hallway. When one man started up the steps, Sylvania watched with arms folded. “I don’t use the upper floors any more myself,” she said. “I don’t know what you’ll find there.”
Indeed, when Brandy followed him into the first two bedrooms on the third floor, she saw only tarnished brass headboards, a broken rocker, and a plain oak highboy. But through the half–open door of the last room, she was startled to spot an unmade bed, a closet with a man’s shirts and trousers on hangers, and a dresser drawer with a brown sock dangling over the side. Although the examiner did not continue up to the fourth floor, Brandy noticed an accumulation of dust on the steps above. Apparently the top floor with the dormer windows was unused. If John was correct and Sylvania herself was the reported “ghost,” how could she appear as a shadowy figure in the dormer window without making footprints on the stairs?
Downstairs Brandy overheard Greene marvel over the faded dining room wallpaper, blue flowers and egrets by a water fountain. “Turn of the century,” he said. “You really cannot let someone demolish this house, Mrs. Langdon.”
Sylvania appeared torn between pride and irritation. She sat looking out the window toward the lake, as if none of them were there, her eyes fixed on something distant. “It’s not been a happy house, Mr. Greene,” she said at last. “And that’s an end of it. There’s been tragedy here, and loneliness.” Again she gave a lift to her chin. “In any case, I can’t afford to put it back in good condition, and I don’t know anyone else who can. I don’t intend to spend the rest of my days protecting…” she hesitated for a split second… “protecting the house.”
Brandy wondered what——or who——else she had shielded.
“Will you let us try to find a buyer. Perhaps a group?” Greene answered quietly. “There would be no problem in having the house registered as an historic building, like the Congregational Church in Tavares.”
Sylvania rose from her chair and surveyed them all. “You have until Saturday afternoon. I’ve given my word to sign the contract then with my friend, Mr. Blackthorne.” Polite but unshaken, she showed the committee down the hall to the front door while John stood across the room from Brandy, staring out the window, his hands in his pockets.
“She thinks no one but Blackthorne will want it,” he said.
Brandy sensed his reluctance to leave. Perhaps he thought this was the last time he would see the house. Perhaps for the moment he had forgotten his anger. “Both Sylvania and Grace Able say they don’t care about the house,” she said, moving closer. “But I think there’s more to this sale than that. After all, who wants to live with a ghost? Or,” she added, seeing John’s lips tighten, “with something folks think is a ghost? Actually, someone does live on the third floor.”
The outside door closed, and in a few minutes Sylvania clumped back into the room, swinging Brandy’s white pumps in one hand and her camera case in the other. She advanced across the worn carpet. “And now, you two——what explanation do you have for your disgraceful activities last night?”
Shocked, Brandy turned to John. Surely Sylvania owed her an explanation for the attack dogs. Instead, Sylvania thrust the shoes into Brandy’s hands. “You do not deny, I’m sure, that it’s also your car out in the lane, young lady?” She faced Brandy, arms crossed. “You can’t deny you were trespassing last night?” She rounded on John. “I recognized your boat. Apparently you’re involved, too. A family member!”
Heatedly, Brandy spoke up. “John had nothing to do with my coming here last night. I told you I wanted to investigate the tale about the house. I was trying to verify what people claim they’ve seen.”
“Surely you could have asked me first.”
“You made it plain you wouldn’t agree.”
John moved toward his great aunt. “It’s
Indeed, when Brandy followed him into the first two bedrooms on the third floor, she saw only tarnished brass headboards, a broken rocker, and a plain oak highboy. But through the half–open door of the last room, she was startled to spot an unmade bed, a closet with a man’s shirts and trousers on hangers, and a dresser drawer with a brown sock dangling over the side. Although the examiner did not continue up to the fourth floor, Brandy noticed an accumulation of dust on the steps above. Apparently the top floor with the dormer windows was unused. If John was correct and Sylvania herself was the reported “ghost,” how could she appear as a shadowy figure in the dormer window without making footprints on the stairs?
Downstairs Brandy overheard Greene marvel over the faded dining room wallpaper, blue flowers and egrets by a water fountain. “Turn of the century,” he said. “You really cannot let someone demolish this house, Mrs. Langdon.”
Sylvania appeared torn between pride and irritation. She sat looking out the window toward the lake, as if none of them were there, her eyes fixed on something distant. “It’s not been a happy house, Mr. Greene,” she said at last. “And that’s an end of it. There’s been tragedy here, and loneliness.” Again she gave a lift to her chin. “In any case, I can’t afford to put it back in good condition, and I don’t know anyone else who can. I don’t intend to spend the rest of my days protecting…” she hesitated for a split second… “protecting the house.”
Brandy wondered what——or who——else she had shielded.
“Will you let us try to find a buyer. Perhaps a group?” Greene answered quietly. “There would be no problem in having the house registered as an historic building, like the Congregational Church in Tavares.”
Sylvania rose from her chair and surveyed them all. “You have until Saturday afternoon. I’ve given my word to sign the contract then with my friend, Mr. Blackthorne.” Polite but unshaken, she showed the committee down the hall to the front door while John stood across the room from Brandy, staring out the window, his hands in his pockets.
“She thinks no one but Blackthorne will want it,” he said.
Brandy sensed his reluctance to leave. Perhaps he thought this was the last time he would see the house. Perhaps for the moment he had forgotten his anger. “Both Sylvania and Grace Able say they don’t care about the house,” she said, moving closer. “But I think there’s more to this sale than that. After all, who wants to live with a ghost? Or,” she added, seeing John’s lips tighten, “with something folks think is a ghost? Actually, someone does live on the third floor.”
The outside door closed, and in a few minutes Sylvania clumped back into the room, swinging Brandy’s white pumps in one hand and her camera case in the other. She advanced across the worn carpet. “And now, you two——what explanation do you have for your disgraceful activities last night?”
Shocked, Brandy turned to John. Surely Sylvania owed her an explanation for the attack dogs. Instead, Sylvania thrust the shoes into Brandy’s hands. “You do not deny, I’m sure, that it’s also your car out in the lane, young lady?” She faced Brandy, arms crossed. “You can’t deny you were trespassing last night?” She rounded on John. “I recognized your boat. Apparently you’re involved, too. A family member!”
Heatedly, Brandy spoke up. “John had nothing to do with my coming here last night. I told you I wanted to investigate the tale about the house. I was trying to verify what people claim they’ve seen.”
“Surely you could have asked me first.”
“You made it plain you wouldn’t agree.”
John moved toward his great aunt. “It’s
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