“You think?”
“Of course. It’s what we do.”
Hollis managed a smile, though she felt it was a twisted one. “Right. Right. I just . . . the more I see of this place, the more convinced I am that something is really wrong. That maybe something bad happened here.”
“Do the people you see look injured? Upset?”
“No, I usually don’t see wounds or injuries, thank God. It doesn’t look like a horror movie to me, a fate the universe has spared me. So far.” She drew a breath and let it out slowly. “I can see auras, when I concentrate, and those look normal enough. And these people . . . they look like they belong here. Going about their business. Relaxing, reading newspapers or books, strolling, talking. Most smile pleasantly as they walk past, or nod politely, so they see us, or at least me. Nobody looks anxious or worried or frightened. It’s almost as if they don’t know they’re dead.”
“You’ve encountered that before.”
“Well . . . yeah, new spirits who were uncertain. Aware that something was wrong, something had changed, but either not ready or not able to accept that they had died. This . . . this is different.”
“Why?”
“Because some of them have been here a long time, Reese. Those neon fashion signs I mentioned. It’s more difficult to tell with the servants, because those uniforms apparently haven’t changed very much, but the people . . . Family or guests, I don’t know, probably both, and from their clothes we’re talking about completely different eras. I saw one woman with a long skirt and bustle.”
“Seriously?”
“Oh, yeah. And that one dates way, way back.”
He turned his head to look out over the landscape behind the house, which, to him, was empty of visible people, then returned his gaze to Hollis. “Do the spirits themselves seem aware of any incongruity?”
“Because of all the different fashions? Not as far as I can tell. It’s like I said, they all behave as if it’s perfectly normal to be here and be . . . going through the motions.” She opened her mouth, then closed it.
“But the unnaturalness of it is bothering you,” DeMarco said.
Hollis didn’t know if he’d guessed or read her, but she didn’t much care. “You bet it does. I’d think it was just place memories, but like I said, these spirits are reacting to us, to each other. They’re here. They’re here and they believe it’s normal for them to be here. A woman with a long skirt and bustle passes by a woman dressed like someone from the jazz age, and neither of them bats an eye? That’s disconcerting enough. To me, at least.”
“Maybe a costume party,” he suggested.
She considered, then shook her head. “No, because then they’d be dressed up. Some of these people are dressed more formally than others, but most are in casual clothes. And no masks. Aren’t there usually masks at fancy costume parties?”
“I would think so.”
“So all these people from just about every decade going back to when this place was built, maybe even earlier, are still here. Long before it was a hotel. Long before modern modes of travel at least made it reasonable to visit this place for short periods of time.”
“And?”
“And . . . how many people could have died in and around a private home that was not a hotel until about a decade ago? So many people from so many different eras? It doesn’t make sense. Unless this place has experienced a hell of a lot of tragedy, then it just doesn’t make sense.”
* * *
“WELL, NO.” ANNA Alexander looked anxious, which seemed to be her default expression. “There really haven’t been any major tragic events here. I’ve lived in this house for more than thirty-five years, and my husband and Owen all their lives, of course. There’s a book in the library about the history of the family, privately printed, if you’d like to see that. It goes back even before the house was built, when the family acquired all the land and lived a lot simpler here.”
“We would definitely like to see the book,” DeMarco said, then added, “but we won’t find any tragic events in it?”
“Just the usual sort of thing you’d expect in a house this old, in a family going back so many generations. There have been deaths here, certainly. A few accidents back when the land was farmed and more livestock kept. Back when the flu took so many, it didn’t spare this house, either the family or the servants. Other illnesses over the years. At least a couple of women I read of died in childbirth, and several children died young, of disease; both were common in those days.”
She hesitated, then added, “A maid fell down one of the staircases and broke her neck, apparently tripping on a loose rug at the top. One daughter of the family committed suicide when her fiancé jilted her. And there were always rumors that Daniel’s grandfather’s first wife didn’t actually run off with a salesman, but that he killed her and buried her somewhere about.” Anna glanced around, almost as if she expected the possibly murdered wife to suddenly appear.
Hollis took a couple of steps and sat down in a chair.
They were in the cavernous room where they had first been brought the previous night, a room identified by the “hotel” map they had snagged in the foyer as the Grand Parlor. It was laid out with numerous seating groups scattered throughout the space, most of which managed to feel at least somewhat cozy despite the staggering size of the room, perhaps because of enormous potted plants and various screens and low display shelves used to delineate spaces. So family, visitors, or guests could find some semblance of privacy and quiet to read or talk.
Looking even more anxious, Anna sat down in the chair nearest the one Hollis occupied, while DeMarco moved silently to another chair in the grouping. A round table was at the center, perhaps intended for some board game or just refreshments.
“I know it sounds like a lot,” Anna said, “but this is an old house, and a lot of people have lived here. Worked here. The family was much larger generations back, and in those days it wasn’t uncommon for children to marry but not move far away, especially with so much land to work and stock to take care of then. First living in nearby cottages and then later here, when this house was built. With all this room, privacy was never an issue, and it was pretty much intended to be a big family home. Some people did live their whole lives here, and died here. But most of that was just . . . living and dying. Not tragedies, usually, unless it was a child or someone else who went before their time.”
Hollis leaned back with a sigh, and said to DeMarco, “I only had one question when we got here. Just one. I wanted to know about the light. So that the next time a spirit asked me, I’d know what to say. Now . . .”
“What’s the matter?” Anna asked, clearly worried. “Have you—have you seen Daniel?”
“No. Sorry. That’s his portrait out in the foyer, right? The one across from yours?”
“Yes. He had us both painted about ten years ago.”
Shaking her head, Hollis said, “Sorry, I haven’t seen him. Not yet, anyway.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
Hollis watched the older woman’s hands twisting together in her lap, and for the first time she felt a pang of real worry. She had seen so many spirits; why hadn’t she seen Daniel Alexander? Only because she hadn’t been in the right place at the right moment?
“Hollis?” Anna sounded as anxious as she looked.
“Be honest,” DeMarco advised Hollis.
Hollis had unconsciously begun chewing on a thumbnail and forced herself to stop. “Anna . . . I’m finding it really difficult to believe that no one, in the family or a guest, has ever reported anything paranormal here.”
“Why?”
“Because there are spirits here. A lot of them. Inside the house, outside on the grounds. Pretty much everywhere. People who might have been guests or family. Certainly servants. From their clothing, people who lived more than a hundred years ago—and in just
about all the decades since.”
“And that’s unusual?” Anna ventured, clearly at sea.
Hollis wanted to chew on her nail again but managed not to. “Well, yeah, it is. As a general rule, spirits tend to stay where they died, or in a place where they have family or other emotional ties. So seeing so many spirits from so much of the past, all gathered in one place, it’s the sort of thing mediums experience in hospitals, in asylums and prisons, in really old hotels or other buildings with violent histories. Where people were murdered and committed suicide. Where bad things, negative things, happened a lot. Places that often housed horrible, tragic events like fires or explosions—events that killed a lot of people all at once.”
“But you said . . . they were from different decades.”
“Yeah, which is something I’d expect from an old hospital or old hotel, even if there hadn’t been a major tragedy. Just people, as you said, living and dying. Over years, over decades. But this is the first time I’ve ever seen so many in a private home—or even part-time hotel. And there’s something else I find really odd.”
“What is it?”
Hollis considered a moment, then said, “Last night, when Jamie Bell appeared to me, she had a message for your brother-in-law. That’s all, the only reason she’d stayed here. She knew she was dead, remembered how it happened, even had some awareness of how long ago it had been. She delivered her message and then she . . . went on. To whatever’s next. That’s—well, if anything can be called normal when you’re discussing the paranormal, that is. That kind of experience for a medium. We concentrate, we open a kind of doorway, and if we connect, it’s because there’s someone on the other side with unfinished business. Someone who needs to do something or convey some kind of information before they can move on.”
“And these other spirits you see aren’t like that?”
“No. I’m not even sure if they know they’re dead.” She paused again, reading Anna’s expression, and hastily said, “There’s no reason to be afraid. Not of them. I mean, if they’ve been here as long as I think they have, and nobody’s noticed, why would anything change now?”
“Well, you’re here.”
Hollis watched Owen Anderson emerge from the shadows beside the door and cross the room to them, wondering how long he’d been there listening. And why she hadn’t realized he was there. “Yeah, I’m here. So?” She tried not to sound as belligerent as he made her feel.
Owen sat down in the fourth chair of the grouping. He didn’t seem as openly distrustful as he had the evening before, but then, whatever he felt, little was showing on his impassive face. “So mediums open doors, you said. Doors to let in spirits.” His tone was neutral.
“Doors. Not floodgates.” She wished she didn’t feel so damned prickly with him, but the man got on her nerves.
“Meaning all these spirits you say you see aren’t spirits you let in?”
She thought he was taking a perverse pleasure in repeating the word “spirit” because every time he said it, it sounded . . .
“I would have known if I’d let them in,” Hollis said firmly, not at all sure about that. “I don’t know how much you heard just now, but in case you missed it, I think a lot of these spirits have been here a long time.”
“Here, or on the other side of that door you opened?”
* * *
“IT’S NOT THAT I’m doubting you,” Tony said.
Bishop looked at him.
“Okay, maybe a smidge. You just seem a little . . . rattled by whatever’s going on in Tennessee. And that’s not just unusual, it’s as rare as hen’s teeth. And unsettling.”
“Surely you didn’t think I was infallible, Tony.”
“That’s not the word I would have picked.” Tony paused, then added, “But you’ve always been in control, or at least most of the time. Always the chess grandmaster, thinking six or eight moves ahead.”
To that, Bishop merely responded, “I don’t think of my agents or Haven operatives as pawns, I hope you realize that.”
“That’s not what I meant. Just that you . . . anticipate things. Or know about them before they happen. Maybe both. But with Tennessee—”
“All I said was that Callie should have checked in by now.”
“Yeah, you said that. And you were frowning. I’m not saying you never frown, but that was a worried frown if I’ve ever seen one. And you never worry.”
“Maybe I just don’t show it most of the time. I worry, Tony, believe me. Especially when something I don’t recognize blocks me.”
“Now, see, that’s the part that worries me,” Tony said. “That there’s a Big Bad out there that you don’t recognize. Which would make it new. And new is never good when we’re talking about Big Bads.”
“I don’t know every evil that exists. No one does. We face things as they come, remember?”
“Well, I heard you tell Hollis something like that.”
“It’s the truth, and one you should recognize by now.” Bishop shook his head. “Once events are set in motion, once people and their emotions are involved, all bets are off. Something even more true when you throw an unknown energy source into the mix.”
“Hollis tell you that?”
“No.”
Tony waited, then said, “What is going on down there? On both sides of that mountain?”
All Bishop said in response to that was, “Callie should have checked in by now. She really should have.”
* * *
OWEN’S CHALLENGE STOPPED Hollis, but only for a moment. “Here. They behave as if they’ve always been here. They stroll in the gardens, and swim in the pool, and play tennis. Servants wait on them. They . . . walk through walls where there used to be doors.”
That did, clearly, startle him. “What?”
“In the dining room, this morning, I watched a maid check the dishes on the sideboard and then disappear through the wall in that far corner. I assume there was once a door there. A second door into the kitchen hallway and the servants’ quarters on this floor.”
Owen frowned.
Anna, a bit pale, looked at him and said quietly, “Tell her.”
“Anna—”
“Just tell her, Owen.”
“Tell me what?” Hollis asked warily.
“She could have read the police report,” Owen said to his sister-in-law.
“That wasn’t in the report and you know it. Your father didn’t want the others to know the truth. So he made sure Thomas was the only one. And we both know Thomas will take a lot of family secrets to his grave.”
“He wasn’t the only one of the servants who knew.”
Owen shook his head. “No. Burton wouldn’t have talked. No matter where he went, he wouldn’t have talked. A man wouldn’t talk about something like that. It reflected very badly on him.”
“Tell me what?” Hollis repeated, louder this time.
Owen was still frowning, so it was Anna who met Hollis’s gaze and said, “Earlier, when I told you about the maid who fell down the stairs—that was the official story. What really happened is that she hanged herself in what used to be the second doorway from the dining room to the kitchen hallway.”
DeMarco, silent until then, said, “An odd place to commit suicide. Women tend to be more . . . private . . . than that. Unless it was to make some kind of a point?”
“She was pregnant,” Owen said abruptly. “By a young man who was then the underbutler, and who denied being the father of her child. As soon as he opened his bedroom door the morning after we all learned about the situation, her body was the first thing he saw.”
“‘All’ of you meaning—?”
Anna sighed. “Claudia—the maid—came to me in tears the night before, late. I hadn’t been married to Daniel very long and wasn’t really accustomed to having a maid. I didn’t know what to do. Daniel came in and, ev
en though Claudia seemed even more distraught, I told him.”
Hollis murmured, “I’m sure that went over well.”
Guiltily, Anna said, “I don’t think Claudia forgave me for telling him. But I— Anyway, Daniel got Thomas, who was the only senior staff member still up, and they got Claudia back to her room quietly. Daniel told me that she wouldn’t be turned out without a reference or anything dreadful like that, that he knew of homes for unwed mothers, that he’d make sure she was taken care of. And when she could work again, he’d make sure she was able to get a job.”
“But not here,” DeMarco said.
Anna lifted her chin a bit. “He reassured her as best he could. She wouldn’t be abandoned, left alone to fend for herself and her child. She’d have the help she needed, as long as she needed it. And he told her that Burton—the young man—would certainly lose his job here. Thomas was going to tell him the next morning.”
“But he saw Claudia first,” Hollis said slowly. “So he also knew the truth about how she really died.”
Anna said, “Thomas said he suggested that Burton, who seemed genuinely shaken, go outside for some air. He thought there’d be time enough later to tell Burton about losing his job if, indeed, that was still going to be the outcome.”
Hollis lifted her brows. “With the pregnant girl out of the way and underbutlers at a premium, Burton might not have been fired?”
Owen grunted. “He would have. Might have been allowed to work a notice, but I don’t believe my father would have allowed him to stay.”
“Anyway,” Anna said, “Thomas suggested that Burton take a walk and get himself under control while Thomas went to inform Mr. Alexander.”
“Your father-in-law?”
“Yes.”
“You called him—”
“Mr. Alexander, yes. My entire married life. He was . . . that sort.”