I took a few moments to wander down the west wing hallway and open the doors to beautifully decorated-and unused-bedrooms. It was a huge place where Estelle could still be hiding.
I found a small study and stepped inside to admire some of the artwork. The vivid swirls of color in a contemporary oil were particularly fascinating. I couldn’t make out the name of the artist, but I made a mental note to ask Federico later. Just as I was turning away from the painting, I heard what sounded like a moan, the old haunted house version of a haunting. The noise was muffled and unclear, but it was definitely someone-or something-in distress.
It wasn’t an auditory hallucination. Sweetie spun, looking in all directions, a low whine coming from her. We both held perfectly still for a moment. The faint sound came again. Distant and indistinct, I couldn’t tell where it came from or even if it was human. It could have been a dove in a chimney or even someone out on the grounds.
The latter was easy enough to check, and I went to a window and forced it open. The sun had set completely, but the driveway was well lit. This wing gave a good view of the front slope of lawn, the border of trees, and the white shell lane that meandered to the main road. The grassy lawn was in darkness, and someone could be hiding behind a tree or shrub, but I was fairly certain the sound hadn’t come from outside.
Ricardo had said he’d heard something. A water pipe with a low-pitched complaint? An animal in the upper regions of the house?
Or someone deliberately messing with him-and me.
I closed the window with a bang and marched back toward the east wing and my room. Someone was playing me for a fool.
“If Ricardo is messing with us,” I said to Sweetie, “we’re going to find him.”
Sweetie gave a soft yodel of approval. She always backed my play. We’d almost made it to the staircase when Sweetie froze. I nearly tripped on her. It was as if she’d been turned into stone.
“Sweetie,” I said, nudging her with my knee. “Get a move on.”
She remained stock-still, her gaze riveted at the end of the hall. The hairs on the back of my neck did a little dance, and I slowly shifted my gaze to the end of the hallway.
A woman in a red dressing gown stood at the top of the staircase. Her dark hair was pulled softly back off her face, and she held something in her hands-a piece of material of some kind. She seemed to waver and shift in and out of focus.
“Help me.” The sound came to me not like speech, but like something underwater. The words were indistinct. I put out a hand as if I could touch the air and feel the words.
“Stop it,” she said. Her mouth didn’t move when she spoke, but I heard her.
“You’ll di-i-i-ie.” The last word was a wail, and her dark eyes seemed to glow with a red light.
Before I could react at all, Sweetie growled low in her throat and bounded toward the figure. In the three seconds it took for her to reach the place where the woman had stood, there was nothing there. Not a trace of her.
From above me I heard what sounded like the footsteps of a running child. My heart seemed to catch in my throat. The scream that wanted to escape couldn’t.
With Sweetie Pie at my heels, I ran down the stairs and out the front door into the warm embrace of the night.
Fifteen minutes later, I’d managed to calm myself and ventured back in the house as far as the kitchen. The smell of brewing coffee gave me some comfort, and I’d found some grilled chicken in the refrigerator for Sweetie.
I poured myself some strong black java and took several deep breaths, calming my body and trying to remember exactly what I’d seen and heard.
It was possible that we’d failed to discover all the secret passages. If that was the case, then the figure I’d seen could easily be a normal, flesh-and-blood human. A human who could move quickly, for sure. And I chose to believe that because the alternative was unacceptable. A ghost who made threats was more than I could handle.
“Jitty,” I called my ancestral haint. “Jitty, I need you.”
Outside, a tree limb brushed against the window and I bolted out of my seat. When I picked up the chair I’d knocked over and looked around the room, my heart lurched again. A woman in a dark dress, white apron tied at the waist, stood in the doorway.
“That’s not the way Mrs. DeWinter does it,” she said in a severe tone that matched her hair pulled tight in a bun at the back of her neck.
By the time I recognized Jitty, I thought I was in the first stages of a heart attack. “If you weren’t already dead, I’d be tempted to kill you.”
“You’re a poor imitation of Rebecca,” she said, walking around me and examining me as if I were a hunk of rancid beef. “So callow. So young and desperate to please.”
“Damn it, that’s not funny.” I was steamed. “And those aren’t even the lines from the movie. You’re just making that up.”
Jitty laughed. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she said.
It was pointless to get angry with her. She was having a blast playing Mrs. Danvers from the movie based on Daphne du Maurier’s book,
“Mrs. Danvers had all the best moments in the film. She was really creepy. But I have to say, it would be nice to kiss Sir Laurence Olivier. Maybe I’ll put that on my to-do list.”
Even if I was still angry with her, I was glad to have company, especially a spirit who was on my side.
“You look peaked, Sarah Booth. What’s wrong?” she asked.
This time I was determined to press her. “Is there another spirit in this house?”
Jitty took a seat at the kitchen table, unpinned her hair, and let it fall around her shoulders. “I don’t know if I can answer that question.”
“Can’t or won’t.” I was still a bit testy. “I saw a woman upstairs. I’ve seen her before, but never that close. She said I was going to die.”
Worry shifted across Jitty’s face, and when she looked up at me, I thought I saw a tear in the corner of her eye. “Sarah Booth, there are bad spirits as well as good ones. There are those who stay behind to exact revenge, or because they lost their way. They’re confused and they can lash out.”
The hair on my arms was standing straight up. “Is there such a spirit in this house?” I asked.
“What do you believe?”
“I don’t know.”
“And that’s why I can’t help you. If you told anyone about me, they’d think you were crazy.”
“But-”
She held up a hand to stop me so that she could continue. “Whatever I say, you’ll believe, because you believe in me. You’ve walked a long way to bein’ a grown-up woman, and this is a road only you can walk. You have to decide.”
“But-”
She stood up abruptly. “Listen to your heart, Sarah Booth. And while you’re at it, listen to your womb. That good-lookin’ man is offerin’ to plant a crop. I foresee a mighty fine harvest.”
And before I could even protest, she was gone and I heard the front door open on the
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“Chablis was so excited to see us!” Tinkie bustled into the kitchen, unloading a shopping bag filled with tequila. “I thought we’d have some drinks tomorrow, before everyone started leaving. Sort of an end of shooting in Petaluma party.”
Even in Costa Rica, Tinkie was the perfect hostess. She thought of the things I should have done. As a failed
