Unhallowed Ground. Heather Graham
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just did some work with us.”
“A diver?” Sarah repeated, confused.
“He’s actually a P.I. with some firm out of Virginia or D.C.—and he’s a diver,” Tim told Sarah. “He’s connected, too. The captain told me to help him out as much as I can. Will you excuse me?”
Sarah let him go, though she wanted to protest that it was her house everyone was traipsing through, and she should be the one to tell any nonessential personnel whether they could or couldn’t enter.
“He’s a damned good diver. He found a body this morning,” Will said.
“What?” Sarah, Caroline and Renee demanded in unison.
“The plot thickens,” Barry said, twisting a pretend moustache.
Sarah shot him a glance telling him that his joke was in poor taste, then turned to Will. “The missing girl?” she asked.
Will shook his head. “We were looking for her, but it was a crapshoot. We don’t know exactly when she disappeared, much less where she went, we don’t know if she was killed…the bosses decided to send divers down since she’d been at a beach party when she was last seen. They called me in as the dive master and coordinator. We didn’t find her—but your guy did discover a submerged car with a man in it. He knows his stuff—he’s a good diver.”
So he’d found a body. And now there were bodies in her house. Did that mean anything?
“His name is Caleb Anderson,” Will supplied.
“I could swear I know him from somewhere,” Caroline said.
And then, walking beside Tim, he was coming up on the porch. “I don’t think this discovery can possibly impact your search,” Tim was telling him. “This is a case for the history books—and new fodder for the ghost tours around here. Intriguing, though.”
Caleb Anderson reached the group standing just inside the door, then reached out and shook hands with Will, nodded at the others, then walked over to stand next to Sarah. “Quite a discovery,” he said to her.
“Yes, not what I was expecting, certainly,” she said.
Caroline moved forward, offering her hand. “Hi. I’m Caroline Roth. I saw you at the museum earlier. And these are our fellow docents, Barry Travis and Renee Otten.”
“Nice to meet you,” Caleb said, shaking hands all around before turning back to Sarah. “You haven’t owned the house very long?” he asked her.
“A few months,” she said.
“But she’s been in love with it forever—since we were little kids,” Caroline said. “She was working in the D.C. area and just came home a few months ago to help out at the museum. And then she got the opportunity to buy this place and jumped at it.”
Sarah stared at Caroline, wondering if her friend was going to give him her full biography. Then she wondered why it mattered. It wasn’t as if her life were a secret in any way. Still, for some reason, she thought that the stranger should have to work for his information regarding any of them—maybe because she didn’t think info about him was going to be easy to come by.
“I see. Well, it is a beautiful place—and the bones will add a nice touch of the macabre to its history—” Caleb said.
“Anderson?” Tim Jamison said, breaking in. “This way.”
“Excuse me,” Caleb said, and left them, following Tim to the almost-library, where the walls had been torn out.
“Come on,” Will said to Sarah. “Pack a bag and let’s head out. You can stay at my place tonight.”
“Or you can stay with me,” Caroline offered.
Sarah shook her head. “Will, you live in a studio. And, Caroline, no offense, because you know I love her, but your mom will just mother me to death. I’ll go to Bertie Larsen’s Tropical Breeze.”
Bertie owned a charming little B&B around the corner. At any given time there were twenty to thirty such establishments operating in town, and the owners tended to help each other out. Sometimes business in the city was the proverbial feast, and sometimes it was famine, but the owners tended to stay friends, or at least allies. As a group they could advertise or petition the city for benefits like tax breaks, benefitting them all when they worked together. And since some places accepted pets, some accepted kids and some neither, they often passed on a competitor’s name when they didn’t meet a potential guest’s criteria.
Bertie wasn’t just a fellow businesswoman, she had become a good friend who had already given Sarah lots of advice. Best of all, her inn had a number of rooms with private entrances, and Sarah was in the mood for privacy. She crossed her fingers that a room with a private entrance would be available.
“If you’re sure…” Will said.
“I am,” Sarah insisted. “I don’t mind spending the night away from home, but I want to be able to get in and out of my own house easily if I need to. And since we all agree I can’t stay here tonight, please excuse me. I’m going to gather a few things.”
Sarah didn’t wait for an answer as she hurried up to her bedroom. She’d meant to just grab her toiletries and an outfit for the next day, but she found herself sitting down on the foot of her bed instead.
“This…sucks,” she muttered aloud.
She loved her bedroom. The mattress was new, but the bed was original to the period, a massive four-poster, intricately carved. The dresser, free-standing mirror, secretary and bedside occasional tables matched the bed. The floor was hardwood, and she had stripped, stained and waxed it herself, then purchased the elegant Oriental carpet on eBay. Her clothing was hung in the wardrobe she’d gotten from Annie’s Antiques, just down Ponce. The private bath featured a claw-foot tub and porcelain taps. She felt real pride in everything she had accomplished here and in the rest of the house.
But tonight there would be people in and out. Gary had agreed to stay to help as they used echo-location to discern whether there were additional bodies entombed in the walls. And despite her own credentials, Sarah—who had worked on many burial sites but had never managed one—had agreed that the excavation of the bones should be supervised by Professor Manning, an expert from the college who had one doctorate in history and another in anthropology. She was far too close to the situation here, too involved.
She just wanted those skeletons out of her walls and respectfully interred—somewhere far away.
It was definitely going to be one hell of a story. So far the police had agreed to her request that no press be let into the house until the researchers and police had carried out the necessary investigations. The bones wouldn’t be going to a mortuary any time soon. While the circumstances leading to their presence in her walls were being determined, the bones themselves would be going to various institutes for study.
Study that would take time.
She let out a groan of frustration, stood up, grabbed her things and stuffed them into a small rolling suitcase, and then paused, looking around the room and catching sight of herself in the standing mirror. She looked too thin and too pale, she decided. Why? She wasn’t afraid of the bones, wasn’t afraid of being haunted by ghosts crying out for help. She firmly believed that the soul did not remain in the body after death.
Still, this discovery had somehow changed everything.
Her house had now become a small part of history, a part of local lore and legend, in a way she had never anticipated or wished for.
There was nothing genuinely tragic about the discovery—an undertaker of long ago had done all the right things in public, then made money by selling the same coffins over and over again. The souls of the people in the walls were long gone, and anyone who had loved them was long gone, too.
But for some reason it felt as if her life was going to be different from now on, and that made