Midnight Investigation Page 3

  Desi looked up from the computer screen in the back room of Hollyhock Antiques and Oddities. Clutching a stack of vintage magazines, her younger sister smiled hopefully. Bangles and charm bracelets jingled with her every movement. While Desi worked on the bookkeeping, Gwen was organizing merchandise, which for her consisted of shifting piles of stuff around. It took a few seconds for Desi’s mind to switch from reconciling accounts to realizing Gwen was talking about Rampart’s monthly team meeting.

  Desi had refused to tell Gwen anything about the Moore house investigation. Dallas hadn’t yet published their findings on the public section of the Rampart Web site, so Gwen hadn’t been able to hear the EVP of the child’s laughter.

  “I want to hear what you found in that old house. Every time I drive past it, I get a chill,” Gwen said. “I know you found something. You wouldn’t avoid me if it turned out to be creaky timbers or squirrels in the walls.”

  Desi silently cursed Dallas, knowing he’d told Gwen about the Moore house. Desi had asked him countless times to not indulge Gwen’s morbid fascination with the paranormal. She had pleaded with him to keep his mouth shut. Gwen was the reason Desi had begun researching the paranormal in the first place. A man, however, would have to be deaf, blind and in a coma to resist Gwen’s charms. Dallas Stone was none of those.

  “The meetings are members only,” she said.

  She thought again of her “conversation” via the K2 meter and the EVP of child’s laughter. A chill crept from the small of her back, up her spine and to her skull. Nobody knew what caused electronic voice phenomena. There were great recordings collected by researchers all over the world, but thus far only hard-core believers and nuts claimed they were actually the voices of the dead.

  “Besides, we didn’t find anything. The homeowners are sick. Physically sick. They’ve torn out walls, exposing mold, and there’s dust everywhere. The electrical is a mess. They’re stripping woodwork with toxic chemicals. Dallas told them to move out until they finish the renovations. Otherwise, they could end up with permanent health problems.”

  She wondered how the blessing and casting-out ceremony went today. The Moores would be impressed, no doubt.

  Gwen rolled her eyes. “I bet it is haunted.”

  “You think everything is haunted.”

  Gwen said, “Pfft. I’m looking forward to the day when you run across something you can’t explain.”

  She wandered out of the back room.

  Desi returned to the spreadsheet on the computer screen. January had been a slow month, and sales barely covered the store rent. Gwen made most of her money selling “haunted” objects on her Web site. It always appalled Desi how willing people were to plunk down money to own a piece of antique jewelry or a tattered old book reputed to harbor a ghost. What bothered Desi most was Gwen’s genuine belief that her treasures were haunted. It didn’t help that since Dallas had built Gwen’s Web site and maintained it the pair of them talked frequently.

  At least Dallas had convinced Gwen to stop holding séances, playing with the Ouija board or otherwise attempting to summon spirits. For that Desi was deeply grateful.

  She picked up a pile of envelopes. An overdue notice caught her attention. “Gwen!” She opened the notice, which was from the electric company.

  Gwen peered warily around the doorway. “What?”

  Desi waved the bill. “Do I have to start writing the checks, too?”

  Gwen’s cheeks reddened. “I meant to tell you. I kind of overspent at the auction. And after I made a deposit, I sort of forgot about the bill.”

  Desi glanced between the balance due and the figures on the screen. “There isn’t enough to cover it.”

  Gwen sidled into the room, her skirt swaying and jewelry clinking. She had the decency to look embarrassed. “Could you help a girl out? I’ll pay you back. You know I will.”

  Sure you will, Desi thought with a sigh. She hadn’t taken a payment for bookkeeping services from Gwen in over four months, and she no longer bothered keeping track of how much her sister owed her for these little loans.

  The sisters had inherited small fortunes from their parents and grandmother. While Desi invested carefully and lived frugally, Gwen burned through her money as if she couldn’t get rid of it fast enough. Most of Gwen’s inheritance had gone to phony psychics.

  “Fine.” The bell over the front door rang. “Go sell something. I’ll take care of this mess.”

  Gwen turned away then stopped short. She spun around, dazzling Desi with a smile. “Quick,” she whispered. “Get over here so I can punch you in the face!”

  “What?”

  Gwen held up her hands, wrists together. “I want to get arrested.”

  Chuckling over her sister’s goofiness, Desi went to the doorway and peered out. A police officer studied an antique player piano. He played his long fingers over the yellowed keys, not quite touching the ivory.

  “God,” Gwen breathed. “Uniforms turn me on. He’s so cute!”

  Desi’s heart leapt into her throat. No! No woo-woo freaks around Gwen.

  She pushed past Gwen and marched up to the cop. She cleared her throat. “What the hell are you doing here?” She noticed his badge number was 333. Only half-evil, then. What a relief.

  Officer Buck Walker stepped away from the piano. The aisle between the collection of old furniture and cabinets full of glassware and collectibles was narrow. He didn’t back up, so Desi did. She planted her fists on her hips.

  “Hi,” he said, flashing her a smile.

  Desi felt her sister crowding her.

  “Hi,” Gwen said. “May I help you? With…anything?”

  Buck focused his smile over Desi’s head. A sinking sensation weighted Desi. Guys adored Gwen. Even as a little girl with blond hair and big blue eyes, the boys had loved her. She’d left a trail of broken hearts that stretched back to second grade.

  The longer Buck smiled at Gwen, the worse Desi felt. It was always like this. Gwen shined; Desi turned invisible. Her golden sister’s dark little shadow.

  “I’m Buck Walker,” he said.

  “Oh!” Gwen stretched an elegant hand, sparkling with rings on every finger, over Desi’s shoulder. “The new guy. I’m Gwen, Desi’s little sister.” They shook hands. Gwen squeezed Desi to the side and draped a companionable arm over her shoulders.

  Desi clenched her teeth. Gwen did it on purpose, emphasizing that Gwen inherited all the tall, leggy genes and Desi was a shrimp. When Buck turned his attention and those warm, brown eyes back to Desi, a little ping in her belly caught her off guard.

  “It’s my day off,” Buck said. He glanced down at his uniform. “But I had to go to court this morning. Since I was in the neighborhood, I thought I’d drop in and say hi. Maybe go for some coffee?”

  In the first place, Buck shouldn’t have known her sister owned this antique store. In the second place, he sounded pretty damned certain Desi would be here. Which was ridiculous. She was a freelance bookkeeper with clients all over town, and she only visited this store a few days a month. In the third place, if he thought for a moment she’d forgotten the way he’d dressed her down for extending an invitation to a ghost, he was as nutty as Gwen and the two of them deserved each other.

  Gwen dropped her arm and waggled her fingers for Buck to step aside. He did so, barely giving her a glance as she sauntered past. “Go have coffee, sweetie. You’ve been working all morning without a break. You need some fresh air.”

  “I don’t have time,” Desi said, hating the sullen tone in her voice. “I have another client in an hour.”

  Buck’s smile faded. He continued to stare at her. A searching stare that grew in intensity, his eyes growing darker, drawing her in.

  Desi looked away first. She lowered her voice. “What are you really doing here?”

  He drew his head aside. “Are you mad at me?”

  “Hell yes! I don’t appreciate some new guy waltzing in and yelling at me. You have no right to treat me like a dumb kid
.”

  “Are you talking about the K2 meter? I didn’t yell at you.”

  “You did. And it was uncalled for.”

  He leaned in close, but she stood her ground. His uniform didn’t intimidate her and neither did his size. “Whether you believe it or not, a Dark Presence haunts that house. Inviting it into your life was stupid.”

  “So now I’m stupid?”

  “I didn’t say that. I’m concerned. I need to know that thing didn’t follow you.”

  It astonished her that the city of Colorado Springs gave this guy a gun. He was insane. “Take your concern and march it out of here, Officer. I have work to do.”

  He straightened his broad shoulders. He wore a bulletproof vest under his uniform shirt and it made his chest look bigger. He looked beyond her and a faint frown lowered his brows. His face relaxed and the corners of his mouth twitched. “Have it your way. See you at the meeting tonight.”

  She lifted a shoulder. “You don’t have to be there. It’s just shop talk.”

  A tight grin turned his face from handsome to dangerously handsome. “Dallas told me meetings are mandatory if I want to stay on the team.” He raised a hand as if tipping a hat, turned around and walked away.

  Desi’s cheeks burned.

  “Very nice meeting you, Gwen,” he said.

  “Same here, Buck. Don’t be a stranger. Come on back anytime.”

  Gwen waited until the door closed behind Buck before she let loose a merry laugh. “OMG!” she exclaimed. “That’s the guy you called a pinhead jerk? Why don’t you two just get a room and, you know, duke it out.”

  The burn spread across Desi’s entire face and neck. “What are you talking about?”

  “You.” Gwen laughed and the music of it filled the store. “That guy really likes you. I saw the look on his face. And then you? Oh my God, Desdemona Hollyhock! If you got any hotter, you’d set the joint on fire.”

  “That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard, Gwendolyn Marie Hollyhock. Buck is a jackass and I can’t stand him.”

  Gwen dismissed that comment with a flip of her hand. “I might not be able to balance a checkbook, sweetie, but I can spot true love from a mile away.”

  Desi spun about and marched into the back room. She’d be having tea and cookies with Casper the Friendly Ghost before she ever had a romantic thought about Buck Walker.

  BUCK SLID behind the wheel and slammed the door. Who did that imperious little twit think she was, anyway? Standing there in that tight red sweater with her boobs half hanging out, acting like he’d committed a crime. Fine, she didn’t believe he saw spirits. Didn’t believe he communicated with them. He jammed a key at the ignition, then twisted and pushed on it for a few seconds before realizing it was the wrong key. He fumbled the right key around on the ring and started the Jeep.

  He glared at the storefront of Hollyhock Antiques and Oddities. The windows were filled with claw-footed furniture, antique dolls and stacks of old china. He couldn’t see inside, but he could picture Desi with her fall of sleek, sable hair and those blue eyes snapping with anger. Her attitude didn’t belong in the field of paranormal research. Skepticism might be healthy, but she carried it to a ridiculous extreme.

  “You’re ridiculous,” he snarled at the storefront. “You’re not that cute, either.”

  He checked the street and backed out of the parking space.

  At least he’d seen no sign of the Dark Presence. Sensed no malevolence surrounding her or lurking in the corners.

  A chuckle rose and anger faded. Desi Hollyhock was damned cute. He shook his head, amused at himself for letting her get his goat. He had the temperament and training to stay coolheaded under any circumstances. He’d be damned if he was going to let some pint-sized girl in a sexy sweater and tight jeans get to him.

  Too bad she was unaware of the friendly spirit he’d glimpsed accompanying her. Guardian spirits, he called them. Such spirits seemed to have unfinished business or they clung to living loved ones who were troubled. Desi Hollyhock didn’t appear troubled. She was just a pill.

  He looked forward to the Rocky Mountain Paranormal Research Team meeting tonight. She might be a tough cookie, but he was tougher.

  If she wore that red sweater, all the better for him.

  Chapter Three

  When Buck entered Rampart headquarters it was as if a magnet drew his eyes to Desi Hollyhock. She was seated at a battered conference table that took up much of the meeting room. She wore the red sweater, and the swell of her soft breasts seemed to glow. Desi glanced up when he walked inside, but immediately returned to her conversation with a tall, brown-haired woman.

  Dallas Stone beckoned Buck. Peeling out of his coat, Buck joined him in the kitchen. Dallas shook Buck’s hand then indicated a man.

  “Alec Viho, Buck Walker.”

  They shook hands. As soon as Buck made contact he felt a shock of recognition. Alec looked to be in his mid-thirties with long, black hair tied back in a ponytail. His face was dark, hard-planed, with a jutting nose, prominent cheekbones and a sharply outlined jaw. Buck knew they hadn’t met, but something about Alec struck a chord.

  Maybe it was the aura.

  Buck had seen glimmers of color surrounding people before. It hadn’t happened often and he’d never figured out why only some people had them. Alec’s aura was green and soothing.

  “Glad to you meet you,” Alec said. “Dallas says good things.”

  “Grab a drink,” Dallas said. “I’m going to see if I can wrangle that herd of cats into a meeting.”

  Buck pulled a soda from the fridge. He felt Alec studying him.

  “So you have a direct line to the dead,” Alec said. He spoke with the same casualness as if he’d said, “So I see you drive a Jeep.”

  Maybe it was the aura, or maybe the man’s utter calm, but Buck felt a sense of relief. “I guess,” Buck said.

  “You’re untrained.” Alec nodded. “That’s okay. Never too late to learn.”

  “Do you see ghosts?”

  “Not so much.”

  Buck’s head reeled. He’d never met anyone so accepting. Alec stared out the glass sliding door. Though it was only six o’clock, the backyard was dead dark. Buck could just make out the bulky shape of a gas barbecue grill and a basketball hoop mounted on a tall pole. Buck asked, “Why do you believe me?”

  “Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”

  Feminine laughter caused both men to turn their heads. The female members of the team had gathered at the far end of the conference table. Buck caught Desi’s eyes. She gave him an icy look before turning back to her friends.

  Alec chuckled, low and charged with amusement. “Don’t take it personal, Buck. She doesn’t like me, either.”

  Buck stiffened, wondering if his feelings were that transparent or if Alec was extremely intuitive. He hoped it was the latter. “She’s a piece of work.”

  “She has a good heart. A warrior’s heart. But she shoulders the problems of others instead of looking at her own.” Alec smiled. “She throws boulders on her own life path.”

  Interesting man, Buck thought. “Did you get to the Moore house today?”

  Alec nodded. “It was quiet when we left. All are where they belong now.”

  Buck hoped the little boy had joined his loved ones on the Other Side. He really hoped the Dark Presence had gone straight to hell.

  “Everybody’s here,” Dallas said. “Let’s get the show on the road.”

  Buck took a chair near the head of the table and Alec sat beside him. Fifteen people crowded around the conference table. Dallas pointed to Tara Chase, Rampart’s researcher and historian.

  Tara opened a folder. “I found more info about the Moore house. You’ve all seen the transcript of the question-and-answer session with Desi, Buck and the K2 meter, right? If you didn’t get the e-mail, let me know and I’ll resend it.” She glanced at her notes. “After the original owner died, his younger brother inherited the house. He had six children. Three boys a
nd three girls. The youngest, a little boy named Jonathon, was the only child of the husband’s third wife. He died of influenza in 1919. He was nine years old.”

  “Wow,” John Ringo said. “That fits exactly with what Buck and Desi picked up in the K2 session. Good job, Tara.”

  She closed the folder. “I should be able to post all the material I found out about the house this week. Even without ghosts it’s a fascinating place.”

  Dallas nodded. “We did a blessing at the Moores today. It went well. The Moores aren’t leaving, but they did move their bedroom downstairs to a room where nothing is torn up. They say they feel better since the investigation, and they haven’t been seeing or hearing things. I think Mr. Moore was more shaken up by the EVP than Mrs. Moore was, but he seems cool with it now. Especially since his wife isn’t waking up screaming anymore. They invited us to come back when the renovations are finished to see if we can catch anything else. Chalk one up to the good guys.”

  Heads bobbed and murmurs rippled through the room. Buck caught Desi’s sideways glance. She slid her attention away as if she hadn’t been looking at him at all.

  “Well, folks,” Pippin O’Malley said. The pretty redhead with big green eyes and a smattering of freckles tapped the scarred tabletop with her knuckles. “I have a case our resident psychic might be able to help with.”

  All eyes turned to Buck and his spine went rigid.

  “I’ve been talking to a single mom with two kids. Her cousin lives with her. The cousin says she’s a psychic and she senses unhealthy spirits in the house. Our single mom thinks her children are in danger.”

  “Boot the cousin to the street,” Desi said. “Problem solved.”

  “I agree,” Pippin said. “But I don’t think she’ll do that.”

  “Any activity?” Dallas asked.

  “Only the cousin’s claims. I feel bad for the mom. She’s barely making it financially, but she’s ready to break her lease and move her kids out.”

  Buck asked, “How do you think I could help?”

  Pippin smiled at Buck. “A psychic reading.”