Haunted (10 page)

"Oh, Amber can come too, of course." Theo put the Volvo in reverse. "She might like to go with some kids her own age."

"I'm sure she would," David said, mildly annoyed, "if she knew any."

Again, the winning smile. "I can help with that. Myra Cox- that's Ferd's daughter
--is a good friend of mine and her daughter, Kelly, is exactly Amber's age. She's a nice girl and I'm sure she'd love to meet Amber and introduce her to the other kids. I can give her a call tomorrow."

"That would be very nice, Theo. Thanks. And thanks again for the invitation. I'll let you know."

"Great." She reached out and touched the back of his hand lightly. "I hope you'll say yes. See you later."

"Good night."

After her taillights faded into the night mist, he turned back toward the house and stared up at it, the dance forgotten. What have I gotten us into? It was a thought both thrilling and horrifying.

Except for the tower, the entire house blazed with light. The upper story pediments were brilliant with rich color, and the
French doors leading to the terrace were absolutely exquisite. Achingly so. His gaze drifted to the third floor dormer room he and Theo had fled, but nothing looked out of place.

Then the light went out.

Shit! He felt paralyzed for what seemed like hours, then suddenly he was running toward the house. "Amber!" he yelled. "Amber!" If she'd gone up there by herself--

As he ran up the front steps, the door opened and his daughter stepped out, her jacket on, her purse slung over her shoulder. He slid to a stop just short of slamming into her.

"What's the matter, Dad?" she asked dryly. "See a ghost?"

"You weren't on the third floor just now, were you?" he asked, even as he realized it was a physical impossibility.

"No--"

"And just what do you think you're doing down here?" he demanded, his terror instantly and blessedly transforming itself into paternal anger. "I told you to stay in your room until I came for you
!”

"Don't have a cow, Dad." She shook her head slightly, as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing. "I saw the wicked witch drive away and I'm starving to death, so I grabbed my stuff and came down to meet you." She fished in the pocket of her jacket and pulled out his car keys. "Let's find food."

His anger dissolved as quickly as it had arrived. "Just let me go wash up." He handed the keys back to her. "Here, you warm up the Bronco. I'll be right out."

As he neared the stairs, he considered going up to the third floor to check the room again, but decided against it. He was reasonably sure no humans were hiding in the house, and that the light going out was merely another facet of the manifestation in the room, just as he'd told Theo. After all, that kind of garden-variety electrical phenomenon was about as mundane as it could get.

He entered the enormous bathroom for the first time since it had been cleaned. It was a delight. New grouting made the tiling, malachite green swirls with lush rose accents, seem new, and the huge claw foot tub gleamed white in its niche. He walked over, wondering if it had been re-enameled, a job he hadn't requested.

It hadn't. No one could scrub the bloodstains out of the old, porous enamel.
These stains were newer, dating back to 1968, when a small band of hippies had died here--one had died in this very tub. "Definitely," he said aloud, "this needs new enamel."

He turned to the pedestal sink that rose gracefully out of the tile, widening into a large, shell-shaped basin, which matched the mirror and frame above it. The
fixtures, nude fairies, were classic art nouveau. He turned on the hot water and scrubbed away the last vestiges of Theo's lipstick, using a sliver of Lava the workmen had left behind.

Looking at himself wasn't much fun tonight, he realized as he inspected his face. A purple-red welt was growing in a vertical slash in the center of his forehead, thanks to the smack on his head when the door flew open. Worse, it looked like Theo had left a hickey on his neck. He repositioned his collar so that it was almost hidden, then pulled his comb out and ran it through his thick caramel-colored hair. He needed a shave and there were bags under his eyes, but he'd do for now.

As he exited the bathroom, Amber leaned on the horn.

Briefly, he felt guilty for taking so long, but as he grabbed his coat from the wall rack in the foyer, he reminded himself how often he had to wait for her.

He stepped out into the cool night air and locked the door behind him. As he walked toward the Bronco, he wondered if Amber would try to punish him for his seeming indiscretion with Theo. At least she was too hungry to sulk for now.

Red Cay Public Pier: 10:10 P.M.

"There's no such thing as a blue-throated pacific night warbler," Amber said as soon as her father settled into the passenger seat. She wondered if he'd told her she could drive so that she couldn't be as mad at him for his behavior with that witch Pelinore, but she knew better than to ask.

"What?" Her dad had been staring back at the house.

"I made it up. There's no such thing as a blue-throated pacific--"

"Oh, yeah, I figured that. So what are you hungry for, kiddo?"

She glanced at the clock on the dash. "It's past ten. You think there's anything open around here? I mean, we haven't seen a McDonald's since Pismo Beach."

"You're right." Groaning, he rubbed his chin. "There was a truck stop five miles down on the main highway."

"Oh, joy."

"Yeah, I know, Amber. Wait, I have an idea. Turn left at the next intersection and head downtown. If there's night fishing, a diner around the pier might be open."

He was right. They found a place not just near the pier, but on the very end of it. A fishing boat was pulling out and a few night fisherman stood on either side of Doug's Diner, smoking and casting their lines. The foggy mist had cleared as soon as they left Byron's Finger and a three-quarter moon cast shadows of the fishermen against the wooden deck.

"At least it's got atmosphere," her dad said as they took red plastic baskets of fish and chips to a small picnic bench and sat down.

"Yeah, I wish it had a little less atmosphere." The stink of fish guts was ruining her appetite.

She wanted to talk to him about Pelinore--no, she wanted to scream at him that the woman was a piranha getting ready to eat him alive. But she couldn't, because her dad looked so tired and because she was feeling guilty about not noticing the ugly bruise on his forehead earlier. All she'd seen was the lipstick.

They sat and ate in peaceful silence until her dad went to squirt more catsup on his fries and the lid came off and drowned them. They looked at each other and laughed. "How're you holding up?" Her dad shoved a sodden French fry in his mouth. "Tired?"

"I'm fine. Do you have a headache?"

"A little." Gingerly, he touched the bump. "It looks worse than it is."

She nodded. "Good. So, what do you think, Dad? Are you going to do talk shows and stuff now that you're here and they're making a movie and all?"

"If someone asks me, sure. But I wouldn't count on it, kiddo."

"They'll ask," she assured him. "You're not just any old writer, after all."

His smile was tired. "You're a wonderful daughter. You know just what to say."

"I know." She swiped one of his catsup-coated fries. "But you're different. Face it, Daddy, you're hot stuff. You're a male Jackie Collins."

He snorted.

"Well, you are. You look pretty good and you can talk, too." She pointed a fry at him. "Haven't you ever noticed the difference between you and most of your friends?"

"Nope."

She grinned evilly. "What about that guy who picks his nose at conventions?'

"Oh, please, Amber!" He laughed in spite of himself. "He's not my friend. That S.O.B. tried to put a move on Melanie, right in front of me." He paused, looking like he was startled to hear himself say her name. "Besides, he writes science fiction." He added the last like it was a curse.

Amber snickered. "He flirts with everybody and Melanie was just trying to get him as a client."

"She did it, too."

"Everybody but you, Dad."

"Everybody but me," he said sadly.

Amber was sorry she'd brought it up. She was pretty sure his refusal to throw over Georgina Gordon--the agent who'd been with him since the beginning- in favor of Melanie was what really broke them up. Plus, Melanie was a horrible flirt.

"Dad?"

"What?"

"Most writers don't look so hot. Especially guys. That's why they aren't on TV much." She was determined to cheer him up if it killed her.

"Oh."

He still sounded depressed, so she pressed on. "A lot of your friends don't have much hair left and they practically all have big butts. But you still look pretty good, considering how ancient you are."

"Thank you, I think." He smiled, and the skin around his eyes crinkled up the way she wanted. "I seem to recall you pestering Rick half to death a couple of years ago at the horror writers' convention. You thought he was hot stuff."

She felt herself blush. "Well, I guess he looks pretty good, but I don't go for blondes anymore." For some reason that made her dad grin broadly.

"Is that why you decided you liked Tim?" he needled. Lord! Once you start him you can't stop him! She almost wished he hadn't perked up. "Tim's got a great bod. Everybody knows that."

Like most of her friends, she'd started getting crushes on guys when she was around eleven. While most of her friends wanted rock stars, she'd been turned into a book nut by her dad and, until she was around fourteen, she'd get a crush on one writer or another, which was great, because they were always hanging around with her father.

She had started weaning herself about two years ago, when her father started getting famous and her friends wouldn't leave him alone. She hoped she hadn't acted as weird as they did. It was mortifying to witness. Thank God she hadn't been like Heather Ferguson and written stupid love letters--as it was, she could hardly look several of her dad's friends in the eye, and all she'd done was hang around and look moony. Heather, on the other hand, had written to her dad, and sent some Polaroids, too, but he wouldn't show them to her--he'd wadded them up and tossed them in the fire.

"Earth to Amber," her dad was saying. "Earth to Amber."

"Okay, Daddy, I know I had crushes on some of your friends, but I was just a little kid, so stop teasing me. I was trying to make you feel better."

He reached across the table and patted her hand. "I know. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to tease you."

She squeezed his fingers and looked him in the eye. "You know, if you worked out more, you could have a body like Tim's... "

"I guess I deserved that for teasing you."

"Yeah." She smiled. "You know, I'm a lot older now. I date."

"I know," he said glumly.

"So, maybe you should let me go out with your editor's assistant next time we go to New York. He's more my type." He stared at her, obviously unsure whether she was serious or not. "He's too old for you, kiddo."

At last year's Christmas party, Amber and Joanna's assistant, Rex, had gotten pretty friendly, and he had asked her out on a date. Then her dad got wind of it and told the young man that he was her father and that she was a mere sixteen. He'd used that tone of voice he had that could make suitors wet their pants. Rex hadn't asked a second time, to Amber's sorrow. Truthfully, she was a little serious. "I'm almost seventeen."

"He's too old for you," he said sternly.

"Okay, okay." She'd pushed one of her father's buttons again and she didn't even know it. Wanting him to stay in a good mood, she backed off a little. "But you've gotta admit, Rex sure smells good."

"I hadn't noticed," Dad said impassively. "Are you finished eating?"

Nodding, she rose and helped him dump the trash, then they walked outside, pausing on the south side of the pier to gaze at the high cliffs of Byron's Finger. The house, visible because of the lights left on, was almost directly across from where they stood. The beacon at Widow's Peak was considerably farther out to sea.

A pair of fishermen, carrying their gear, came around the end of the pier from the other side. "Look at that. That fool writer really did move into Body House."

It was an elderly woman's voice and the male voice that responded, "I'll be damned," sounded just as old. Amber didn't turn to look and she prayed her father wouldn't do anything embarrassing, like introduce himself.

"Ferd, over to the store, told me the fool'd shown up," the man continued. "But you know Ferd."

"Half of what he says is ferdilizer." The woman replied, and they both cackled.

Her father cleared his throat and started to turn, but Amber grabbed his arm as hard as she could. He got the message.

"You know what else Ferd said?" the fisherman asked his companion.