to his daughter. "You might be right." In fact, he was virtually certain now that it was a manifestation of some sort and, if that were true, Baudey House was breaking with haunted house tradition.
"I thought you said nothing ever happens the first night, Dad," Amber said, reading his mind.
"So sue me."
"Do you really think it's a spirit, David?" Theo asked softly.
He studied the woman, thinking that she might be the reason behind the phenomena: certain people seemed to set things like this in motion and Theo appeared to fit the bill. It wasn't something he could detect as much as sense: he thought of some people as "grounded," and others as the opposite. An ungrounded person seemed to feed their own energy into a manifestation and make it stronger. With Theo's sensuality and her thinly veiled volatility, chances were excellent she was feeding it an eight-course meal.
"It's not a spirit, Theo," he said finally. "It's a memory."
"I don't understand."
"When I was a little kid, I loved to go to my grandmother's house," David explained. "There was a scent--I realized later that it was my grandmother's sachet--that I always associated with the house. With her. When I was ten, she died and my parents brought some of her things to our house. Years later, when I was home from college, I went up into our attic hunting for a pair of skis--and I saw my grandmother's old steamer trunk. I knelt down in front of it and opened it," he said softly. "And was overcome by emotion because I felt like my grandmother was with me, like she was everywhere around me. I cried like a baby, remembering her--when I was ten I pretended her death didn't bother me-but the trunk held linens and little satin sachet bags which still held that sweet smell after all those years." Tears sprang to his eyes and, abruptly, he cleared his throat. "That's more the sort of ghost that we're experiencing here."
"What a lovely story," Theo said, her eyes glistening. "But how do you know it wasn't your grandmother's spirit?"
Give me a break. "That notion would make a nice story, but I'm afraid it simply doesn't work that way in real life."
"Unless your grandma happens to be a genie in a bottle," Amber threw in.
"Amber," he cautioned. The spiritualist viewpoint Theo held frustrated David, not only because be found it simplistic and superstitious, but because it caused many scientists to shun paranormal research. He decided that Theo, obviously an intelligent woman, was merely parroting what she had heard: she was another victim of pop parapsychology. "Perhaps I can explain a little better over dinner some time," he heard himself say.
"Why, that would be lovely, David."
Carefully, he avoided looking at his daughter. She'd probably rolled her eyes so far back in her head that only the whites showed. "Shall we?" Realizing he was exhausted, not to mention starving, he wanted to wrap up the tour as quickly as possible.
"This way," Theo said, leading them past the stairs to the other side of the house. At the cross corridor, she gestured to the right. "Several of the rooms have the original bedframes and we've replaced their box springs and mattresses, as you requested." Theo stopped at a door on the left side. "I asked Mrs. Willard to make up the beds in the two biggest rooms--this one and that one, two doors down." Smiling, Theo put her hand on the door latch then pulled her hand back, embarrassed. "These latches are still a shock."
"Gross!" Amber cried, catching sight of the tumescent brass entry latch. "If you think I'm going to-"
"No problem, Amber," David told her. Downstairs, the doors had traditional cut glass knobs, but up here, in the "business portions" of the house, most of the rooms, once used by Lizzie's ladies to conduct their business, had penile handles. "We'll change the latch on your room tomorrow."
"Why isn't it changed already?" she demanded, staring at Theo.
"It's my fault," David admitted, slightly embarrassed. "I told the agency to keep
"I thought you said nothing ever happens the first night, Dad," Amber said, reading his mind.
"So sue me."
"Do you really think it's a spirit, David?" Theo asked softly.
He studied the woman, thinking that she might be the reason behind the phenomena: certain people seemed to set things like this in motion and Theo appeared to fit the bill. It wasn't something he could detect as much as sense: he thought of some people as "grounded," and others as the opposite. An ungrounded person seemed to feed their own energy into a manifestation and make it stronger. With Theo's sensuality and her thinly veiled volatility, chances were excellent she was feeding it an eight-course meal.
"It's not a spirit, Theo," he said finally. "It's a memory."
"I don't understand."
"When I was a little kid, I loved to go to my grandmother's house," David explained. "There was a scent--I realized later that it was my grandmother's sachet--that I always associated with the house. With her. When I was ten, she died and my parents brought some of her things to our house. Years later, when I was home from college, I went up into our attic hunting for a pair of skis--and I saw my grandmother's old steamer trunk. I knelt down in front of it and opened it," he said softly. "And was overcome by emotion because I felt like my grandmother was with me, like she was everywhere around me. I cried like a baby, remembering her--when I was ten I pretended her death didn't bother me-but the trunk held linens and little satin sachet bags which still held that sweet smell after all those years." Tears sprang to his eyes and, abruptly, he cleared his throat. "That's more the sort of ghost that we're experiencing here."
"What a lovely story," Theo said, her eyes glistening. "But how do you know it wasn't your grandmother's spirit?"
Give me a break. "That notion would make a nice story, but I'm afraid it simply doesn't work that way in real life."
"Unless your grandma happens to be a genie in a bottle," Amber threw in.
"Amber," he cautioned. The spiritualist viewpoint Theo held frustrated David, not only because be found it simplistic and superstitious, but because it caused many scientists to shun paranormal research. He decided that Theo, obviously an intelligent woman, was merely parroting what she had heard: she was another victim of pop parapsychology. "Perhaps I can explain a little better over dinner some time," he heard himself say.
"Why, that would be lovely, David."
Carefully, he avoided looking at his daughter. She'd probably rolled her eyes so far back in her head that only the whites showed. "Shall we?" Realizing he was exhausted, not to mention starving, he wanted to wrap up the tour as quickly as possible.
"This way," Theo said, leading them past the stairs to the other side of the house. At the cross corridor, she gestured to the right. "Several of the rooms have the original bedframes and we've replaced their box springs and mattresses, as you requested." Theo stopped at a door on the left side. "I asked Mrs. Willard to make up the beds in the two biggest rooms--this one and that one, two doors down." Smiling, Theo put her hand on the door latch then pulled her hand back, embarrassed. "These latches are still a shock."
"Gross!" Amber cried, catching sight of the tumescent brass entry latch. "If you think I'm going to-"
"No problem, Amber," David told her. Downstairs, the doors had traditional cut glass knobs, but up here, in the "business portions" of the house, most of the rooms, once used by Lizzie's ladies to conduct their business, had penile handles. "We'll change the latch on your room tomorrow."
"Why isn't it changed already?" she demanded, staring at Theo.
"It's my fault," David admitted, slightly embarrassed. "I told the agency to keep
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