Red House Page 2

  Patsy Cline filled the room, Daniel singing along to Walking After Midnight. Good. That kept him from asking why it hurt so much when the ghost slammed into me. I didn’t have an answer for that, either.

  Chapter 2

  I stared at the antique radio, a 1933 Majestic 59 studio deco tombstone model. That’s what the guy told us, anyway. I had no idea. It just looked like a cool old radio to me. It sat on the client’s breakfast nook, the glossy varnished wood shining under a hanging light fixture. Hands on my knees, I leaned over to take a closer look, first with my glasses on, then without. Glasses in hand, I let my vision slide to the auric field and took a good look at the energy coming from the radio. It wasn’t plugged in but there was definitely power there. A lovely blue, like clear twilight after a sudden rain, shimmered around it.

  “And it’ll just kinda come on by itself?” I asked.

  The client nodded. “When I have it plugged it I get nothing, not even local stations. But when it’s unplugged it plays all kinds of stuff. It’s the craziest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  Daniel stood across from me. I caught a suspicious twinkle in his blue eyes but saw nothing other than the usual yellow-gold in his aura that indicated his great self-control. I liked seeing that, what with him being a vampire and all. “What does it play?” he said.

  An unhelpful shrug from the client. “I think it’s old radio shows. I don’t really know. Most of the music I’ve never heard before.”

  I straightened but didn’t replace my glasses. “Have you noticed any pattern to it?” The guy gave me a blank look so I elaborated. “Does it happen at the same time of day? When there’s a storm? Does the power flash when it happens? Anything like that?”

  “I’m not home during the day so for all I know it could play then. I’ve heard it at different times in the night. It’ll wake me up sometimes.” He rubbed his face, clearly impatient with this weirdness that had intruded on his life. Some clients were like that. “Look, if you can’t make it stop I’m just gonna take it out back and take a sledgehammer to the damn thing. Pisses me off that I paid good money for this antique thing, but who’d want to buy it from me when it turns on and off all by itself?”

  Daniel and I exchanged a look. We had us a real live one here. A real live idiot. But what the hell, he was paying me.

  The client’s cellphone erupted with aggressively cheerful suburban country. He answered it and as he stepped out of the kitchen told us it was a very important business call he needed to take.

  Daniel walked around the table to stand next to me. “What’s this guy do again?”

  “He told me he directs music videos.” I ran a finger across the smooth paneling of the radio.

  “Oh yeah? Who’s he directed? Kings of Leon? Ooh, does he know Jack White?”

  “Bubba.” I tilted my head and raised an eyebrow. “I’m very proud of you for learning some newer artists, especially local ones. I know how reluctant you’ve been to listen to anything past the last Journey record.” He made a face and I continued. “This guy does country videos.”

  “Well, I like country music. Older country, though. So, ah.” He pointed at the radio. “You think you can get it to work?”

  “He had it plugged in when we got here and it didn’t work. I don’t know anything about radio repair.” Catching the look on his face, I realized he meant something quite different. “Oh. You want me to…”

  “Use your mojo.” He finished for me. “You know.” He wagged his eyebrows. “Work a little woo-woo on it.”

  I glared at him. It had been weeks since I worked any magic and he knew it.

  “I don’t know if I can do that. Even before, I don’t know that I could have. And woo-woo? Really?”

  An apologetic smile softened the blow to my dignity. “No harm in trying, huh?”

  He was right. It wasn’t as if my life had suffered during these past weeks because of a lack of magic. No, there were plenty of other reasons my life had turned to crap. Not working magic seemed to be a side effect. Right after the flood I tried lighting a candle in Daniel’s kitchen and failed. I hadn’t tried since. Was it shock over everything that happened? Depression? I didn’t know and wasn’t sure I cared. I was tired of it, though, and ready to try.

  And I had to admit the radio had me curious. What exactly did the guy mean by old radio shows? I could think of several I’d read about that would be cool to hear coming out of this antique.

  I folded my glasses, hooking them on my shirt front. Gesturing with my chin, I said, “Make sure he’s not too close.”

  Daniel nodded, making his way with preternatural silence and speed to the door between the kitchen and the room the client retreated to for his phone call. After listening for a long moment Daniel returned to my side with the same skill. “Go to it.”

  I slowed my breathing, tried to still all the thoughts swirling in my head. Reached deep inside to that place where the magic lay hidden, then reached for the energy flowing around me. In theory, connecting any two sources of energy–like what was within me and what existed in the world around me–would make any magical working stronger and more likely to succeed. I didn’t feel like I had a whole lot of my own power these days. My curiosity about the radio gave things a boost, though. I laid my hand on its smooth surface, pushed my will into its wires, and felt a snap of energy as it sprang to life.

  The music started mid-song, an old-fashioned alto accompanied by a deep bass backup singer and guitar playing that seemed so familiar. I leaned over the radio as if proximity would give me answers, fingers tapping the table softly in rhythm. A smile like Christmas morning spread over Daniel’s face, telling me he’d placed the song. Rather than ask, I searched the music library in my brain until I got it. It was the guitar that gave it away–the Carter Scratch, by the woman who invented it.

  “The Carter Family,” I said. “That’s Sara singing, her husband A.P. in the background.”

  “And Mother Maybelle on guitar.” His voice trembled with the same excitement I felt. “I’m Thinking Tonight Of My Blue Eyes, that’s the song. He said it plays old radio shows, do you suppose–’’

  I shushed him as the song ended and the voice of a disc jockey started. He identified the station as XERA, the Sunshine Station Between The Nations.

  I slapped the table. “Border radio!” For several decades starting in the thirties, some of the most popular radio shows in the country originated from just across the border in Mexico.

  “Johnny Cash used to listen to the Carter Family show when he was a child in Arkansas. Wonder if he ever dreamed he’d grow up to marry one of Maybelle’s daughters?”

  The dial jumped, changing the station. “Whoa! I didn’t make it do that. At least, I don’t think I did.”

  This time it was the Red Hot And Blue show from Memphis, run by Dewey Phillips, the first man to play Elvis Presley on the radio. After a few minutes of that a slight bump on the dial moved it to WDIA, also out of Memphis, once the premier rhythm and blues station in Bluff City. Then on to the King Biscuit Time blues program. The John R. show out of right here in Nashville. Alan Freed, Wolfman Jack, The Louisiana Hayride and the Grand Ole Opry. Another piece of music history was revealed with every movement of the dial. Between the two of us, Daniel and I could identify every song, every dj, every program. We were having so much fun listening to the music we didn’t even notice when the client came back in the kitchen.

  “You actually know what all this geezer crap is?” Impatience and scorn dripped from the client’s voice.

  The radio fell silent. I put my glasses back on, not caring enough to take a look at the man’s aura. Flicking my gaze to Daniel, I raised an eyebrow in silent question.

  Ten minutes later we left the house with the radio under Daniel’s arm, his wallet considerably lighter. I made a place for it in the living room on an accent table under a window. As I walked around the room lighting candles with a disposable lighter, the radio came on playing Nashville Jumps by Cecil Grant,
a song popular on the John R. rhythm and blues show decades ago. I stared at the radio, wondering if it was taunting me, then I threw the lighter on the coffee table and lit the last three candles with a flick of my magic will.

  “Just like riding a bike.”

  I turned to see my cousin in the doorway. “What’s that?”

  He jerked his chin in the direction of the last candle I’d lit as he crossed the room to the bar. “Using magic. I guess all you had to do was quit worrying about it and get back in the saddle.”

  I frowned. “What is it with you and saddles? Never mind, I don’t want to know.” I flopped on the sofa, dropped my feet on the coffee table and stared at the radio. It seemed content to stay with the John R. show.

  Soft clinking noises came from the bar as Daniel made our drinks. Thankfully he didn’t try to engage me in conversation. Despite the music and the indication I hadn’t lost my mojo after all, I’d slipped into another funk. I only noticed when he brought my drink to me because he nudged my boots. Giving him a guilty look, I sat up and took off the boots, tucking my feet under me as I tasted the drink.

  “This is good, what is it?”

  “Black Russian. It’s vodka and coffee liqueur.” He grinned as he sank into the cushy chair perpendicular to the sofa. “Of course I call mine a Bloody Russian.”

  “A little O positive mixed in?”

  “B negative for a change.” He picked up his e-reader from the end table and disappeared into a book.

  I disappeared into my own thoughts. That little bit of success tasted even better than the drink. After weeks of failure and feeling useless, I felt a tiny glimmer of hope I might be able to work again.

  * * * *

  Blake’s dark chocolate eyes flashed in the candle light, his expression full of sensual promise. I grabbed him by the lapels, pulling him down on top of me, wrapping one leg around him. Seeking his mouth with a hunger I’d never felt for any other man’s kiss, I captured his lips and used my tongue to tell him what I wanted. His hands were a cooling tonic as they roamed across my skin.

  “I miss you,” he whispered.

  “I’m right here.” Whatever else I might have said dissolved into a moan as he slid inside me. Filling me, stretching me, every nerve ending on fire.

  The jangle of the alarm clock dragged me out of the dream too soon. Groaning in frustration, I smacked it quiet. I didn’t know what was worse, missing Blake the Sexy Sorcerer while I was conscious and should know better than to pine for a man like him, or having all these erotic dreams about him when ostensibly I couldn’t help it.

  An early meeting with a potential client gave me no chance of going back to sleep and seeing him in my dreams again, no matter how much I wanted to. After a shower I debated about what to wear. My usual t-shirt and jeans didn’t seem appropriate for a client who wanted to meet at the cafe at the Frist Center For The Visual Arts, so I opted for something a little nicer. Understated makeup, hair tamed into a smooth ponytail, pretty blue and white floral patterned blouse and skirt, medium nude heels. I looked quite respectable and very unlike myself. It made me self-conscious as hell. I wanted Daniel’s opinion, but he was asleep and I wasn’t going to wake the slumbering vampire for fashion advice.

  The silence in the house grated on my nerves. I ate toast standing over the kitchen sink, trying to be careful of the makeup. No matter how hard I tried to concentrate on something else, my thoughts turned to Blake. I’d met him four months ago while on a case. He was the sorcerer who conjured the evil entity I was hired to get rid of, which should have made him a bad guy. I had plenty of excuses for not hating him, though. The fact that he was lied to, the fact that he wasn’t malicious, that he made me feel more alive than any other man I’d known. I left him asleep after the only time we made love to go deal with that evil demon problem, and I hadn’t seen him since. He disappeared with no indication he might return. If I could stop thinking about him all the time, stop dreaming about being in his arms every night, maybe I could forget him. Clearly he had no interest in me.

  I tossed half a piece of uneaten toast in the trash, angry at myself for wanting a man who didn’t want me. Whatever kind of problem this new client had, I hoped it was a doozy. I badly needed the distraction of work.

  * * * *

  Mrs. Julia Epps was an energetic sixty-something, impeccably turned out in a cream skirt suit accented with tasteful jewelry and a handbag worth more than everything I was wearing. What impressed me most was her hair. She had the kind of former beauty queen hair I wished I could mock, but really I was jealous of it. Thick and lustrous, jet black with a lovely wide streak of gray down the left side, it fell down her shoulders and back in a long graceful wave. How did she get it so smooth? Was it a product sold at a store, or would I have to bargain a piece of my soul to get my hair to do that?

  I took a sip of my cappuccino and focused on what she was telling me.

  “Maple Hill has been in my family since before the Civil War. It’s had its ups and downs over time but after my late husband and I moved back home from California, we were able to restore it. It’s primarily a bed-and-breakfast now but we also host various functions in the ballroom from time to time. It’s a popular place for cotillions and fundraisers.”

  In addition to her hair, I wanted her voice. Mrs. Epps sounded like central casting’s version of a genteel Southern lady, elegant and refined. If she’d ever dropped a G in her life I’d be shocked. “What sort of problem have you been having, ma’am?”

  “Well, first it was flickering lights. I called an electrician but he said nothing was wrong. Then the pipes started making strange noises. Of course I called a plumber. Once again, nothing wrong.”

  “Have you ever felt a sudden drop in temperature anywhere in the house?”

  Mrs. Epps nodded as she sipped her coffee. “Yes, quite frequently lately. Once again, I called a contractor to take a look at the central air system.”

  “But nothing was wrong.” I pushed my glasses up. “Have there been guests in the house since this started?”

  “At first. As these things began to happen, guests complained.”

  “Has anybody seen anything? Any of the guests or the staff talk about seeing anything that seemed strange?”

  A very deliberate pause. She fiddled with the diamond tennis bracelet on her left wrist for several heartbeats. “A few people said they saw things moving in the shadows, in the dark at night.”

  She was leaving something out. “What else?” She drew her mouth into a thin line, eyes avoiding mine. “Mrs. Epps, did you see something?”

  “There are cats.” Her voice low and strangled.

  “Ma’am?”

  Mrs. Epps cleared her throat and met my gaze. “I have a weakness for strays, especially cats. There’s always at least two or three living in the shed behind the house. One had a litter recently. I found homes for all but one. I wanted to keep a little calico as my own. I named her Dixie.” She had to pause again. I had a bad feeling about where this was going.

  “Did something happen to Dixie?”

  “I had her in the house with me. We were alone in the parlor at night. The lights flickered, the room got cold. Very cold.” She leaned across the table and grabbed my hand. “There was something there, Miss Mathis. And it was angry. So angry. I couldn’t see anything but I could feel it. And then it…it picked up Dixie…and crushed her.”

  I placed my free hand on top of hers. Mrs. Epps crumpled briefly before regaining her composure.

  “I can’t explain it. Something I couldn’t see did that to my kitten.” She pulled her hands free and retrieved a handkerchief from her purse, dabbing at the tears threatening to spill. “I ran from the room screaming. I didn’t know what to do or think. When I went back in there later with my groundskeeper, whatever killed Dixie had used her blood to write on the wall.”

  “What did it say?”

  “Get out. It said, get out. So I did. I evacuated all the guests and staff right then and haven
’t opened the place since. Miss Mathis, there have been stories of a ghost on the property for years, but nothing like this has ever happened. Nothing. Whatever did this is new and I want it gone. Maple Hill may be a public inn now, but it is still my home. Do you understand, Miss Mathis? I won’t lose my home to this, this, whatever it is.”

  I nodded, taking her hands again. “I do understand and I’m going to do everything I can to help you.” I tried to convey as much reassurance as I could.

  We were silent for several minutes as Mrs. Epps calmed herself and we both finished our coffee. “I’m spending the day with my grandchildren. My granddaughter Shelby wanted to go to the Egyptian exhibit here. Tyler, her younger brother, claims he would prefer to stay home but I know he’ll enjoy the mummies and whatnot. It’s hard to get them to do anything together anymore, with Shelby about to start college in the fall, so I took advantage of their mutual interest.”

  I had the sense she needed to say these things, just to talk about something normal. Something full of life and sweetness and not the horror taking place in her home. “Do you spend much time with your grandkids?”

  She nodded. “My daughter is divorced so I do whatever she needs to help out. I’m staying with them for now.” There was a long pause, as if she were preparing herself to talk about the house again. “Can you start tomorrow? I don’t know how this sort of thing works.”

  “What I usually do is take a look, get a first impression. Then I do research on the property if I think it’s necessary. Talk to any witnesses that are available.”

  “That sounds just perfect. I’m so glad you can start so quickly.”

  “Starting right away is about all I can guarantee, Mrs. Epps. I’m going to do everything I can, but it may not be a quick fix and it may not be easy. I want you to be prepared for that.”

  “I feel better knowing help is on the way.” She ran a hand down her hair and smiled. “Now I need to get this out of my thoughts for the rest of the day. The kids are entirely too curious about this. We tried to tell them the pipes burst but my granddaughter overheard us talking about ghosts. Shelby’s been full of questions. I hope these Egyptians are enough to distract her.” She smiled fondly.