The Abandoned Page 4

  “So do you want a ride or not?” he queried.

  An alarm sounded in her head, but so faintly Ree could easily ignore it. “Yes, a ride would be nice. I live a few blocks north of here. Just at the edge of campus.”

  “You’re a student then?”

  “I’m working on my master’s thesis, but I also volunteer at the Milton H. Farrante Psychiatric Hospital.”

  She could almost hear the wheels turning inside his head. Disoriented girl alone in an old graveyard…

  “I’m a psych major,” she added.

  “Ah.” He made it sound as if that explained everything. “Do you have a name?”

  “Ree Hutchins.”

  “I’m Hayden Priest. Recent law school graduate and soon-to-be attorney when and if I pass the South Carolina bar.” He took a few tentative steps toward her. When she didn’t retreat, he offered his hand and she reluctantly shook it. A surge of electricity shot up her arm and she felt a little light-headed from the contact. Embarrassed, she dropped his hand and clutched the front of her top, which she’d buttoned all the way up to her neck. It was a little late for modesty, though, seeing as how he’d already seen her half naked. Ree actually caught herself wondering about the impression she’d made on him. Idiot.

  His eyes glinted in the moonlight. “Still don’t trust me?”

  “I haven’t decided yet.” Then why had she told him her name and where she worked? Why not just give him a handwritten invitation to stalk her? At least she’d had the good sense to be vague about where she lived. Not that it would matter if she accepted a ride and/or he turned out to be a serial killer.

  She glanced around the old cemetery. Where the mist thinned, she could see stone faces glowing in the moonlight. All those sightless eyes unnerved her.

  “What are you doing out here anyway?” she asked with a shiver.

  He scratched the back of his arm. “I’m on assignment.”

  “What kind of assignment?”

  “I’m doing some testing for the Charleston Institute for Parapsychology Studies. Ever hear of it?”

  That got Ree’s attention. “You’re a ghost hunter?”

  “I prefer paranormal investigator. Ghost hunter is so limiting and I’m not opposed to tracking down vampires and werewolves, or even zombies, if it comes to it.”

  A chill crawled up her spine even though she knew he was joking. At least…she hoped he was. “That seems an odd avocation for a lawyer.”

  “Soon to be lawyer. The courts are pretty keen on that distinction.”

  “So you’re here in the cemetery looking for ghosts?”

  “Listening for ghosts. There’s a difference.”

  “Have you heard anything?” she asked anxiously. “Voices, music…chanting…”

  “Chanting?” He moved a step closer. Despite his easy manner, his gaze was extremely potent. “Now that would be interesting, but no. I haven’t been able to pick up so much as a whisper. No EVPs, no spikes in the EMF readings, no fluctuations in temperature, nothing on the K-2 meter or Frank’s Box. Nothing, nada, zilch.”

  “Then why not give up?”

  “Because something is here.” His voice dropped and Ree sensed a tremor of excitement go through him. “Can’t you feel it? It’s like an echo…a vibration…”

  Ree felt something when he looked at her like that. “But no ghosts,” she said.

  He shrugged.

  “Maybe you don’t hear them because they don’t exist.”

  “A nonbeliever, I take it.”

  “Have you ever seen one?”

  “No,” he admitted.

  “Heard one?”

  “Debatable.”

  “And yet you still believe.”

  He didn’t say anything to that, but merely gazed down at her. He looked pale and very mysterious in the moonlight. Ree trembled in spite of herself.

  “Tell me about your dream,” he finally said.

  She really didn’t want to talk about it, especially with him, but the moment he took her arm, she was lost. An odd bond had formed between them, one she still didn’t fully trust. But neither could she ignore it. She dropped down on the steps of the mausoleum beside him, and for some reason, it didn’t seem so strange anymore. He was easy to talk to, a very good listener, and Ree found herself telling him about some of the things she’d experienced since Miss Violet’s death, carefully skirting the blackmail scheme. If that somehow got back to Dr. Farrante, he’d suspect she was the source and she shuddered to think how far he might go to protect his work and his family’s legacy.

  “You think Miss Violet’s death somehow triggered the dream?” Hayden asked when she was finished.

  “Probably. But she wasn’t the young woman in the blue dress. I’m almost certain of that. I think that woman was her mother, Ilsa. According to the inscription in the book, Ilsa was ten years old in 1915. Violet was well into her eighties when she died, which means she would have been born in the early twenties when Ilsa was a teenager.”

  “How do you suppose Violet ended up in the psychiatric hospital?”

  “I have no idea. But she was there for years. As long as anyone on staff can remember. I think her confinement was somehow connected to her mother. Something bad happened to Ilsa in this cemetery.”

  “You said you heard chanting in your dream. Could you tell what they were saying?”

  “Not really. I had the sense that it was some sort of ritual, but it was just a dream.”

  “And yet here you are.”

  Here he was, too. Ree had to wonder about a man who could seem so completely at ease in an abandoned cemetery in the dead of night.

  “It’s possible Ilsa is trying to communicate with you,” he said.

  “Through my dream?”

  “Have you had any other unusual experiences? Cold spots, electrical surges, anything like that?”

  Ree thought about the radio playing in her bedroom and the stopped clock beside Violet’s bed. She thought about the frosted windows, the musty smell in her apartment, the sensation of someone behind her. And she drew a shaky breath.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “I don’t believe in ghosts.”

  “Noted.”

  “But…ever since Violet died, I’ve had this sensation of being followed, of needing to glance over my shoulder. And I’ve been hearing this strange song. It’s so haunting. Like a lost memory.”

  “Go on.”

  “That’s pretty much it. It’s all just my imagination, of course. I’ve been working too hard and I’m under a lot of pressure with my thesis. The mind can play tricks when exhausted.”

  “Are you sure that’s all it is?”

  She hugged her arms around her middle. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

  “Before tonight, you probably thought sleepwalking in an old graveyard pretty unlikely.”

  “That’s different.” But an icy finger traced along Ree’s spine. “Do you really think I’m experiencing some sort of paranormal activity?”

  He turned to gaze out over the crumbling graveyard. “I think there are a lot of things in this world—and the next—that can’t be explained.”

  His tone, more than his words, deepened Ree’s chill. “Supposing I am being haunted. Why me?”

  “Could be a simple matter of proximity. The ghost needed a conduit and you were handy. Or…”

  She glanced at him. “Or what?”

  “There’s a Chinese legend about hungry ghosts. Entities that devour human emotions. Spirits whose sole purpose is to sustain themselves in our realm by feeding on our warmth and energy.”

  It disturbed Ree greatly that he didn’t appear to be joking this time. “How do you get rid of them?”

  “You don’t. They get rid of you by slowly draining your life force.”

  She hugged herself more tightly. “Just so you know…I still don’t believe in ghosts. But if you’re trying to frighten me, you’re doing a damn fine job.”

  “Good. Becaus
e until you know the kind of entity you’re dealing with, you have to tread carefully. Best-case scenario, this ghost has an agenda. In which case, all you have to do is find out what she wants.”

  “As simple as that.”

  “Dealing with ghosts is never a simple matter,” he warned. “Rule Number One: hope for the best and prepare for the worst.”

  “What’s Rule Number Two?”

  He hesitated. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

  “We?”

  “I’m a ghost hunter, you’ve got a ghost. Match made in heaven. Or hell, depending.”

  Looking back the next morning, Ree could almost believe the episode in the cemetery had been part of her “Ilsa” dream because the alternative was just too distressing. At some point during the night, she’d gotten out of bed, left her apartment wearing nothing but pajamas and trekked all the way across campus and through the woods where she’d somehow scaled the wall of an abandoned cemetery and tried to seduce a complete stranger. She hated to think what could have happened if anyone but Hayden had been in that graveyard.

  But he’d been the perfect gentleman. Not only had he seen her home safely, he’d even provided his cell phone number in case she found herself in another compromising situation. He’d been so kind, in fact, that Ree had felt obligated to return the favor. Well…not obligated really. In truth, she’d wanted to make it easy for him to contact her because he was the first guy she’d felt attracted to in ages.

  After he’d dropped her off last night, Ree had spent an unseemly amount of time thinking about him. She was at such a critical stage of her thesis that any spare moment of the day or night should have been devoted to her writing. But no. Even though she hadn’t been the slightest bit sleepy, she’d crawled into bed and lain there wondering how old he was, where he came from, if he was in a relationship.

  It was almost inconceivable that she could be so obsessed after everything else that had happened to her. And he was a ghost hunter, of all things. Not in a million years would she have imagined herself attracted to someone so alternative. But maybe that was part of the appeal. He was the complete opposite of her.

  Ree was still thinking about him as she got ready for class. She had the television turned down low so it was easy to let her mind wander and her thoughts had meandered off into a rather fascinating direction—her and Hayden cocooned in a misty cemetery. Alone and forgotten as if the world outside those walls had simply evaporated. Talk about interesting subtext.

  Then, as she stood stuffing a stack of research notes into her messenger bag, a photograph flashed across the screen and she forgot all about Hayden. Gasping, Ree grabbed the remote to turn up the volume.

  Jared Tisdale, the man she’d seen coming out of Dr. Farrante’s office, had been found shot to death in his home early that morning. The police had no suspects, no witnesses and no apparent motive.

  No suspects…no motive…

  Ree dropped heavily onto the sofa. Less than twenty-four hours ago, she’d overheard Jared Tisdale blackmailing Nicholas Farrante. And now Tisdale was dead.

  Don’t jump to conclusions. The man’s death might not have anything to do with that argument. Tisdale had said he owed a lot of money to some very unsavory people. It wasn’t a huge leap to assume his murder was somehow connected to his gambling debts.

  Ree was still trying to convince herself none of this was her concern when the phone rang. She jumped in spite of herself. Normally, she was a calm and levelheaded person, but the news of Tisdale’s death had rattled her.

  Still in shock, she lifted the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

  “I hope I’m not calling too early. Or coming across too eager.”

  “Who is this?”

  A pause. “Hayden.”

  “Hayden…” She clutched the phone.

  “From last night.” He said something under his breath. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

  “Of course, I remember you.” He’d pretty much occupied every waking moment until news of Tisdale’s murder had plopped her so unceremoniously back into the real world. “I’m sorry. I’m a little distracted at the moment.” Her gaze went back to the television screen. Thankfully, the photograph was gone and the anchor had moved on to another story.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “You could say that.”

  “Anything I can do?”

  The genuine concern in his voice made Ree realize how long it had been since she’d had a confidant. Her mother was still trapped in her bitterness and her father was too busy with his new life. Ree wasn’t sure how it had happened, but at some point between college and grad school all her friends had moved on. And at that moment, she’d never felt more alone.

  “Ree?”

  “Maybe you can help,” she said. “I think I need some legal advice.”

  “Okay. But you do understand I’m not allowed to practice law without a license. Any advice I offer will have to be of the unofficial variety.”

  “So long as I can still invoke the attorney-client privilege.”

  His voice grew sober. “What’s going on?”

  Ree suddenly felt as if the weight of the world rested on her shoulders. Tears burned her eyes, which made her angry with herself. A man had been murdered. He’d probably left loved ones behind. This was no time for self-pity. “I didn’t tell you everything about that conversation I overheard at the hospital.”

  “No?”

  “Dr. Farrante was being blackmailed by a man named Jared Tisdale.

  He threatened to expose a secret that their families have kept hidden for three generations. Whatever it is, it has something to do with Miss Violet and her mother, Ilsa. I just heard on the news that Tisdale was found shot to death in his home this morning. Maybe it’s just some awful coincidence. Maybe it didn’t have anything to do with Dr. Farrante. But if I go to the police—”

  “If, Ree?”

  She dragged trembling fingers through her hair. “Dr. Farrante will know that I overheard that blackmail scheme. If he killed Tisdale, what’s to stop him from coming after me?”

  “If Farrante is involved, going to the police could be your best protection,” Hayden said. “And if you don’t tell them what you know, you’re technically impeding an official investigation. Cops don’t like that.”

  “I know, but—”

  “For all the inroads in forensic science, the best way to establish a reliable timeline is still finding the person or persons who last saw the victim alive. That could be you, Ree. Not to mention the fact that you can provide a motive.”

  “I know all that. I guess I just needed to hear someone spell it out for me.”

  “I’ll go with you,” he said. “We’ll call it moral support.”

  “You’d do that?” She felt pathetic, even asking.

  “Just give me a chance to clear up a few things here. I’ll meet you outside police headquarters in half an hour.…”

  But he didn’t show. Ree waited for almost forty-five minutes in front of the building on Lockwood before giving up. Then climbing the south-side stairs, she squared her shoulders and marched inside before she could change her mind. In very short order, she was escorted to a small and rather antiseptic-looking office where she was told to wait for someone named Devlin.

  He appeared in the doorway a few minutes later, a tall, stylish man with dark hair and a face so pale and thin, one might even call him gaunt. Strangely, this only enhanced his attractiveness. Ree judged him to be in his early to midthirties, though when he turned his head a certain way and the light hit him just right, he could have been a decade older. His high cheekbones were sharply defined, his lips full and sculpted. When he walked into the room, the air seemed to collapse and Ree struggled to catch her breath. He had an almost palpable charisma, an intensity that was so deeply masculine, she found herself thinking of dark things. Inappropriate things. And that made her think of Hayden and she wished he was there with her.

  As the detecti
ve’s gaze collided with hers, Ree was reminded of something her grandmother had said about Amelia Gray: She has the kind of eyes that can see right down into your soul.

  That described this man’s gaze perfectly.

  Shuddering, she glanced away as he strode across the office and sat down behind the desk. “I understand you have information regarding Jared Tisdale’s murder.” His voice was rich and deep, and he spoke with the sensual cadence of the native Charlestonian.

  “I have information about Jared Tisdale,” Ree clarified. “I don’t know if it has anything to do with his murder.”

  Devlin pushed a recorder toward the edge of the desk. His hands were very graceful, she noticed. His fingers long and elegant—

  “If you have no objection…”

  She did, actually, but was too intimidated to say so. “No, it’s fine.” It was all she could do not to fidget under the man’s relentless scrutiny.

  “State your name, address and occupation,” he said.

  She started to speak when the door swung open and a man—another detective, she assumed—stuck his head in the office. “You’re needed outside.”

  Devlin scowled. “I’m in the middle of something.”

  “This can’t wait.”

  He shot Ree an apologetic look and stood. “Sorry. This shouldn’t take along.”

  She nodded and sat twiddling her thumbs for a few minutes until she grew restless and stood. Going to the door, she glanced out over the rows of desks and cubicles. She could see Devlin’s profile through a glass panel in an office across the room. Another man stood with his back to the glass as the detective who’d come for Devlin faced him. They appeared to be in the middle of a very tense conversation. Devlin seemed little more than a bystander, though Ree had a feeling that when he spoke, the other two would listen.

  The third man turned suddenly, and Ree stepped back, her heart thudding. It was Dr. Farrante.

  This was not good. This was not at all good.

  Clutching the strap of her messenger bag, she eased back to the door.

  “Can I help you?” A female officer walking by had caught Ree staring out over the squad room.