Give Up the Ghost: A Haunted Home Renovation Mystery (25 page)

He started looking around him.

I rolled my eyes skyward and held my hands out to my sides palms up, thumb touching forefinger, as I’d learned in that infernal yoga class.

I don’t know any actual spells or chants, so I took a chance that he wasn’t bilingual, and started rattling off the names of tools in Spanish:
“Destornillador, herramienta,
Chantelle
. Llave inglesa, hilo de plomada!”

“Stop that! What are you doing?”

“Calling on Chantelle, of course,” I said, closing my eyes and continuing to chant:
“Martillo, piquet,
Chantelle
. Sierra circular!”

“That’s crap! You said you can’t do stuff like that.”

I opened one eye. “I said I could talk to the dead, and I can. Chantelle couldn’t tell me who killed her, but she sure as shingles can show up right now and give me a hand.”

Someone was coming down the staircase.

Mason whirled around and fired off a shot.

T
he bullet had no effect on Peregrine Summerton, who stood looking as full of rage as ever—though now that I’d read his journal, I thought I saw deep sorrow in those ghostly eyes.

At that moment George Flynt emerged from the stairwell from the ground floor. He was pulling himself up with help from the rail, yelling, “Mason, stop!”

Mason fired at Peregrine again, but hit George, who went down like a sack of potatoes.

“Damned old man!” I wasn’t sure at first whether Mason was referring to Peregrine or George, but then he clarified: “Everyone
else
at school had a trust fund, but I have to work every damned day of my life?”

“Listen to me, Mason,” I said. “Hey! Only your grandfather knows about the embezzling, right?” That was a blatant falsehood, since Annette told me the police were already investigating this angle. But I was desperately trying to think of some way of distracting him, so he didn’t shoot again and hit his target. “I can fix this!”

“Fix it, how?”

“Up in Egypt’s room she has all that high-tech equipment, she knows about what was going on, right? Well, I happen to be a computer genius myself. Remember? You told your grandfather I hacked into the computers at Tempus.”

“I was lying when I said that. I was hoping he’d go after you.”

“Okay, but it happened to be true. Let’s go up there, and I can wipe away all traces of the evidence. How hard could it be?”

He studied my face, as though trying to decide whether or not to believe me.

“You mean like Dad did, when he hired Egypt to wipe the Internet of all the references to Crosswinds being haunted?”

“Exactly. That’s exactly what I mean. Look how successful she was, and we’ll do the same.”

I didn’t have much of a plan. But old cranky-pants Peregrine had disappeared, darn the man, and I didn’t know how badly George was hurt. If I could get Mason away from him, maybe George could call for help. And maybe I’d see Peregrine again and freak Mason out, or I could trip him as we climbed up the stairs, or I could send a computer message for help, or . . . something.

“Come on, Mason. I understand how you feel, you’ve been working so hard and it just doesn’t seem fair. You know what? My dad’s just like that: No matter how hard I work it’s just not good enough.” I was working on my lying skills. “But we’ll go take care of things, and then you won’t have to worry.”

I wasn’t kidding myself. Mason had been cold-blooded enough to knife Chantelle at close range because he thought she read his mind. He would dispatch me just as dispassionately as soon as I was no longer useful.

I had my own cell phone in my pocket, but I couldn’t manage to dial 911 without looking. And it would be too risky to take it out.

“All right,” said Mason. “But I have to do something with Grandpop.”

Grandpop opened his mouth, no doubt to say something sneering and dismissive. Behind Mason, I held my finger to my mouth in the universal “shhh” sign and widened my eyes.
Now would be the time to shut the hell up, old man.

“How about we tie him up?” I suggested. “He’s so old and he can barely walk and you shot him. Let him bleed out right here.”

“You think?”

“I don’t think you should risk another gunshot. Not in this neighborhood. Somebody’s bound to hear and call the cops.”

“Good point. Okay. Use that drapery cord and tie him up. Tightly.”

I took the cord over to where George sat on the floor. He was fully conscious, and I didn’t think he was in any danger of bleeding out, as his white shirt showed only a small red stain.

“Sorry,” I whispered as I crouched and started tying his hands. “Are you okay?”

“My golf game will be shot to hell,” he muttered. “But I think it’s a flesh wound.”

“Oh, and sorry for knocking you down earlier.”

He snorted.

“Stop talking!” Mason said.

But as I finished tying the knot, I leaned in and whispered,
“Fake a heart attack.”

George immediately started hyperventilating and as I was pretending to tie up his hands, moaned and keeled over.

“What happened? What did you
do
?” asked Mason, as though worried I had just hurt his beloved Grandpop.

“I don’t know,” I said. “It’s . . . probably a heart attack. All this stress.”

Mason nodded slowly. “It’s hard to believe, someone like him, you think he’ll go on forever but he’s mortal like the rest of us.”

“That’s true. We should probably call nine-one-one, get the paramedics here.”

“Are you crazy? If he dies now, I won’t have to deal with him later.”

It had been worth a shot. George lay on the floor, convincingly pale and inert. Part of me feared he’d had a real heart attack, but whether the family scion was alive or dead wasn’t the biggest of my problems at the moment.

Mason moved in and checked to see that the cord was tied tightly enough. He nodded.

“Good job. Now, hand me his cell phone. And yours too, now that I think about it.”

I set my hopes on tripping Mason as we mounted the stairs to the fourth floor. Or maybe Peregrine would be helpful for once and scare the crap out of the man with the gun, or throw a pie or something.

“Here, let’s use the elevator,” said Mason in that friendly tone I was used to. As though he just wanted to spare me the exertion of the stairs.

“I’d rather use the stairs.”

“What, claustrophobic too? What is it with you people? Time to face your fears, young lady.”

He gestured with the gun and I headed to the elevator, which was small, making for a very tight fit. Mason and I were basically chest-to-chest in there.

I was trying to avoid his eyes.

The doors opened at the fourth floor, and Mason scanned the scene before allowing me out.

“Okay, let’s go.”

Egypt’s door was locked, as usual. Mason rattled the knob, in a way that reminded me of his father trying to get in, just a few days ago, the first time I set foot in this haunted mansion.

“
Dammit.
Why would she lock it?”

I had to laugh. Until he raised the gun in my direction.

“I’m sorry, Mason. It’s just that your father said exactly the same thing, the first time I took a tour of the house with him. I think you’re more like him than you know.”

He looked uncomfortable, torn between being pleased and insulted.

“He seems like a good man,” I said.

“He slept with Chantelle. She rejected me but went for him? It’s like Grandpop always says: It’s all about the money.”

“Why did you kill her?”

“She read my mind, you believe that? When she came here to figure out what was going on with the ghosts. . . . I should have skipped that particular family night, but Mom insisted.”

“So she threatened you with exposure?”

“At first she wanted money, but I pointed out that was why I had to steal it, because I didn’t
have
any money. Not
real
money, because of Grandpop’s insistence on treating us like salaried employees. So she said she would keep quiet if I worked with her, got her in on the ground floor at Tempus in time for her to make a killing in the IPO.”

“And you were living up to your end of the deal, right?”

“I was! And I had to go up against Grandpop to do it. But then Egypt hacked in and figured things out and wanted part of the action, and now Grandpop . . .”

He shook his head, and I saw tears in his eyes. He swore and kicked the locked door, a frustrated little boy.

“If we can’t get in . . .” He let out a long exasperated breath. “I don’t know. I guess I shoot you now, then go take care of Grandpop if he’s still alive, and take off.”

The weathervane squeaked loudly overhead.

“Oh hey, that reminds me,” I said. “There’s a spare key to Egypt’s room up on the roof. She told me.”

“Up on the roof?” he frowned. “Why the roof?”

“Because Egypt wanted to keep everyone out of her room. She wanted a little privacy; can’t blame her for that.”

“Why the roof?” he repeated.

“Would you think to look for a key on the roof?”

“No, I guess not. Where is it?”

“Under the eaves. Want me to get it? There’s no way for me to escape up there, and I’ll come right back.”

“You could call to the neighbors for help.”

“But you’d just shoot me, so that wouldn’t do me any good.”

“I’ll go with you.”

Rats.
Still, maybe George had managed to go for help. I had tied only his hands, so he could have run. Except that he was not a young man, and I’d pushed him to the ground, and then he’d been shot and he had bad knees.

Where the hell was Peregrine? Why couldn’t old cranky-pants show up when a person needed him? When he came down the stairs earlier, I had been sure he would be my salvation.

Instead, as we started up the spiral stairs, Mason at my back, there were photos of Flora on every other step. Flora dressed as an acrobat, as a wood sprite, as an equestrian. And beside her, in one of the photographs, was Chantelle. Dressed just like her, standing arm in arm.

“Did you notice the photos?” I asked Mason.

He had been stepping on them, apparently not caring.

“
Destornillador, herramienta,
Chantelle,” I started muttering
. “Llave inglesa, hilo de plomada!
Chantelle!
”

“Stop that, or I’ll—”

“She’s already here, Mason, look! She’s here in the photos!” I picked it up and thrust it at him. He grabbed it.

“What? How—”

While he was distracted I shoved the skylight open and bolted through, then slammed it shut. I raced across the turret roof to the ladder and shimmied down, landing on the flat part of the roof.

M
ason popped up through the window and shot once, hitting an eave by my ear, splinters raining down all around me.

The weathervane spun wildly.

Mason started down the ladder. While his back was turned to me I threw myself at him, slamming his gun hand as hard as I could against the metal rung.

He dropped the gun and we both lunged for it, rolling on the roof. Suddenly there was another presence with us.

“Get off the roof!”

Finally Peregrine decides to show up, I thought, as Mason and I struggled, both of us with our hands on the gun. Mason didn’t seem to notice the ghostly voice, intent as he was on wresting the gun from me.

We were locked together, rolling on the slanted section of the roof, while he tried to use sheer force to turn the muzzle of the gun toward me.

There was no way he would miss this time.

I concentrated every ounce of strength on keeping the gun at bay. But the muzzle turned toward me,
millimeter by millimeter. My strength was almost gone; I was outmuscled.

Suddenly Peregrine was right in our faces.

“What is the meaning of this?”
he yelled.
“And who is that man bleeding in my hallway?”

“Ahhhh!” Mason screamed, rearing back and letting go of the gun.

Without thinking about it, I fired. Mason looked stunned, and a bloom of red appeared on the shoulder of his shirt.

“Mason, I’m sorry,” I said, inanely apologizing to the man trying to kill me. “I’ll get help, wait—”

But Peregrine wasn’t waiting. He was berating Mason, putting his ghostly face right into Mason’s, giving him a dressing-down. “Leave me in peace! Leave me my
photographs
! They’re all I have left!
Leave me my
Flora!
”

Mason backed away, crawling on the slippery roof tiles, making a whimpering sound.

“Mason, be careful, you’re going too far—”

One foot fell over the edge of the roof. There was nothing for him to hold on to; he splayed, belly-down, on the shingles, trying to keep from slipping farther. He looked behind him, surprise registering on his face.

Then he held out his uninjured hand to me. “Help me! Please!”

I looked around for something to hold on to. If I tried to help him up, would I be able to? Or would he pull me over the edge with him?

“
Wait
, Mason. Don’t move, let me—”

I whipped off my leather belt, attached it to the base of the weathervane, then held on to it with one hand while reaching to Mason with the other.

He reached up for me, and grasped my hand. I tried to pull him up, hoping he didn’t pull my arm out of its socket. The gun was still in my pocket and I tried to
calculate how quickly I could get to it, once Mason was up and safe and, no doubt, newly homicidal.

I heard someone on the turret roof and twisted around to look.

“Landon!” I yelled.

No ladder for him. Swearing a blue streak, he leaped off the turret, clambered up one side of the roof until he was at the peak, near the weathervane.

He held on to the belt and with his much longer arms was able to easily reach Mason’s wrist, and pull him up far enough for Mason to get purchase on the roof tiles.

I let go, relief surging through me. My shoulder ached. I grabbed the gun and kept it trained on Mason, who was now splayed on the tiles far enough up to be out of danger.

“I swear, you really
are
like a bad penny,” I said, breathless. “What are you doing here?”

“You said you found the weathervane so I assumed, correctly, that you would want to install it right away. You didn’t return my texts so I thought I’d come over, see if you needed a little backup.”

“Maybe Chantelle wasn’t the only mind reader in your family.”

He gave a humorless laugh. “Could I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Did you shoot the old man downstairs?”

I heard sirens in the distance and started to laugh in exhaustion. “Didn’t George tell you?”

“He seems to have passed out, but he’s alive. I called nine-one-one. Is he another culprit, then? I left him tied up, just in case.”

“No, this is Mason’s—”

At that moment Mason lunged at the gun in my hand. Landon launched himself at Mason, and the three of us
rolled down the steep roof again. I nearly panicked when I felt my feet slip over the edge.

Landon grabbed my arm with one hand and an eave with another.

Mason kept rolling. He caught the rain gutter, and our eyes locked for an instant before he lost his grip and disappeared.

His bloodcurdling scream blended with the deafening sirens of emergency vehicles.

I squeezed my eyes shut. I was still hanging half over the edge, dangling four stories above the sidewalk. Only Landon’s white-knuckled grip kept me from sharing Mason’s fate.

“I don’t think I can . . .” I gasped. Upper body strength wasn’t my strong suit.

“None of that, now, General,” Landon said. “Hang on. We’ll do this slowly but surely.”

Inch by inch, he hoisted me up as I used every last bit of my energy to scrabble on the tiles until I was high enough that I could collapse, sprawl on my back, and catch my breath.

“Thanks for the hand,” I said, panting and blinking as I gazed up at the sun.

“Anytime,” Landon whispered, rolling over and leaning over me. He ran his fingers along my forehead, and his hand cupped my cheek, as though to be sure I was okay. “You truly are the most astonishing woman, Mel Turner.”

•   •   •

“Okay, let’s go over this again,” said Annette. I was sitting on the bumper of an ambulance with a blanket wrapped around my shoulders. An EMT was trying to get me to drink a cup of juice and Annette Crawford was peppering me with questions, but all I wanted to do was sleep. Adrenaline crash.

Also, I was desperately trying not to look toward the spot on the sidewalk where Mason Flynt had landed. The first responders had put up some plastic barriers and there were so many people standing around that I wouldn’t have been able to observe anything, anyway, but I still didn’t want to take the chance of seeing something I couldn’t later
un
see. It was enough to have his final scream echoing through my head.

“When Chantelle came in to do the reading of the house, she took each family member in a separate room for privacy and gave them each a reading,” I said. “Andrew had to pay a lot extra for all of that.”

“Why would he have done that?” Annette asked.

“I think it was Stephanie’s idea. She thought Chantelle would be able to give them all special guidance from beyond. She couldn’t have known what would come of it all.”

“I hear Chantelle was pretty sought after,” said Annette.

I nodded. “Very exclusive. Anyway, I guess she really was able to read Mason’s mind, or maybe he just got himself worked up and let something slip.”

“I don’t suppose we’ll ever know that for sure.”

“I think you’re right.” I sipped my juice. It helped. “Meanwhile, Egypt, the computer whiz, had done some Internet work for Andrew, then stayed on as caretaker here and met Chantelle. Then she hacked into the company’s computers and got hard-and-fast proof of the embezzlement. Chantelle then pressured Mason into supporting her bid to become a spokesperson for Tempus, Ltd.”

“She was smart enough to think of her future, rather than focusing on the immediate payoff of blackmail.”

“But then Mason panicked when he realized his father had called in yet another psychic.”

“Who?”

“Mel Turner, at your service.”

“You’re a psychic?” Annette asked, raising her eyebrow. “I thought you could just see ghosts, sometimes.”

“True, but I guess it’s a kind of psychic ability.”

“Some might even say psychosis,” she said with a smile.

“Cute.” I hugged the blanket a little tighter around my shoulders.

“And Mason went to Chantelle’s on the day of her death to try to get her to call things off, to keep you out of Crosswinds. They had words, and he just lost it. Or . . . he clearly evaded the security cameras, so maybe he went there with the express intent of killing her. Another thing we’ll probably never know for sure.”

I nodded. “And then today, George seems to have figured out Mason was the one embezzling funds. I remember when I was at the Tempus offices, he told Lacey that her brother was handling the books for the audit.”

“George said you knocked him down.”

“My bad. He was pretty antipsychic in that moment, so I thought he was the killer. How is he?”

“He’ll live. The gunshot wound isn’t serious, and he’s a pretty tough old bird. He was yelling at the paramedics to ‘wrap him up so he could go home.’”

I smiled. “I’m glad. He’s got a very dysfunctional family, but I’m glad he’s not seriously hurt. Maybe they’ll all pull together now, learn to work together.”

Annette snorted in a pretty good impression of George Flynt. “And pigs will fly.”

“Anyway, I managed to convince Mason that George had a heart attack, and then got him to go up on the roof.”

“And what were you doing on the roof?”

“Looking for a key to Egypt’s room”—I yawned—
“so I could go in and wipe the computers of all the embezzling info.”

One eyebrow went up. “How were you going to manage that?”

“I was playing it by ear. As it happens, once out on the roof Peregrine joined us, and we rolled around a lot, and then . . .” I cleared my throat and drank a little more juice. “And then Landon came and rescued me and Mason, and then Mason lunged at us again, and then he fell off the roof.”

“And somewhere in there you shot him.”

I nodded, but couldn’t speak.

“I’m going to assume it was self-defense?” she said very gently.

“Yeah,” I croaked. “I don’t even . . . What scares me is that I don’t even really remember doing it. We were struggling for the weapon, and the ghost appeared and scared Mason, and I shot him. Just like that.”

“It happens that way sometimes. The instinct for self-preservation is strong.”

I nodded.

“We’ll have to do a little more investigation, Mel, but I’m going to guess it will be declared self-defense. He forced you upstairs at gunpoint, and George Flynt and Landon Demetrius both attest to that.”

“Good.”

“You okay?”

I nodded.

“There are people you can talk to, you know. It might not be a bad idea. You’ve seen a lot; sometimes this sort of thing haunts a person. No pun intended.”

“Thanks, Annette. Right now I’d just like to go home and sleep, if that’s possible.”

“You’ve got it.”