinced a ghost to leave by calling them in a seance. The problem was, she couldn't figure out what was holding him to the place. There must be more to it than his death. If there wasn't, then she would have no leverage to oust him. “I don't suppose you found any evidence of a crop?” she said absently, turning to survey the woods surrounding the ... well she supposed it must have been a boat house originally. “Not yet. I'm still looking,” Muellin admitted. “Even if you're right, it could be anywhere. And it isn't even crop season, is it?” “Which is why I can't find anything. But that doesn't blow the theory, regardless. In a matter of a couple of months it will be growing season and if anyone has a setup here, he

isn't going to want anybody taking up residence in the house.” Diana was obliged to admit it made sense. “So you intend to keep searching?” “It's kind of like looking for a needle in a haystack. As you said, no crop right now. The most I could hope to find would be evidence in the way of clearings and/or tools and I haven't had much luck with that so far.” “I suppose I should offer to help,” Diana said reluctantly. Muellin studied her a moment. “Thanks,” he finally said, “but that won't be necessary. I don't particularly care for stumbling around in the woods myself, and I can see you'd rather not.” Diana smiled wryly. “I'd rather not. On the other hand, I've had to do a lot of things I'd rather not since I took this job, and it IS my job.” Muellin shook his head. “No. Why don't you go back to the house and stay with Dee? She seemed pretty shook up to me. You could check out those rooms in the attic Dee was telling us about. You might come up with something. The way I see it we're pretty well grasping at straws right now anyway.” Diana smiled at Muellin gratefully. “All right. I'll check the house.” She glanced around, but it was dim beneath the trees, even though it was full daylight and a sunny day. Moreover, the brush surrounding them looked like an impenetrable wall. After a moment, she started back. She'd only gone a few steps when Muellin stopped her. “Skelley!” She stopped, peeling a briar from her pants leg. “What?” “You're going the wrong way.” She looked toward where she'd left him. After only a few yards she could barely see him through the foliage. “Right. Guess I got turned around.” She looked around and started in the opposite direction. She'd only managed to go a few yards in that direction when she stopped, abruptly certain that this, too, was the wrong direction. “Skelley!” “Hmm?” “You're still going the wrong way.” “I'm not so sure about that. Muellin, did you know there was a cemetery out here?” She heard thrashing as he made his way over to her, but she only waited until she was certain he could see her before moving toward the rusted iron gate that had caught her eye. The gate was covered with brambles and she discovered that the rust and the briars together were enough to make it impossible for her to move the gate more than a few inches in either direction. She was surveying the wrought iron picket

fence surrounding the tiny cemetery when Muellin stopped beside her. “Awesome!” The comment startled a chuckle out of her. “It is that. No way in, though.” Muellin took hold of the gate and shook it a couple of times. When it refused to budge, he started around the fence. Diana followed him. To her surprise, the fence remained intact. Admittedly, things could be deceiving in the woods, particularly in this part of the country. One good growing season was generally enough for the underbrush to completely retake an area, even if it had been burned only the year before. Regardless, it didn't look as if anyone had been near the place in many, many years and it was hard to believe the fence had held up so well to time without repairs. In any case, it didn't look as if she was going to explore it any further. “We could jump the fence. It isn't high.” “You might can,” Diana said wryly, “but I'm fairly certain I'm not agile enough to leap over it and I don't at all like the looks of those spikes.” She broke off abruptly as Muellin took hold of the fence and went over, landing in a pile of dead, decaying leaves on the other side. “Piece of cake.” “For you maybe.” He held out his arms. “Come here. I'll help you.” “That's all right. I'd really rather not.” She tried the gate again. Not surprisingly, it still refused to budge. Muellin stepped forward until he was leaning against the fence and held out his arms again. “Just hold onto me and put your foot here on the top brace.” She didn't particularly want to, but she desperately wanted to explore the cemetery. After a moment, she moved toward him and placed her hands on his shoulders. He slid his hands up her sides until they rested just beneath her arms. Diana almost pulled away then, far too conscious of his palms resting against the sides of her breasts, but finally decided it would be better just to get it over with. The longer she delayed, the more self-conscious they'd both be about it. With that thought, she stepped forward, lifted one leg and placed her right foot on the brace. There was no place high enough to place her other foot to give her the leverage she needed. “That's all right. Just push off with your other foot. I've got you.” She hopped a couple of times and finally bent her left knee and pushed off. Muellin caught her breasts full in the face as

she went over. Either it startled him, or overbalanced him. They both went over, landing in a tangled heap on the pile of leaves, Diana on top. She was too stunned to move for several moments. Finally, she remembered where she was lying and pushed up to look down at Muellin beneath her. “Sorry. I didn't hurt you did I?” Muellin managed a wry grin. “Who could think of pain at a time like this? You have fulfilled my wildest fantasies.” Diana stared at him blankly a moment, but finally smiled back, equally wry. “Very funny.” She rolled off of him. Muellin rolled with her so that he was now on top. “You don't believe me? I'm hurt.” If possible, Diana was more stunned than she had been when she'd landed on top of him. She stared up at him speechlessly. After a moment, his grin faded to a smile and then disappeared altogether, his expression becoming serious as he studied her. Slowly, he lowered his head until his lips hovered only a breath away from her own. Diana held her breath, torn between reluctance and desire. The snap of a twig very close by galvanized both of them into immediate action. They rolled away from each other in opposite directions, coming up on their feet almost before they'd stopped rolling. Neither of them was armed. It was just as well. Dee stared at them in shock for a moment, then burst out laughing. “Boy, do you two ever look guilty as hell!”

Chapter Seven Diana brushed the leaves from her clothing. “You startled us.” “I can see I did.” Muellin looked from Dee to Diana uncomfortably. “Lighten up! It's not like I caught you two making out or anything.” Diana glanced quickly at Muellin and blushed all the way to her hairline. “I fell. Muellin was trying to help me over the fence.... What are you doing out here anyway? You really ought to be resting, especially after last night.” “I couldn't. So I decided to find out what was keeping you two.” “I found a cemetery.” Dee looked around for the first time, noting the wrought iron fencing. “I don't suppose I could coax you into helping me over for a look too?” Muellin immediately stepped forward. Dee grasped his shoulder and leapt into his waiting arms, surprising Muellin. He staggered back a couple of steps, but managed to keep his feet. Instead of letting go once he had her over the fence, however, she wrapped her other arm around his neck, leaning close. “Mmm. Nice cologne.” Muellin glanced uncomfortably at Diana again. She merely turned her back and walked off. He released Dee. She slid slowly down his length, still clinging. Once her feet touched the ground, Muellin reached up and disengaged her arms from around his neck. She patted him on the ass as he turned away, bringing him to an abrupt halt. “Don't worry, sweetie. Diana and I have always played well together. Stick around a while and you might just luck up,” she whispered. “Dee!” Diana called, excitement sharpening her voice. “Come have a look at this!” Dee rushed toward her, leaping over debris and head stones like a gazelle. The stone was blackened with age, but the lettering that had been carved into it was still perfectly legible. Beloved Husband Alan McMillan Born November 29th, 1895 Died November 27th 1929 On the other side of the headstone was the legend; Beloved Wife Melody Fitzpatrick McMillan Born December 13th 1905 Died

“There's no date of death,” Diana said blankly. “She's still alive!” Dee said excitedly. “That doesn't necessarily follow,” Muellin contradicted. “She could've been buried somewhere else.” Both Dee and Diana turned to gape at him, then looked at each other. “She had her name carved into the stone. She planned to be buried next to him. I doubt seriously that she would've done that and then not left instructions to bury her here,” Dee said emphatically. “She was a very young woman at the time. She could've married again ... probably did. At any rate, I doubt she'd still be alive. She'd be ninety eight years old!” “A lot of people live to be a hundred now,” Dee pointed out. “But not that many comparatively speaking,” Diana said. “As much as I hate to admit it, Muellin's probably right.” “Even if she was, she'd most likely be in a nursing home somewhere and I doubt she'd be able to tell you much.” Dee and Diana exchanged a look. “It's worth a try,” Diana said.

****

“Found her!” Diana said, giving Dee a smile of triumph. “She's living at the Shady Grove Senior Citizens complex in Augusta. I've arranged a visit with her tomorrow afternoon.” Dee stifled a yawn. She'd only just gotten up, but from the dark circles under her eyes she hadn't been able to conceal with cosmetics it was obvious she hadn't slept much. “Sorry. I can't believe you managed to locate her and she's still living! What a stroke of luck!” “You still want to go through with the seance?” Dee thought about it a minute and nodded. “Very likely it'll be useless. I'm not even sure we can summon him. I've never tried it before myself since, as you know, I haven't an ounce of psychic ability. Generally I bring in Marsha Pendleton when I need something like this. But....” She shrugged. “I understand Mrs. Vanderhorn's reluctance to involve any more people in this than she has to. If it was my place, I wouldn't want to take any chances on having it plastered all over the newspapers either, and having gawkers overrunning the place. I still feel, though, that we should explore any and every possibility. McMillan's been here a while. Something very powerful is holding him here and he isn't going to be easy to rout. The seance probably won't help, but it could. I think we should proceed.” Diana agreed. It was a measure of success that they'd, almost certainly, identified the restless spirit, but the client had hired them to get rid of it. Unless they somehow managed to do that, there would be no pay, and probably no

job. Before she could say anything, however, there was a rap on the front door. Startled, she jumped to her feet, looking at both Dee and Muellin questioningly. “It's probably Mrs. Vanderhorn,” Dee said. “You called her!” “It's her house. I felt we had a better chance with her here. Besides, she was the first person he ... uh ... contacted, as far as I can see. It's possible her presence here triggered something in McMillan's ‘memory’ that set him off.” Muellin gave her a look of annoyance, but said nothing. “I'll get the door.” When Muellin opened the door, he saw that Mrs. Vanderhorn was alone. Mrs. Vanderhorn's expression, in fact her whole demeanor, was a curious mixture of excitement and fear, like that of a teenager about to do something forbidden. “I gave my driver the night off and drove myself. He wouldn't have said anything, but he wouldn't have approved, and I just hate having disapproving people around.” “Come on in. I apologize. I wouldn't have had Ms. Skelley bother you for anything, had I known her plans.” Mrs. Vanderhorn stepped into the front hall a little timidly. “Oh no! Don't! I'm actually rather excited about the prospect. A little unnerved, but looking forward to the experience. I've never done anything like this before.” Muellin smiled wryly. “That makes two of us.” Diana joined them in the hallway. “Mrs. Vanderhorn! It was so ... good of you to join us in our little endeavor!” “I was just telling Agent Muellin that I was glad your ... sister? ... called. I'm looking forward to it, really I am.” She looked more terrified than excited and Diana smiled wryly. “It's doubtful there will be any excitement here tonight. It's just something we felt like we had to try.” “I understand. Ms. Skelley told me it probably wouldn't work.” The three of them joined Dee in the front parlor. Dee had set a large candle in the center of the coffee table and pulled the chairs into a rough circle, with the couch on one side and the chairs on the other. Mrs. Vanderhorn looked the arrangement over with interest. “We'll need to hold hands, won't we? I've never been to a seance, of course, but they always do it that way in the movies.” “It seems to work best if you do,” Dee responded. “In that case I think we should move to the rug over by the fire place. The tables in the dining areas are too big, I think, but I don't see that we'd be able to form a circle if

we're clustered around that great coffee table either.” “You don't want to sit on the floor!” Muellin put in. Mrs. Vanderhorn laughed a little nervously. “Not particularly. But I certainly can. And I think it would work better, don't you?” Dee, Diana and Muellin exchanged looks, but Dee moved the candle, placing it roughly center, and they all sat crosslegged around it on the rug. “What now?” “Now we all join hands and try to relax. Close your eyes and just try to empty your mind of everything so that you're concentrating on Alan McMillan.” They joined hands. Mrs. Vanderhorn and Dee closed their eyes. Diana and Muellin, who were sitting directly across from each other, shared a long, meaningful look. Finally, Diana closed her eyes too. “Alan,” Dee said after several moments. “We know you're here. Please come to us now. Tell us what you want.” The house creaked. Mrs. Vanderhorn jumped. It struck Dee as funny, and despite her best efforts, she snickered. Diana opened her eyes and looked at her sister reprovingly. “Sorry. I apologize, Mrs. Vanderhorn. I'm a little nervous too.” “Perhaps we should take a few minutes to relax before we start again,” Mrs. Vanderhorn suggested. “I know a Corona would relax me,” Muellin put it. “Oh, do you have some?” Mrs. Vanderhorn asked with interest. “Sure. I'll get you one too,” Muellin said, getting to his feet and starting toward the pantry. “Anybody else?” “Muellin, I really don't think we should,” Diana said. “It's very dangerous to be intoxicated at a time like this. It's important to be in full control of your facilities.” Muellin smiled wryly, lifting his brows. “Seriously.” “Well, we won't be intoxicated with just one.” “You've already had four,” Diana pointed out. “Not that you're counting,” Muellin said, leaving the room. In a few minutes he was back and set a frosted six pack on the floor between him and Mrs. Vanderhorn. He opened one and handed it to Mrs. Vanderhorn, then opened another for himself. “Anybody else?” Dee and Diana exchanged looks, but finally nodded. “I don't suppose one would hurt.” While they drank, Diana filled Mrs. Vanderhorn in on their latest findings. She was surprised to learn the history of the

house she hadn't known. “So you think it's him? Dee did tell me when we spoke that y'all had come up with the theory that it was his tragic death that was holding him here.” “Not all of us,” Muellin corrected, finishing off his beer and opening another. “I'm more inclined to think some small time hood has set himself up a little marijuana business here. He would've thought it safe, since the house is so rarely occupied. Then, when you showed up, he might have hatched a plot to scare you away to keep his secret safe.” Mrs. Vanderhorn's brows rose. “What are your thoughts on this, Agent Skelley?” Diana had finished her drink and set the bottle aside. Muellin handed her another bottle and she took it absently. “It's not beyond the realms of possibility,” she said finally. “Which this is,” Muellin muttered. “We have a skeptic among us,” Mrs. Vanderhorn said, amused. “Do you think that will hinder our chances, Ms. Skelley?” Dee was working on her second drink, as well. “Not necessarily. Muellin hasn't been contacted, you see, so I don't think Alan has any interest in him at all. We, however, have each been ... uh ... contacted, so I don't see any reason why the three of us couldn't call him.” The unfortunate fact was that, while they were discussing the matter, they finished off the six pack. Since none of them were really accustomed to drinking so much so quickly, they became tipsy. Both Dee and Diana realized it, dimly, but since they had also passed the point of caring, Dee suggested they continue. Muellin was inclined to retrieve the other six pack he had in the refrigerator, but was vetoed. “Fine,” he said good-naturedly. “Let's proceed then. I believe we're all relaxed now. You relaxed, Mrs. Vanderhorn?” She giggled. “Cynthia.” “You relaxed, Miss Cynthia?” She thought about it a minute. “I believe I might be a little tipsy,” she said finally. “Never mind. We said we were going to do it, so let's just do it,” Muellin said. They joined hands, closed their eyes. Diana swayed just a little, but righted herself. Mrs. Vanderhorn giggled again. Muellin opened one eye a crack and grinned. “All we are say..ing ... is give peace a chance,” he sang. Dee uttered another snorting laugh. “Will you be serious!” Diana snapped, then hiccuped. Everybody burst out laughing. “Behave yourselves,” Dee said. Everyone went poker faced, closed their eyes, joined

hands once more. “Alan? We know you're here. Come to us. Tell us what holds you here.” “Oh A..lan!” Muellin called. “Muellin!” Diana started, but before she could finish a great gust of icy cold wind whipped down the chimney and extinguished the candle. Everyone was immediately as sober as a judge. Muellin leapt to his feet, scattering beer bottles. “Alan?” Something whipped through the circle, grabbed Muellin and pitched him across the room. He hit the wall with a resounding thud and slid down it.

Chapter Eight Diana tapped on Muellin's bedroom door. “Come in.” “You all right?” Muellin was sprawled in the wrought iron bed, holding an ice pack to his head. “Sure. Good thing I was drunk, though. I might've gotten hurt. Mrs. Vanderhorn leave?” he asked, changing the subject. Diana nodded. “She decided not to stay the night after all. She's going with me tomorrow, though, when I visit Mrs. McMillan.” Muellin nodded, closing his eyes. “You sure you're all right? We really ought to have taken you to the hospital to check for concussion.” “Just a nasty lump, that's all.” Diana wasn't convinced Muellin was sober enough to trust his judgment, but there'd been no bleeding and very little swelling. “What do you think happened?” Diana brought her attention back to his face. “What do you think happened?” “I think it was some sort of freak of nature. That first gust was pretty powerful. Something like a micro down draft, maybe?” Diana shrugged. “Possibly.” “But you don't think so?” Diana studied him a moment. “No.” “You think it was him?” “Yes.” “Why?” “Why?” “Yeah. Assuming there was anything to this ghost theory of yours, why would he single me out and attack?” “He didn't exactly single you out,” Diana said wryly. “Mrs. Vanderhorn was assaulted first.” “I meant tonight.” “I did warn you that it was dangerous to be inebriated.” “Indeed, you did,” Muellin acknowledged. “But I wasn't the only one intoxicated.” Again, Diana shrugged. “No, but you were mocking him.” “So, I pissed him off?” “Maybe. I don't know. Maybe he felt threatened by you. Maybe he didn't like you holding Dee's hand. It could've been anything. We'll probably never know.” Muellin studied her a moment and finally nodded, closing his eyes. “Well, I'll leave you to get some rest.”

“You could always join me,” Muellin suggested. “In a purely altruistic and platonic gesture of compassion for my weakened state.” Diana chuckled. “Good night, Muellin.” “Guess that means no,” he muttered as he heard the door click to behind her. He was too tired to take advantage of the situation anyway, he thought, feeling his consciousness drifting out of reach. He woke to a light touch sometime later. The room was darkened, but he could see the woman standing next to the bed clearly. She was wearing something filmy and extremely sexy. He could see her breasts through the thin fabric and the little nest of hair at the apex of her thighs. “Diana?” “Shhh!” she said, putting a finger to her lips. “She's asleep.” “Dee?” She leaned over him, brushing a kiss along his bristled jaw. “Care for a little company?” He grabbed her, jerking her down on the bed and rolling so that he was lying on top of her. “Sure. What did you have in mind?” She grinned. “Oh, just a little fooling around.” He kissed her, long, hard and deep. Dee and Diana had both been driving him up a wall for nearly a week now. He couldn't recall when he'd been so horny. He didn't have time for a lot of foreplay. He felt like he was going to explode. He looked down at her and discovered she was completely naked. When had she done that? he thought briefly, but then dismissed it, taking one erect nipple into his mouth and suckling on it, teasing it with his tongue. She moaned, moving suggestively beneath him. He cupped her other breast in his hand and teased the other nipple. She grasped his head, urging him downward. He complied, nibbling a trail of kisses as he moved down to her supple belly, dipping his tongue in her navel. He teased her when he reached her femininity, placing nibbling bites across her lower stomach, her inner thighs, blowing his warm breath on her clit, but only brushing across it. She groaned, tightening her grip in his hair. Disentangling her fingers, he lifted his head, then pushed her arms up until she was grasping the iron bars of the headboard. Sliding his arms under each thigh, he lifted her buttocks off the bed, and studied her blatantly exposed femininity for several moments hungrily before he lowered his head. She gasped loudly when he covered her with his mouth, squirming, grinding against his face.

He'd been feeding for several moments, licking, sucking, flicking her clit with his tongue, when he felt a tug on his engorged member. He groaned, thinking Dee had reached down to grasp him. He was engulfed, however, by something warm and wet. He pulled away, glanced down. Diana had scooted between him and Dee. She'd taken his throbbing member into her mouth. He groaned again, closed his eyes, trying to keep from cumming. She looked up at him, grasping him and pulling away, running her tongue around the rim of the head of his penis. He almost lost it then, but controlled himself with an extreme effort of will, and returned his attention to Dee, knowing if he didn't satisfy her soon, he wasn't going to be in any condition to satisfy anyone. Dee squirmed in his arms, lifting toward his mouth, gasping, groaning, finally crying out. As he felt her climax, he lost it, as well, gritting his teeth against the excruciating pleasure that rocketed through him. Dimly, he realized there was an echo of feminine moans and groans and cries of ecstasy. He glanced down at Diana through a haze of spent desire, wondering if she'd gotten off merely by giving him gratification. He saw that Diana's legs were in the air, spread, but almost straight up, as if held by unseen shoulders, saw her breasts undulating as if they were being kneaded by unseen hands. Then he saw the face of the man making love to Diana. It was Alan McMillan. Yelping, Muellin sat straight up in bed and looked around. Dee had vanished. Diana had disappeared, as well. He was completely alone in the room. He didn't know whether to be glad or sorry. At least Alan hadn't joined him. The bastard! He'd already banged Dee and Diana. Looked like he was the only one that was going to see any action.

****

Diana wasn't sure what she'd been expecting, something between a Shar-pei and an elf, she suspected, but Melody McMillan surprised her. Despite her advanced age, she had managed to retain a certain youthfulness about her. Her hair, a pure, silvery white, was cut short in a style strongly reminiscent of her heyday, the 1930's. She was dressed quite elegantly, in a soft, flowing pantsuit, which complimented a figure that would've been quite good on a woman half her age, or even a quarter. Her eyes, a faded blue, were nevertheless bright with

intelligence. “Melody McMillan?” She smiled. “Agent Skelley?” Diana nodded, moving quickly across the room to where Melody McMillan sat in an overstuffed chair, and extending her hand. Mrs. McMillan, whom Diana been told was confined to a wheelchair due to advanced arthritis, remained seated but took her hand and shook it, revealing hands gnarled with arthritis. Diana felt a twinge of pity and averted her gaze. Not quickly enough, apparently. Melody's smile was wry. “Don't they look just awful?” she said almost rhetorically. “I used to love to play piano when I was young. I loved to do needlework, too. Not that I could do that anymore even if my fingers weren't so stiff. I can't see well enough to thread a needle or even tell the difference between one shade of thread and another. But I'm sure you didn't come here to listen to me complain.” Diana didn't know what to say to that, so she said nothing, turning instead to Mrs. Vanderhorn, who was still standing in the doorway. “This is my employer, Cynthia Vanderhorn.” Melody urged them to take a seat on the tiny couch that formed an L against one wall. Diana glanced around the single room. It was larger than she'd expected, and an attempt that was only partially successful had been made to give it a ‘homey’ feel. It still looked and smelled far more like a hospital room than Diana was comfortable with. “Stinks like a hospital, don't it?” Melody commented, as if she'd read her mind. “Oh, no!” Diana and Mrs. Vanderhorn both said at once. “Yes, it does. Can't be helped, with all us sick old folks. It's not too bad, though. At least I have company when I want it. When I don't, I shut the door.” She studied the two nervous women for several moments, her head cocked to one side, reminding Diana strongly of a tiny, inquisitive bird. “Just about the only advantage of being as old as I am is that you don't really give a damn about much of anything anymore. I used to worry about being polite—I was brought up to be excruciatingly polite on every occasion—but I don't worry about that now. Time is something I don't have a lot of anymore and I don't like to waste it beating around the bush. Please be frank and don't worry about upsetting me or insulting me.” Diana studied her a moment and realized that Melody's body might be fragile with age, but that was probably the only thing about her that was. “I'm just trying to decide where to begin.” “Try the beginning. I'm not that pressed for time.” Diana gave the floor to Mrs. Vanderhorn who, after a

couple of false starts, managed to relate her experience. When she'd finished, Melody said nothing for several minutes. “Interesting. I'm not sure how this has anything to do with me though.” Diana took a deep breath and said bluntly, “If you were married to Alan McMillan, it has everything to do with you. We think it's him, you see.” Melody turned so white Diana thought for several moments that she might faint, or have heart failure. She leapt to her feet. “Can I get you something? Should I call someone?” Melody shook her head. “Sit down, you silly chit! I'm fine. For God's sake don't call one of those old biddies down here. They'll sedate me.” Diana perched on the edge of her seat, studying Melody anxiously. The elderly lady seemed to collect herself after a moment, but a single tear rolled down one weathered cheek. “I hadn't heard that name in ... oh, thirty or forty years. There's no one left who remembers him, you see, but me.” She seemed to loose herself in memories for a time. Finally she shook herself and looked at the women across from her. “He promised me he'd never leave me ... told me he'd love me forever. I hated him for a while after ... after the accident.” “It was an accident then,” Diana prodded. Melody studied her for a long moment. “No one really believed it was. Alan had just learned he'd had a crushing loss on the stock market. It was a terrible time. So many people lost everything in the world they had. Overnight it was just ... gone! The newspapers were full of reports of suicide ... men who lost everything and just couldn't face starting over from nothing. But that's the part I never really understood. It wasn't like Alan to just give up. He'd come from nothing, you see, hadn't been born to money like I was. I'd always thought the hardships he'd endured was the reason he was so strong. And the worse of it was that afterwards ... afterwards I discovered he really hadn't lost that much. He'd made his fortune on the stock market, but Alan never really trusted anything. He said it was like gambling, a good way to make a buck, but not the sort of place one wanted to trust everything to. He'd put the money in all sorts of things and some of them made it through the crash. Enough in any case that he had something to start over with, which was more than most of those poor souls had. Or he would've if he'd only waited to find out. “But, to answer your question, no. I don't think so. No one else believed it was an accident in the beginning but me, but after a while, as I grew older and wiser, I began to realize that I'd known all along that it wasn't. I just hadn't wanted to admit to myself that he hadn't loved me enough to start

over,” she finished sadly. Diana was silent for some time after Melody had finished speaking, thinking. “What if it really was an accident, though?” Again, Melody cocked her head to one side. “I don't think I follow. What difference would it make all these years later?” “It would make a difference to you, wouldn't it?” Melody thought about it for several moments. “Yes. I think it would.” “I think, maybe, this is what we've been looking for. There must be something holding him there and with hauntings it's usually something like revenge, or something left unfinished. Maybe he stayed because of his promise to you. Maybe he just needs you to tell him it's all right to go?” Melody looked taken aback. “You seriously believe my Alan is still in that house? A ghost?” Diana shrugged. “Some people believe, some people don't. I know it's asking a lot of you, but even if you don't believe in ghosts, or hauntings, there IS something in that house and I don't think anyone but you can convince him to go.”

****

The head of the nursing home was outraged that they'd convinced Mrs. McMillan to take a day trip with them. He blustered for nearly thirty minutes. Melody heard him out. When he'd finished she informed him in very colorful language that she wasn't a prisoner, she hadn't been committed and she had full use of her facilities and she'd damn well go if she wanted to. Mr. Burns did a little backstroking then, but was so insistent that Mrs. McMillan at least be accompanied by a male nurse that Melody finally conceded. Diana wasn't sure how Mrs. Vanderhorn felt about it, but, truth be known, she was more than a little relieved to have an attendant. A van from the nursing home was requisitioned, Mrs. McMillan and her wheelchair loaded and they headed back to Mrs. Vanderhorn's, with Diana and Mrs. Vanderhorn in the lead. “I'm not at all sure this was a good idea,” Mrs. Vanderhorn said after a while. “Neither am I, to tell you the truth.”

Chapter Nine It was late when they returned. Nevertheless, the house lay in darkness. “Looks like Alan's up to his old tricks,” Diana muttered. “If he is, I'm not so sure I want to go in. Maybe I'll wait in the car after all.” Diana glanced at her. “I couldn't vouch for his behavior, but, somehow, I have a feeling Alan's going to behave himself tonight.” “You really think this is going to work?” “I really think it's our best hope, and I really hope this is going to work.” Mrs. Vanderhorn nodded. Diana pulled past the front door before she parked and got out, allowing Mrs. McMillan's party to stop in front of the steps to the house. After a moment, Mrs. Vanderhorn got out and joined Diana. “I'm a coward, but I'm just not going to let that stop me from seeing this.” Diana smiled faintly. “Being scared doesn't make you a coward. I'm scared spitless myself.” Mrs. Vanderhorn chuckled and linked arms companionably with Diana, watching as Mrs. McMillian's attendant took her wheelchair from the van, set it up, then carefully carried Mrs. McMillan from the van and set her gently in the chair. Naturally, there was no ramp, but he managed to back the chair up the steep steps without jostling her too badly. Mrs. McMillan gestured for her attendant to wait when they reached the porch. Diana divided an uneasy glance between Mrs. McMillan and Mrs. Vanderhorn. “It's beautiful!” Mrs. McMillan said finally, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I'd forgotten!” The door opened. Dee stood in the doorway. “Thank heavens! I thought y'all would never get back! Alan's been on a rampage! Muellin left hours ago to follow up some lead or other and Alan's been breaking light bulbs as fast as I change them!” They all gaped at her speechlessly. “Who's this?” “Mrs. McMillan, this is my sister, Dee.” Mrs. McMillan said nothing. “We're twins.” Mrs. McMillan smiled faintly. “I'd deduced that. It's just ... It's what she said.” “Oh.” “Take me inside, dear,” Melody said to her nurse. Dee stepped back, holding the door wide as Mrs. McMillan

was pushed inside. Diana and Mrs. Vanderhorn followed up the rear. Dee was standing in the hallway with a candle. The lights flickered on briefly, then went off again. No one moved. “Alan?” Melody said, her voice little more than a whisper. The lights blinked on and off again three times in quick succession, then a blast of cold air rushed through the room, scattering papers and toppling the lamp on the hall table. It fell to the floor with the tinkle of shattering glass. Melody began to cry softly. “Oh Alan! Why? Why did you leave me? You promised you wouldn't! You said you'd love me forever.” “Melody.” It was a whisper of sound so faint Diana wasn't certain she'd heard it at all. The click of a lighter followed as Dee lit the candle again. The golden light reflected eerily off her features. “Did you hear that?” she whispered, looking around at the group, who'd assumed the posture of petrified wood. Diana managed a nod, then gestured toward Mrs. McMillan. A look, almost of rapture had brought a youthful glow to her face. She no longer seemed aware of anyone else. “Alan! You came back for me!” she said joyously. “I never left you, Melody. You left ME!” A blast of air rushed past them, the front door slammed shut so hard it broke the glass. Dee's candle went out. “Alan! You left me! You killed yourself and left me all alone! I couldn't stay here after that.” “I did NOT kill myself! I tripped and fell over the railing, damn it!” The door slammed back against the wall. “Alan! Don't go! Don't leave me again! Please!” Melody struggled to her feet. “Diana! Look!” Dee whispered, pointing toward the top of the stairs. Diana looked and saw what looked like a fine, swirling mist of smoke. It took form as it descended the stairs, becoming more man-like in appearance with each ‘step’ it took. “Alan?” Melody whispered, shaken, doubtful. The wraith held out his hand. “Come to me.” Melody took one shaky step, then another. She collapsed when she reached the stairs and the wraith vanished. The lights came on. Mrs. McMillan's nurse, who'd apparently been frozen to the spot by what had transpired, rushed to her when she collapsed. Checking her, he looked around at them angrily. “She's gone.” “Try heart massage!” Mrs. Vanderhorn snapped in a

frightened, angry voice. “Someone call an ambulance!” Everyone fell over everyone else rushing to help, but they all knew well before they gave up trying and the ambulance arrived that it was useless. Mrs. McMillan, at long last, had rejoined her Alan, who'd waited for her to come back to him for more than seventy years.