'What?'
Impatiently he stopped at the kitchen door, his hand resting casually against the frame.
She swallowed and straightened with dignity and tried to walk slowly over to join him.
'I do read your books,' she admitted. 'And it's always the hapless idiot left alone while the other goes off to search who winds up...winds up with her throat slit!'
'Alexi...' he murmured slowly.
'Don't patronize me!' she commanded him.
He sighed, looked at her for a moment with a certain incredulity and then started to laugh.
'Okay. We'll search together. And I'm sorry. I'm not patronizing you. It's just usually so quiet out here that it's hard to imagine...' His voice trailed away, and he shrugged again. 'Come on, then.'
Smiling, he offered her his hand. She hesitated, then took it. They returned to the hallway. Alexi nervously played the flashlight beam up the stairway. Rex grinned again and went to the wall, flicking a switch that lit the entire stairway. - 'Gene did have a few things done,' he told her.
There were only two other rooms on the ground floor-- except for the little powder room beneath the stairway, which proved to be empty. To the right, behind the parlor, was the library, filled with ancient volumes and wall shelves and even an old running oak ladder reaching to the top shelves. Upon a dais with a wonderful old Persian carpet was a massive desk with a few overstuffed Eastleg chairs around it. Apart from that, the room was empty.
They crossed behind the stairway to the last room--the “ballroom,'' as Rex called it. It was big, with a dining set at one end with beautiful old hutches flanking it, and a baby grand across the room, toward the rear wall. Two huge paintings hung above the fireplace, one of a handsome blond man in full Confederate dress uniform, the other of a lovely woman in radiant white antebellum costume.
Forgetting the intruder for a moment, Alexi dropped Rex's hand and walked toward the paintings for a better look.
'Lieutenant General P. T. Brandy wine and Eugenia,'
Rex said quietly.
'Yes, I know,' Alexi murmured. She felt a bit awed; she hadn't been in the house since she'd been a small child, but she remembered the paintings, and she felt again the little thrill of looking at people from another day who were her direct antecedents.
'They say that he's the one who buried the Confederate treasure.''
'What?' Alexi, forgetting her distant relatives, turned around and frowned at Rex.
He laughed. 'You mean you never heard the story?'
She shook her head. 'No. I mean, I've heard of Pierre and Eugenia. Pierre built the house. But I never heard anything about his treasure.'
He smiled, locking his hands behind his back and casually sauntering into the room to look at the paintings.
“This area went back and forth during the Civil War like a Ping-Pong ball. The rebels held it one month; the Yankees took it the next. Pierre was one hell of a rebel--but it seems the last time he came home, he knew he wasn't going to make it back again. Somewhere in the house he buried a treasure. He was killed at Gettysburg in '63, and Eugenia never did return here. She went back to her father's house in Baltimore, and her children didn't come back here until the 1880s. Local legend has it that Pierre haunts the place to guard his stash, and the locals on the mainland all swear that it does exist.'
'Why didn't Eugenia come back?' Rex shrugged. “He was a rebel. At the end of the war, Confederate currency wasn't worth the paper it had been printed on. There was no real treasure. Maybe that's the reason that Pierre had to come back to haunt the place.'
Alexi stared at him for a long moment. There seemed to be a glitter of mischief in his eyes. A slow, simmering anger burned inside her, along with a sudden suspicion. 'Sure. Those footsteps belonged to my great- great-greatgrandfather. You will not scare me out of this house!'
'What--?' He broke off with a furious scowl. 'You foolish little brat. I'm not trying to scare you.'
'The hell you're not! You want me out of here--God knows why. You don't have to see me, you know.' His eyes narrowed. 'Maybe I should leave now.' She lifted her chin. She wanted him to stay. She wasn't afraid of ghosts, but someone alive had been in the house. Someone who had come here in stealth. Even if Rex didn't believe her.
She swung around. 'This is ridiculous! I came to my old family home on what is supposed to be a deserted, desolate peninsula, and it's more like Grand Central Station!'
'Alexi--'
'Just go, if you want to!'
Rex watched her, his mouth tight and grim, then swung around. 'I'll check the upstairs. If someone tries to slit your throat, just scream.'
He was gone. Alexi stared after him, shivering, hating herself for being afraid. She hadn't been afraid to come-- she'd been eager. She'd desperately wanted to be alone. Where there were no crowds, where people didn't recognize her. But she'd just barely gotten there, and already the darkness and the isolation were proving threatening.
Nothing was going to happen, she assured herself. But she wrapped her arms nervously about herself and returned to stare up at the paintings. Perhaps some kids believed in the legend about the gold. High school kids. They didn't want to harm her; they just wanted to find a treasure--a treasure that didn't really exist.
She smiled slowly. They were really marvelous-looking people; Pierre was striking, and his Eugenia was beautiful. 'Even if you could come back as a ghost,' she said to Pierre's likeness with a wry grin, 'you certainly wouldn't haunt me--I'm your own flesh and blood.' 'Do you often talk to paintings?' Startled, she swung around. Rex Morrow was leaning casually against the doorframe, watching her. 'Only now and then.'
'Oh.' He waited a moment. 'Upstairs is clear. If anyone was in the house, he or she is definitely gone now.' 'Good.'
'Want me to call the police?' 'Think I should?' She realized that he still didn't be her. Or maybe he didn't think she was lying--just that she was neurotic. Paranoid. And maybe he even felt a little guilty about her state of mind, since he had attacked her last night.
He paused, then shrugged at last. 'Whoever it was is gone. Probably some kid from the town looking for Pierre's treasure. He probably left by that broken window. You must get it fixed.'
“I will--tomorrow. First thing. And maybe it was someone looking for Pierre's treasure. Numismatically or historically, maybe those Confederate bills are worth something.'
'Maybe.'
'They could be collectible!'
'Sure. Confederate money is collectible. It's just not usually worth...'
'Worth what?'
'Only rare bills from certain banks are worth much. But who knows?' he offered.
They stood there for several moments, looking at each other across the ballroom.
'Well,' he murmured.
'Well...' she echoed. Her gaze fell from his, and once again she wasn't at all sure what she wanted. He'd checked the place for her; she was sure now that it was empty.
He didn't want her on the peninsula. He had said so himself. It was certainly time that he left--and she should be happy for that, since he was such a doubting Thomas. But she couldn't help feeling uneasy. She didn't want him to go.
Fool! she told herself. Tell him 'Thank you very much,' then let him go. A curious warmth was spreading through her. If he left now, they could remain casual acquaintances. But if she encouraged him to stay...
It was more than fear, more than uneasiness. She wanted him to stay. She wanted to know more about him. She wanted to watch him smile.
A slight tremor shook her; the warmth flooding her increased. She had the feeling that if she had him stay now, she would never be able to turn her back on him again. She was still staring at him and he was still watching her and no words were being spoken, but tension, real and tangible, seemed to be filling the air. Alexi inhaled deeply; she cleared her throat.
