shades. âAll rightâDarcy. Iâm glad youâre capable of moving. I have to get back into the office so letâs get going, you know, quickly. Whereâs your bag?â
âI can take it myself, thank you.â
âWould you just show me the damned bag?â
She set her hands on her hips. âSomeone ought to call the local cops on you. You may be some kind of a big landholder in these here parts, bucko, but youâre the rudest individual Iâve ever met.â
âSorry, but my time is limited. Please, Ms. Tremayneâsorry, Darcy, may I take your bag?â he said sarcastically.
âFine. Right there. It rollsâunless youâll feel that your macho image will be marred and lessened by taking an easy route.â
He offered her a dry grimace, grabbed the bag, and started out.
She followed him, exiting the spiderweb filled hallways of the place, out to the parking lot.
She didnât see any regular carsâthere were a few trucks, a code-enforcement vehicle, and a county cop car in the lot.
He had a really long stride, but had paused just outside the building and removed his sunglasses, waiting for her to catch up. He saw that she was staring expectantly out at the parking lot.
âOh, sorry,â he told her flatly. âItâs that one. I guess everyone forgot to tell you. Iâm the local sheriff. Guess Adam didnât tell you,either. But then, since youâre supposed to be a psychic, you should have known.â He stared at her, a light of mockery in his eyes.
She smiled sweetly in return. âMr. Stone, Iâm not exactly a psychic. There are certain areas in which I can deduce things. There are certain things about people I donât know. But then again, there are things that people really donât want known that I can deduce very easily. Iâm known for finding skeletons in closets, and Iâm sure that there are dozens of them at Melody House.â
Staring back at her, he was dead still then. His eyes were dark, not brown, but a deep gray. Disturbing. They seemed to pierce right through her, and yet wear a protective veil that kept her from reading anything within them. Still, it seemed that she had given him pause.
âShall we go?â she said.
âOh, yes. Iâm just dying to see what bones you can dig up, Ms. Tremayne. Just dying.â
âGreat. Justâ¦â
âJust what?â
âBe prepared. Sometimes, people donât like the skeletons we find.â
3
âT o me, itâs simply one of the most incredible housesâand historical sitesâon the face of the earth!â Penny said enthusiastically.
Darcy smiled, thinking that she agreedâdespite the difficulty involved with the place, and that difficulty being Matt Stone.
He had maintained something of a pleasant conversation on the drive over, pointing out Civil War skirmish sites, and telling her that at one point, on his way to battle, the great Southern general Robert E. Lee had stayed at Melody House. Then they had reached the house, and though she couldnât say he had practically thrown her out of the car, he had delivered her to the front door and Penny Sawyer as quickly as possible, explaining simply that he was on duty.
Hm. She wondered if heâd been on duty while sprawling around at the Wayside Tavern as well.
But Penny Sawyer was wonderful. Darcy couldnât quite determine her age. The woman was certainly somewhere between forty and sixty, which was quite a span. She was slender, about five-five, with an attractive shag type of short haircut in a natural salt and pepper, and had beautiful, bright blue eyes. She was also nicely dressed in a stylish pantsuit, and as friendly as her employer was rude.
âThe house is quite incredible,â Darcy said. âA number of historical homesâusually those owned by preservation societiesâhave been restored with painstaking authenticity,