Haunted Read online

  He got a fierce hold on her thigh. She struggled to sit, nails clawing at his flesh. He roared like a wounded animal, but didn’t let go. Holding on to her despite the violence of her fight, he dragged himself to his feet, still clutching her. Dragging her.

  “Carter, you’re ill! You need help.”

  “Bull!” He went still for a minute, ready to laugh despite the circumstances. “I knew what I was doing every step of the way. There’s nothing wrong with me. Hell, I have a mind and a will of steel. No one has ever so much as suspected me.”

  He had her against the rail. He tried to lift her but she fought too hard. Still, he had stamina. Little by little, he was pressing her back. Darcy could hear the water rushing over the boulders and stones below. Far below.

  “Josh! Help me!” she cried out.

  It gave him a start. He paused, if only for a second, looking around.

  “Who the hell is Josh?”

  “A ghost.”

  “A ghost! You’re calling on a ghost? Shit, Darcy!” He laughed again, maintaining his hold. She struggled, getting a grip on his beard, pulling hard. He reached down to his calf, pressing his body against hers so that he didn’t lose his hold. A second later, he’d drawn a Bowie knife from the sheath at his ankle and pressed it against her throat.

  “You’re going over, Darcy,” he said flatly.

  A blade in her throat…or boulders crushing her bones. Not much of a choice. But she could no longer fight him, not with the knife pressing into her flesh.

  “Carter!”

  The harsh cry, coming from the trail before the bridge, startled them both.

  Matt burst out of the mist, drawing Vernon to a halt right at the foot of the bridge, just feet away.

  “Carter, let her go. Now.”

  Carter was dead still for several seconds. Then a feral smile twisted his lips.

  “Come make me, Matt. Be careful, though. You know how good these Bowie knives are. I can slit her jugular in less than a second.”

  His eyes never leaving Carter’s, Matt dismounted from Vernon and strode firmly toward the bridge.

  “Stop there, or she’s a gusher, I promise,” Carter said.

  Matt stood motionless, aware of the knife at Darcy’s throat. He didn’t look at her, though. He kept his eye contact on Carter.

  “It’s over, Carter. The FBI is looking for you.”

  “They may be looking for me, Matt. But they won’t find me. Hey, we both know this place. Get into the mountains…and we can disappear for good.”

  “Carter, if you let Darcy go now, we can work something out.”

  “I don’t think so, Matt. Actually, this is rather amusing. There you are, the great Sheriff Stone. The Stone of Stoneyville. Negotiation, yep, that’s one talent you really pride yourself with having. Talk, stall, talk, stall. And imagine, all this going on beneath your nose, and you didn’t know! You know, once you kill, you figure out that’s it’s really pretty easy. Especially when you get involved with the right people. Women looking for something they can’t have. Like the right guy, true love, support and warmth and all that crap. Pretty ones, of course. Only problem is, sometimes, when you think it just might be a go, they turn out to be bitches, all judgmental, not really what they pretend to be at all. I’m no maniac, Matt.”

  Matt put his hands on his hips. “So what, then? Carter? You’re going to kill Darcy in front of me? You make another move, and you’re a dead man as well.”

  “How you going to manage that, Matt? You’ve got a rifle there, but hell, no shot. You’re a reenactor today. No real bullets—on anyone. Too much of a danger to the crowd.”

  “I’ll kill you with my bare hands, Carter,” Matt said with low but vehement sincerity. “I swear it.”

  “So…we all die. Here and now,” Carter said.

  “Carter!”

  The cry came from a woman. Darcy could barely move her head; she could almost taste the steel at her throat, but she strained to see past Matt and was amazed to see Lavinia come running down the trail. Her beautiful violet eyes were huge; her usually perfect hair had escaped its Civil War coils and was a tangle around her face.

  “Carter!” she tried again, gasping too hard to speak more.

  “Did you know that we had a hot and heavy affair, Matt?” Carter said casually. “For once, I bested the great sheriff! It was actually hard not to let you know, but then again, I loved the ease of hanging around Melody House.”

  “I don’t give a damn if you slept with Lavinia, Carter.”

  Carter smiled, looking past Matt at Lavinia. “Did you come to help me, sweetheart? Have you got a gun on you? If so, just go ahead and shoot the sucker.”

  That, at last, drew Matt’s eyes from Carter. He stared at Lavinia in amazement and horror. Had she been in on it? Had she become so involved with Carter that she had actually been his accomplice in murder?

  And did she have a gun, secreted away in her voluminous skirts?

  Lavinia found her voice at last. “Carter, for the love of God, let her go!” she said.

  “Lavinia, you’ve turned pansy on me. Didn’t you want a wild life of reckless adventure, far more than the sheriff intended to give you, no matter what his pedigree?”

  Darcy could feel the blade, chafing into her flesh. She felt a thin trickle of blood drip down her neck.

  “Carter, let her go,” Matt said. “I swear, if you do, you’ll get a trial with the best lawyers. If you hurt her in any way, I’ll rip your throat out with my bare hands, I swear it.”

  Darcy felt his hand jerk. The blade cut more deeply. She was certain that she was dead. Matt would avenge her, of that she was certain, too.

  But she would be dead already. A new ghost to haunt the realm of Melody House.

  It was then that the white mist reappeared. It seemed to form at the base of the bridge, between Matt’s position and the place where Carter had her back arched over the bridge.

  “It’s Susan!” she cried, “Carter, she’s here! It’s Susan.”

  “Bull—!” he began. But his eyes widened suddenly. Darcy didn’t know what anyone else saw; she wasn’t certain what she saw herself. But the mist moved, and Carter froze, as if paralyzed with disbelief and horror.

  “It’s Susan, and she’s come to avenge her own death!” Darcy breathed.

  Carter jerked, his grip barely slackening.

  Matt chose that moment to lunge across the few feet separating them, and tackle Carter.

  The impetus of his force, knocking Carter flat, and sending the knife flying, also sent Darcy flying. Her body twisted. Face forward, she went more than halfway over the railing. Grasping madly, she got a handhold on a support beam, just before the bulk of her body slipped. She held on desperately, aware of the rushing sound of water beneath her.

  She heard the brutality of the fight going on above her, but she could only pray that Matt was winning. She was losing her grip.

  “Josh!” she whispered softly.

  She felt warmth, and knew he was there. Felt as if some of the weight was eased from her hands. And still…

  “Darcy!”

  Lavinia was looking over the railing at her, then lay flat on the ground, seizing hold of her hands through the rails. “I can’t…I can’t…get you up!” Lavinia cried with dismay. “I’m going to lose you.”

  Darcy felt her hands slipping. She saw Lavinia’s fingers, losing their grip.

  She smiled at the woman so feverishly trying to save her. “It’s all right,” she said softly. “It’s all right….”

  It wasn’t all right. She didn’t want to die. Even if she did know that there was an afterlife, that Josh would be there.

  “Lavinia, hold on, hold on a moment longer.”

  Matt. He straddled the railing, balancing precariously himself. He reached down, catching hold of her arms above the wrists, and he squared his shoulders, and pulled. She cried out, the pain in her arms threatening dislocation.

  But she was hiked over the railing. They fell
to the bridge together. Gasping, she opened her eyes to see his. They both stared blankly at one another, hearing the sounds of Lavinia, as she sobbed with relief. She saw Carter’s body, prone, just feet away.

  “Is he…dead?” Darcy managed to whisper.

  “I didn’t kill him,” Matt said. “Come on, Darcy, let me get you up.” He came to his feet, muddied, his uniform torn and battered, his face bruised. He reached a hand down to her, drawing her up close to him.

  A sudden roar proved the truth of the fact that he hadn’t killed Carter. The man was up; he had apparently been gathering his strength for one last surge of fury.

  “Move!”

  Matt shoved Darcy, and she went ricocheting along the bridge. He ducked himself as Carter raced forward, his knife in his hand once again.

  But Darcy was gone, and Matt’s sudden movement tripped up Carter, sending him flying against the bridge railing. He teetered precariously.

  The white mist appeared again.

  Carter let out a cry of horror. Surrounded by the mist, he went over.

  They heard of the sound of his last terrified, strangled scream. And then the sound of his body, hitting the rocks below.

  The reenactment that late June day would be remembered for the events that followed as much as for the battle itself.

  Darcy’s first concern, after they had looked over the bridge and ascertained that Carter was, indeed, dead, had been Oola. The dog had tried to defend her, and Darcy was afraid that Carter had given her a blow that had killed her. But when they found the dog against one of the ornamental pillars on the other side of the bridge, she was still breathing. Adam, following behind Matt and Lavinia, had arrived them, with a host of officers behind him, and so, Oola had been quickly rushed to the vet. Thayer had called to say that the dog had suffered a concussion, but would be all right.

  Agents from the FBI, as well as local and state police, scoured the area. Darcy found herself questioned for hours, since her honest answers seemed to dumbfound many people.

  Luckily, Randy Newton was in charge of the investigation from the government’s side, and he, at last, said that they had enough information from her, there was nothing more she could explain to them on how she had first discovered the skeleton in the smokehouse.

  It was an interesting investigation, Randy told her, somewhat amused. They had a confessed killer, but he was dead, so the only people who had heard his confession were her, Matt, and Lavinia.

  Darcy deeply pitied Lavinia that day, because she had to explain that years ago, she had thought little of it when he had told her that Susan Howell would no longer be in his life. When her marriage to Matt had been fraying, she admitted, she’d thought an affair with Carter would be revenge against Matt, a foolish thing, and she thought that she and Carter had both tacitly agreed that they would never speak about it.

  But when she had talked to Matt, and read about Darcy discovering the bones in the smokehouse, she had felt a terrible urge to come down, a feeling of dread that something just might have happened years before, something she hadn’t even begun to fathom until she had returned to Melody House. When Carter had pretended that he wanted Lavinia to be with Darcy at the reenactment, something inside Lavinia had triggered suspicion, and she had realized that it was time to talk to Matt about Carter. She had stayed with Clint until one of the officers had arrived and an ambulance had been called, and then left, still anxious that she might still somehow prevent tragedy. Clint would be in the hospital for several days. He had suffered a concussion.

  It was late when Adam, Penny, Lavinia, Matt, and Darcy returned to Melody House. Later still when they had all showered and changed, and come down to the kitchen to scrounge through the refrigerator for something to eat.

  “Matt, your friend thinks I’m guilty of something,” Lavinia said wearily.

  “Lavinia, you’re not guilty of anything when you assume that someone just broke something off with another person,” he assured her.

  “It’s so scary. I can’t even imagine. We all…we were all his friends. And more,” she said sheepishly. “And all these years…he killed when it was convenient. Hid the bodies—and got away with it.” Lavinia shivered. “To think…never mind, I don’t want to go there. But I didn’t know—I really didn’t even suspect, way back then, that Carter could be…crazy. And yet, when you called me, I had to come here.”

  Matt grinned at her. “Lavinia, it’s all right. You’re a good friend. You came here, and you followed your instincts.”

  “Everyone has a certain amount of instinct, Lavinia. A touch of something deeper in the mind. It doesn’t suggest that you might have known anything all those years ago. It just means that you have greater mental powers than you imagined,” Adam told her.

  “Yeah?” she said, and shivered. “Did I do any good? No! And I saw the way you looked at me, Matt Stone. You actually thought that I might have been his accomplice in murder, when he made that ridiculous statement to me!”

  “Only for a second of sheer panic,” Matt admitted.

  “You did a lot of good, Lavinia,” Darcy told her. “I don’t think I would have made it until Matt came if you didn’t help me,” she said.

  “See there, Lavinia?” Penny added.

  Lavinia shivered again. “Greater powers….” She stared at Matt, then at Darcy. “What did happen at the end?” she asked. “Carter rose…and looked like a raging bull. Then he was teetering on the bridge, and I could have sworn…I can’t say it.”

  “You could have sworn that a ghost knocked him over?” Darcy asked.

  Lavinia’s huge violet eyes fell on hers. “Yes,” she said quietly.

  “Carter lost his balance, and went over,” Matt said.

  “But, Matt…” Lavinia began.

  “When I told my story to the FBI, that’s exactly what I told them,” Matt said firmly. The house phone began to ring. “Excuse me,” he said, walking out of the kitchen. “Hey, Penny, we’ve got all kinds of stuff to go in eggs. How about omelettes?”

  Darcy smiled at Lavinia. “I think that Susan Howell did make a return, Lavinia. She was the lady in white people kept seeing in Melody House. Because she was in a long flowing gown, everyone—including me—assumed that she had to be a victim of traumatic death from centuries ago. I think she faded away on me, too, every time Carter was around. He stalked me from the time I first came here. And she was still afraid of him. Even in death, she was afraid of him. But, today, when she had her chance, she helped us.”

  “You think Matt really believes that?” Lavinia said.

  “No,” Darcy said. She smiled at Adam. “But I think it’s what really happened.”

  Matt came back into the kitchen. “They’ve recovered some of Susan Howell’s bones. Carter had scattered them in the water. They were in the stream, near the bridge. They’re still missing a few, but they’ll find them. And hopefully, they’ll find the other bodies.”

  “So, Matt,” Penny murmured, “you were right, in a way, being convinced that the things going on here were being committed by someone alive and well.” She stared at him. “But there are ghosts, you know.” She gave her attention back to the omelettes. As the rest of them moved around the kitchen, getting plates, drinks, silverware and napkins, they continued to talk about Carter. Shock, Darcy assumed. Every time she thought about it herself, the fact that so many people had seen him as such an entirely normal human being for so long, she felt goose bumps rise on her flesh.

  “With Susan Howell, it must have been easy,” Matt said as they ate. “My grandfather had just died. Lavinia and I were falling apart. Penny wasn’t living in the house yet. It was frequently empty. And he probably brought Susan there often. She probably really thought that he was going to marry her, and she’d be part of the group that stayed on the property whenever they chose. And yet, that night, Carter would have known that he was alone. Maybe he thought that the smokehouse would cover the fumes when the body started to decay. Or perhaps he thought that he’d buried
her so deeply, she’d never be found anyway. It’s impossible to know now.”

  They talked late, over coffee, brandy, and dessert. Darcy felt Adam’s eyes on her, and looked at him, and knew that though the situation was sad, he was proud of her for her abilities to touch what others could not.

  She frowned suddenly.

  “Adam, why were you so anxious that we come here?” Darcy asked him. “It was as if you knew that there was something going on here…but you hadn’t been here in years, either.”

  Adam hesitated, then looked at Matt. “My actual gift isn’t like Darcy’s,” he said quietly. “But I knew that such gifts existed, I’d seen them far too many times to ignore them. I have the ability to discover and channel such gifts. In fact,” he admitted, smiling ruefully at Darcy, “one of my greatest heartbreaks has been the fact that although I know there is something beyond, and that so many of those powers are locked in our minds, I cannot touch my own son, while he and Darcy…sometimes it seems that they can converse as if Josh were still alive. But right before I sent you that letter, Matt, I had a dream about your grandfather. We were playing chess on the porch, just as we had done so many times, and he was talking about the house, telling me that it had been wronged. And as we were talking…a woman drifted by me. In mist. And I asked your grandfather if he had seen her, and he told me that so much that was so wrong had occurred there, and that she needed help. The house needed help, and so did you, Matt. Anyway, when I awoke, I felt as if I had really talked to him again, and I knew that something was going on here. I didn’t, of course, know that it was a recent tragedy that had occurred, I just knew that I had been summoned.” He looked back at Darcy. “The business I had in London could have been put off, actually, has been put off. But I wanted you to come here first. I wanted your impressions. Then, it seemed as if Matt just might be right, too, what with the things going on, and so, I was worried about bringing you here. That’s why I decided you needed a dog, because the dog would always know when a living being was causing the trouble.”