Bound Spirits Page 4

  “Well, yeah, I kind of got that much from living in the world.”

  He raised his bottle-filled hands in surrender. “Hey, I’m trying to help.” With that, he took his load to the kitchen.

  With a sigh, Chris followed him. “Sorry. I’m h having a hard time with the idea that I’m going to have to fill in as Marsha’s pretend bestie until this whole thing is over and done with.”

  “Well, you might as well get used to the idea, since you already promised your dad. By the way, sorry if you know this already, what with your vast worldly knowledge of weddings, but you’ll also have to throw her a bridal shower.”

  She dumped her dishes in the sink and stood back to look at him. “You’re kidding me.”

  “Nope.”

  “My dad said she doesn’t have any friends to speak of. Who in the world would I invite?”

  “I don’t know, babe, but you’ll have to think of something. Marsha doesn’t strike me as the type to be willing to miss out on any aspect of the bridal experience.”

  “You’ve got that right.” She blew out another sigh and rubbed her temples. “Why did I agree to do this?”

  “Because you’re a good daughter and you love your dad.”

  “Yeah.” She put her hands on her hips and stood there, thinking. “But I’m not his only daughter, now am I?”

  “Not if you don’t only just jcount the living ones. Why? What are you thinking?”

  “I think he’s got some nerve putting that on you,” said Ron.

  “It’s not like that,” said Chris. Ron had come down again soon after Derek left and found Chris in the kitchen, helping herself to some leftover ziti and polishing off the rest of the wine. It had saved Chris from making a trip upstairs to pick her big sister’s brain. “Dad has a right to ask me for a favor.”

  “Maybe, but this is pretty unfair of him, if you ask me. And you did.”

  “Actually, I asked for your ideas about how to throw a bridal shower for a woman with no friends, not for your opinions on Dad, which are duly noted.”

  “Fine.” Ron watched wistfully as Chris took another bite, closing her eyes to savor it. “That good, huh?”

  “Mmmhmm.” Chris swallowed and sipped her wine. “Man, that guy can cook.”

  “He sounds like a keeper.”

  Chris shot her a look. “Don’t you start.”

  Ron held up her hands in mock-surrender, adopting a look of innocence. “Anyway,” she said, lowering her hands, “it’s hard to believe Marsha doesn’t have friends. Someone that bubbly usually has a hard time narrowing down who to include in the bridal party, not scrounging up reluctant volunteers.”

  Chris pointed at her with another forkful of ziti. “That’s exactly what I said.” She shoved it in her mouth and shrugged. “Dad said something about—”

  “Didn’t I teach you not to talk with your mouth full?”

  Swallowing, Chris continued. “About her having a hard time letting people get close. It sounded like she has a lot of shallow acquaintances but no real friends.”

  “If she knows them well enough to invite them to the wedding, you can also invite them to the shower. Simply have the shower close enough to the wedding date that the out-of-towners won’t have to make an extra trip up here.”

  Chris set down her fork and looked at Ron in amazement. “It can’t be that simple.”

  “Sure it can. All you have to do is get the guest list from Marsha, send shower invitations to all the women, then sit back and hope somebody shows up. Even if most of them send gifts instead of coming in person, from what I can tell, Marsha’s the sort who’ll be fine with that.”

  Chris considered this as she sipped her wine. “I think you’re right about that.” She grinned. “Thanks, Sis. You’ve been a big help.”

  “That’s what I’m here for.”

  Chris set her wine down, her smile fading. “I wish you could really help with this whole wedding thing, though. I mean, not because it’ll be so much work. I just wish…”

  “I get it. I wish, too.” Ron channeled the tenderness she felt for her sister into making her fingers solid enough to slide the wine glass out of Chris’s reach. “And I think that’s enough wine for you. It’s making you maudlin.”

  “No it’s not.” She stood up and leaned over to grab it and pull it back. “I miss being able to do normal, living things with you, is all. It feels like helping out with Dad’s wedding is an experience I ought to be able to share with my sister.”

  “We’re sharing right now, aren’t we?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Ron thought about it while Chris finished off her glass of wine. She imagined Chris stuffed into an ugly bridesmaid dress, which morphed into the image of Chris in a wedding gown. Both experiences Ron would never have. The best she could hope for was to live vicariously through her little sister.

  Now who was the one getting maudlin?

  “Yeah,” said Ron, careful to suppress any hint of the sadness she suddenly felt. “I do know.”

  Chapter Four

  Still nursing a mild hangover from the night before, Chris was composing an email to a former client, hoping to snag permission to spend a night filming in his haunted townhouse, when her doorbell rang. This was immediately followed by the sound of frenzied barking and hissing as Buster leapt up from his spot on the couch and barreled right through Miss Kitty in his rush to get to the door.

  The fact that he’d come downstairs for company suggested that Ron and Joe were both out of the house, but that didn’t stop Chris from calling out to them in the hopes they could come rein in their dog. No such luck. Buster beat Chris to the door and spun in circles before it, making Chris wince with every yip.

  Peeking through the curtains on the front window, Chris was surprised to see Marsha standing on her front porch. With a groan, she commanded Buster to be quiet and go lie down, to no avail. Taking a moment to compose herself, along with a deep breath, she opened the door.

  “I was hoping we could talk.” Marsha got straight to the point without so much as a hello. “Can I come in?”

  Chris cringed inwardly at what was coming. She’d thought she would have more time to get used to the idea of serving as Marsha’s maid of honor before the question actually came, but it looked like the moment of truth had come. “Sure.” She opened the door wider and stood out of the way. “Come on in.”

  Marsha stepped in, completely oblivious to the little dog yapping at her feet. The cat ran by, hissing and growling as she went. Buster’s attention shifted from Marsha to Miss Kitty and he chased her up the stairs, leaving blessed silence in his wake.

  Marsha stared after the cat, clearly bewildered. “I guess she doesn’t like company, huh?”

  “Don’t mind her. She’s angry at the dog.”

  Marsha’s face lit up. “You have a dog?”

  “Technically, he belongs to my sister. He’s a ghost.”

  Marsha’s smile faltered as though she wasn’t sure whether Chris was kidding. Chris didn’t feel like explaining and moved on to the next subject. “Anyway, come on in.” She started for the living room and waved for Marsha to follow. “I’m surprised to see you. I thought you and Dad were going back to Dallas this morning.”

  “We decided to split up.” Her eyes widened as she seemed to register what she’d said. “Oh, I don’t mean we broke up. There’s so much to do, both here and back home. I thought we could cover more ground if he took care of our Dallas affairs without me.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “Besides, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.” She settled herself on the couch. “I need a favor.”

  Here it comes. Chris braced herself, wondering how best to feign surprise.

  “You know the house I was telling you about? My grandmother’s house. Where we’re getting married.”

  “Right.” Chris tried not to look confused. If Marsha was asking her to be maid of honor, she was sure taking the scenic route to get to the p
oint. “What about it?”

  Marsha shifted in her seat and chewed her bottom lip, all her usual confidence nowhere to be seen. “I didn’t want to bring this up in front of your father. You know how he is. He doesn’t exactly have an open mind about these things.”

  “About getting married in old mansions?”

  She laughed. “Don’t be silly. The place couldn’t be more perfect for our wedding. Except…” She glanced behind her, then back at Chris. “Were you kidding about there being a ghost dog?”

  “No. But let’s stay on topic. What about the house?”

  “It’s. Well, I think it’s…” Suddenly, she burst into tears. “Oh, Chris!” she wailed, burying her face in her hands.

  “Oh. Oookay.” Chris got up to search for a box of tissues. Finding one on an end table, she brought it over to Marsha, who pulled several out and started dabbing her eyes as Chris sank onto the couch beside her. “Marsha, what is going on?”

  “It’s haunted!” she sobbed. She sniffed and blotted her nose. “I think.”

  “What makes you think so?”

  “Oh, Chris, it was so awful. Your father and I have been staying there since we got into town. At first, I had this feeling like I was being watched, but it was nothing I could put my finger on, you know?” The way she looked at Chris suggested her question wasn’t rhetorical, so she nodded.

  Marsha went on. “So I told myself I was imagining things, that it must be pre-wedding jitters or something. But then I’d come back to my room and find things rearranged. Not completely, only a few things moved around. Not enough for me to be sure I wasn’t imagining it.”

  “Did Dad move your things?”

  She shook her head. “He swore he hadn’t been in there. And there’s no staff at the house. It’s only the two of us.” She shrugged. “I tried to ignore it, but it kept happening. And then, last night…” She shivered and let out another sob.

  Without thinking, Chris found herself patting Marsha on the back. “What happened?”

  Marsha sniffled. “Have you ever read Jane Eyre?”

  “I’ve seen at least half a dozen film adaptations.”

  “Well, you know the part where someone comes in her room in the middle of the night and tears up her wedding veil?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That happened to me.”

  “You actually saw a woman destroy your veil?” Chris considered this, then asked, “You already have a wedding veil?”

  “I found it in the attic. I think it belonged to my great grandmother. I was considering whether I wanted to wear it in my wedding, so I hung it in my room. Last night I heard these sounds, and I felt this sense of… I don’t know. Anger. I don’t know how else to describe it. Oh, Chris, I was so terrified. All I could do was huddle under the covers and pray for it to go away. I guess eventually, I fell back to sleep. But when I woke up in the morning, the veil lay in pieces all over my bed.”

  “What did Dad say about it?”

  “He doesn’t know.” At Chris’s questioning look, she explained, “We slept in separate rooms. I know it’s old-fashioned, but…” She gave a little shrug. “Anyway, I didn’t tell him. I wanted to talk to you first.” She sniffed and dabbed the corner of her eye with a tissue.

  “Okay,” Chris said, thinking. “Well, what do you know about the house? Its history?”

  Marsha shrugged. “It’s my grandma’s house. I stayed there a few times when I was a little girl and never encountered anything like this. I mean, there were family legends about a white lady ghost, but I never saw her. But according to the legends, she kind of wandered the grounds. She never did anything violent.”

  “What about your grandmother?”

  “What about her?”

  “If she had a strong attachment to the house, even though she left it to you, she might not be happy that you’re moving in.”

  Marsha laughed in spite of her tears. “My granny’s not dead. And she’s definitely not attached to the house. She couldn’t wait to unload it on us, all so she could take off and join some senior citizen biker gang. She’s off Lord only knows where, tooling around on her Harley-Davidson.”

  “She sounds like my kind of granny.”

  Marsha smiled. “Yeah, she’s pretty awesome. I left her a message and asked her to call, but who knows when she’ll get it.”

  “Well, let’s hope she gets it soon, because she might have some answers. Like why she was so eager to get rid of the house.”

  “She did promise to be back in time for the wedding, but that’s months away.”

  “In the meantime, I guess we start with this white lady. Maybe she’s angry about something.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.” Marsha twisted the tissue in her hands.

  “Why do I get the feeling you have your own theory?”

  “Oh, it’s nothing.”

  “Come on, Marsha. Don’t hold out on me. If you know something—”

  “It’s your mother,” she blurted.

  Chris blinked in surprise. “What?”

  “It’s the only thing that makes sense. She doesn’t want your father to remarry, so she’s trying to frighten me away.”

  “Um, no. That’s not it.”

  “I know you don’t want to think that your mother would do such a thing, but I mean—”

  “Marsha, my mom is gone. She crossed over when Ron and I were still kids. Believe me, if she was still hanging around this plane of existence, I’d know.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Marsha sighed. “Well, what about your sister, then? You’ve said her ghost lives here. Could she be trying to prevent our marriage?”

  “Dad and Ron were estranged when she died. Frankly, she doesn’t care what he does with his life.” At least that’s what she claims, Chris thought, but kept it to herself.

  “Well, that’s sad.” Marsha shook her head. “But if it’s not your mother or sister, then who could it be?”

  “I don’t know. But I’ll look into it.”

  Marsha reached out and grabbed her hand, squeezing it as she heaved a sigh. “I was hoping you’d say that. Can you get rid of it? Preferably in time for the wedding?”

  “I don’t know. First, I need to find out what it is.”

  “But you’ll help, right?”

  Chris took a deep breath and let out a sigh of relief. Most people would take wedding prep over facing down angry spirits any day, but Chris wasn’t exactly most people. This sort of thing was much more up her alley than planning bridal showers or helping to pick out flowers. “Of course I will. Do you have someplace else to stay tonight?”

  “Sure. I can stay at my parents’ place.”

  “Good. All I need now are your house keys.”

  Chapter Five

  Derek swept his flashlight over the ornate staircase and let out a low whistle. “Marsha’s right. This is a great place to hold a wedding.”

  “It’s a beautiful house,” Chris agreed.

  “Probably built in the ‘twenties. Very arts and crafts. I wonder how much of this stuff is original to the house.”

  “Do you think Marsha’s family had oil money?”

  “Back then, all the money in this town was oil money.” He checked the camera sitting on a tripod at the base of the stairs. “Okay, we’ve got six cameras and about a dozen voice recorders set up around the house.” He pulled a small handheld camera, barely bigger than a smart phone, out of his pocket and turned it on. “How do you want to do this?”

  She squinted at the bright LED light shining in her face. “Off camera, preferably.”

  “Come on. I’m not going to post any of this without Marsha’s permission. But the cameras might help the investigation.”

  “I know. But do I have to be on camera? It’s distracting.”

  With a sigh, he put the camera back in his pocket. “Fine. How about the infrared? Do you object to that?”

  “No.”

  “Good.” As he went t
o retrieve it from its bag, he muttered, “It’ll help us see where we’re going, if nothing else.” He returned with it and switched it on. “So where are we going?”

  “We should start in Marsha’s room.” She started up the stairs without preamble, keeping the beam of her flashlight pointed down at the steps as she went. Her heart sped up as she climbed into the dark unknown, but Derek’s presence beside her gave her a little more courage. It wasn’t fear of what they might find that made her heart race—not entirely, anyway. As much as she knew it was impossible, as much as her instinct told her to dismiss the notion, she couldn’t get over Marsha’s suggestion that it was Chris’s mother who had been harassing her.

  Ron had agreed that it was unlikely, if not impossible. “No way,” she’d said when Chris shared Marsha’s idea. “Mom wouldn’t be so petty and vindictive. She’d want Dad to be happy. Anyway, it can’t be her because she’s not around. If she was, we’d know. She would’ve made sure we know.”

  Chris had at first been comforted by Ron’s conviction and had shared it. But as they reached the top of the stairs and shined their lights down each wing of the hallway, she thought of the entity that had hidden itself from her at the Hex House lot. It was possible that her mother could stay hidden if she wanted to. But why would she want to?

  She thought of Derek’s brother, Jimmy, who had haunted Derek’s home for a full decade and a half without Derek ever being aware of his presence. But Jimmy hadn’t known how to make contact. He’d been stuck in a limbo not of his own choosing until Ron had discovered him and shown him how to make his presence known.

  Chris’s mother, on the other hand, knew how to make contact if she wanted to. Chris was convinced of this. Her very first supernatural encounter had been with her recently deceased mother, who had come to her and Ron in the night, presumably to say goodbye.

  Chris had to presume because she hadn’t actually seen or spoken to her mom, but merely felt her presence as she sat on the edge of the bed, felt her touch as she brushed back Chris’s hair. Ron had slept through it, completely oblivious to the visitation. But Chris knew in her heart of hearts that she had felt her mother that night, and she’d never felt that presence again since.