Free Sweat Tea Revenge by Laura Childs Page A

skeptical.
    “Yes, but fairly legitimate ones,” said Theodosia. “The Beckman brothers are producing a reality show. Something called
Southern Hauntings
.”
    “Of course, they are,” said Max. “Which makes them perfectly legitimate. And they want to rope you in . . . how? To conduct some sort of interview?”
    “Actually, it goes a little beyond that,” said Theodosia. “The brothers are determined to get permission from the Rattlings to actually go inside Ravencrest Inn and—”
    “Do what?” Max cut in. Suddenly, he didn’t look happy. Suddenly, he wasn’t all that interested in another bite of pizza.
    “I suppose they want to use an infrared video camera,” said Theodosia. “To record any possible images or sounds.”
    “Eh,” said Max. “You mean like a séance? Or fooling around with a Ouija board?”
    “Nothing that spooky,” said Theodosia. “The way they explained everything, it was more scientific.”
    “Right,” said Max. “And what else are the Bothersome Beckman Boys up to?” He sensed there was something else she wasn’t telling him.
    “They asked me to go with them,” said Theodosia. There, she’d spelled it all out. Now he could sit back and enjoy an insanely good laugh.
    But he didn’t. He remained quite serious.
    “Run that by me again,” said Max. “
Why
exactly were you invited to join the party?”
    Theodosia drew a deep breath. This was the tricky part: making her explanation sound plausible. “Because I was the person closest to Granville when he died. As the ghost hunters explained it to me, I was nearest to him when his spirit left his body.”
    “Of course,” Max said smoothly. “Now it’s all crystal clear to me.” He cocked his head to one side and assumed a serious expression. “Actually, the person closest to Granville when he died was the man who murdered him.”
    “I suppose you’re right,” said Theodosia. “I never thought of it like that.”
    “Well, maybe you should. Because this isn’t something you should fool around with. You’d be treading on a murder investigation.”
    “But I’m not hunting for a murderer,” said Theodosia. “It’s more like, um, a parlor trick.”
    “But what if the murderer is still around? What if there’s something in that guest room that he’s still after?” Max stared at her with utter seriousness. “What if you stumble on something that impacts the investigation?”
    “Okay,” Theodosia said slowly. “You could have a point.”
    Then, like a storm that had suddenly blown itself out, Max’s face broke into a grin. “Theo, are you kidding me? You want to go on a ghost-hunting expedition? That’s what kids do at summer camp. They send their bunkmates out on a snipe hunt and toss in a ghost hunt for good measure.” He was rolling now. “You drape a bedsheet over your head and scare the poop out of the little kids.”
    “When you put it that way . . . it does sound a little foolish.”
    “Because it
is
foolish,” said Max.
    “Still,” said Theodosia, “Charleston is supposed to be one of the most haunted cities in America. Right up there with New Orleans.”
    “Come on,” said Max. “You don’t really believe in ghosts and witches and haunts, do you?”
    Theodosia had to think about that. She’d been born and bred in the low country where tales of headless horsemen, pirate ghosts, and dead Confederate soldiers were everyday legends. Where kids were admonished to watch out for boo hags when they ventured out at night.
    “You know,” she finally told him, “I’m not entirely sure.”

8
    Theodosia strolled down
King Street, enjoying the warm weather and bountiful sunshine that had finally been bestowed upon Charleston. Tall redbrick buildings with narrow white shutters caught the sun’s rays and bounced them back at her, making her feel warm and relaxed. Palm trees bobbed their shaggy heads as gentle sea breezes ruffled their fronds.
    Outside Gold Nugget Antiques, Theodosia