Chapter Ten

Ginger woke early the next morning, brilliant sunlight filtering in through bare windows to cast wide swaths of golden light into the bedroom. The mattress beneath her was worn just enough to be soft and feathery and comfortable, the blanket she had washed on Wednesday filling her nostrils with its fresh, clean, sun-washed scent.

She looked down to find her fingers still intertwined with Adam's and smiled, content for the first time in a very long while. She didn't regret what had happened between them during the long night. Instead, she felt as though a wrong had finally, at long last, been righted during those passion-filled hours. It had nothing to do with sex, although that had been beyond good, even better than before.

The chemistry between the two, combined with their total and complete lack of inhibitions with each other, had always created some serious sparks in the bedroom. But when Ginger analyzed their night of debauchery in the fresh, clear light of day, it was their meeting of minds rather than their joining of flesh that stood out the most.

She wouldn't have pegged someone like Adam for a man who would run scared, even from a pregnancy test, a negative pregnancy test at that. Adam getting cold feet was hard to fathom. In her mind, back then he'd been ten foot tall and bulletproof. Not that she would ever tell him so—it would only make him egotistical and vain. But had someone asked her, she would have said that no, Adam Nash was not afraid of anyone or anything. It was almost a relief to know he was human like everybody else. That didn't mean he was off the hook, she reminded herself with a smug expression. The man had another thing coming if he thought she would simply pick up where they had left off, as if no bad blood had passed between them over the last four years. She would have to make him work for it, she decided.

"Adam," she whispered, nudging him, "wake up. It's morning."

"Uhhh…" he groaned. "What time is it?"

"I don't know, but I hear Chris moving around downstairs and the sun is damn near blinding me, so if I had to guess, I'd say it's after six at least." She paused when Adam rolled over to trap her beneath his naked body.

"I don't know how you do that." She giggled, shoving at him.

"It's easy, I'll show you," he teased.

"Not that, pervert. I meant I don't know how you can sleep without a stitch of clothing on. I couldn't do that."

"Yeah, that reminds me, when we get back home I'm throwing away all your nightgowns."

"Right." Her eyes rolled. "But for now we should probably get up and shower, see about breakfast and get to work."

"You're probably right. This isn't a torrid sexcation, is it?"

"A sexcation?" Ginger choked. "You know what, no, don't even tell me. Come on, get out of bed, fun time is over. For now."

"Ginger?" He caught her arm at the door.

"Hmm?"

"Good morning," he said, looking deep into her eyes before kissing her senseless.

"Yes … it is."

The two worked side by side until the after-lunch staff meeting, Adam diligently logging video data into a chart and Ginger poring over photographs of potential ghost sightings. After a while, she noted with steadily rising hysteria, the images blurred together, making it hard to distinguish the light from the shadow, reality from fantasy. One picture of the basement began to look like a devil with horns. She scooted closer to Adam.

"Does this look like Satan to you?"

"Satan?" he echoed, brow furrowed.

"There in the upper left-hand corner."

"No."

"Well, it's something."

"Shadows," Adam decided dismissively. "And you are obviously in need of a break. Want to take a fifteen-minute walk after the staff meeting?"

"Sure. You know, I feel so weird calling it a staff meeting. It's just the three of us here, and only two of us are staff."

"Hey, I think we're doing a great job."

"It's been a learning experience so far, I'll say that for it."

"You still freaked out about the video you watched yesterday?"

"A little, but mostly I'm trying not to dwell."

Adam smirked. "Yeah, let me know how that works out for you."

"Are you trying to say I dwell on things?" she demanded.

"You two ready for the staff meeting?" Chris queried, poking his head around the corner of the dining room.

"Yes," Ginger replied, turning briefly to Adam as she made her way to the kitchen. "We will talk about this later."

"I rest my case."

She stuck her tongue out at him.

"Okay, guys, have a seat." Chris motioned to the folding chairs before beginning to pace the room in front of the table.

"What's up, boss man?"

"Chris? Is something wrong?" Ginger frowned, taking in his tense stance.

"Would you like to give your report on the photographic evidence?" he returned, coming to a stop in front of the slate-gray countertop and leaning against it, arms folded, purposely ignoring their dual questions.

"Ah, okay. I found sixteen more photos with orbs, and this one here," she said, hastily digging into the file which rested at her elbow. "It looks like a girl to me, possibly a child," she explained, handing the glossy five-by-seven image to Chris.

"Amazing," he murmured, his pupils dilating as he held the photo up against the overhead light in the middle of the kitchen. "Astounding. This is good stuff, Ginger. Nice work."

"Well, it was pretty hard to miss…" she explained, lifting one shoulder and trying not to think about the startlingly clear image of the ghost girl in the photo. According to Elizabeth Scott, the picture was one of a set taken in the kitchen, the same night DVD number five had been recorded. She shivered and fought hard against the sense of unreality that threatened to overtake her sensible mind. She had now experienced not one but two things for which she had absolutely no explanation.

"I'll input this into the chart right away," Chris said, turning to Adam with an unreadable expression. "What have you got for me on the video recordings?"

"I've finished putting the data into the chart like you asked. Everything has been reviewed and notated, except for the ghost hunt video and … last night's footage."

"Great, we'll go over those this afternoon, before dinner, if possible. Now that we've cleared up that business," he stated, taking a seat at the folding table and leaning forward, "who would like to go over last night's audio recordings?"

"Last night's…" Ginger repeated, eyes widening in shock as the impact of his statement hit her.

"Audio recordings," Adam finished, momentarily hanging his head and pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

"Oh Lord," Ginger groaned, feeling the hot flush creep up her neck. How could they have been so stupid? She berated herself, unable to meet her brother's eyes, choosing instead to study the network of cracks in the plaster ceiling. The video and audio had been running in her room all night long, had captured sounds and images that were intensely private behind closed doors, things that were beyond humiliating at the moment. She wanted to die. She wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Why wasn't there a hole in the house? There's a sump pit in the basement, she thought wildly.

"Yes, well, where do I begin. Adam? Is there something you would like to say?"

"Yes."

"No," Ginger blurted at the same time, aiming a well-placed kick at Adam under the table. "No, there is nothing he would like to say."

"Yes," he repeated with more force, "there is. Chris, I'm in love with your sister. I have been since we were kids. I had sex with her last night, and I won't apologize for it. Although, I will say I regret my unprofessional behavior while on a job. It won't happen again."

"Ah, well," Chris said, shuffling the papers scattered in front of him and looking intensely uncomfortable.

"When we get back to Atlanta, I plan on marrying Ginger."

"Hey, don't I get a say in this?" she demanded, trading her initial embarrassment for outrage.

"Of course you get a say," Adam responded reasonably. "You could say no, but I'm pretty sure you love me, too."

"Maybe this would be a conversation better left in private, between the two of you," Chris interrupted. "That being said, I'm happy that you both have … worked out your differences. Gran, of course, will be thrilled."

"God help me," Ginger muttered.

"Adam, one more thing. Why don't you just delete last night's video footage?"

"Good idea." Adam nodded, clearing his throat.

"So," Chris clapped his hands, "who's ready to watch a New Year's Eve ghost hunt?"

"I'll go start the tape," Ginger offered, jumping up from her seat and all but running from the room, desperate to put the train wreck of a staff meeting behind her.

Her hands shook as she snatched up the blue jewel-toned case, popped the thin disk into the DVD player, accidentally hit play on the remote instead of pause—and froze, watching with rapt attention as the images filled the screen.

"Chris? Chris, get in here now!"

"What's wrong?" he demanded, rushing into the room with Adam on his heels.

"You guys need to see this."

"What in the world … is that?" Adam circled around Chris and dropped to his haunches before the grainy images that filled the screen.

"This is it, people," Chris told them, watching the screen, his mouth set in a grim line. "Ginger, get Elizabeth and Peter Scott on the phone. It's time to start the interviews. We've got our case."

* * *

"Thank you for coming, Elizabeth."

"You're welcome. I'm sorry Peter isn't able to make it today, but he's working. Are you sure you can do this with just me?"

"For now, yes. Are you okay to do this? You know it will be aired on national television, right?"

"Yes." She nodded.

"Ginger, did you have Elizabeth sign the waiver?"

"Yes, I did," she confirmed, casting a nervous glance toward Adam, who held the camera in the living room with an ease that was hard not to envy.

"Good." Chris returned his attention to a nervous-looking Elizabeth Scott, who was fidgeting in the chair across from him. "If at any time you feel uncomfortable, Liz, please let me know and we'll stop rolling."

"No, I want to do this. It's just hard being in this house."

"If you'd like, I can choose a different location," Chris offered.

"No, this is fine. I can do this. Do you … want to talk about what happened on New Year's Eve?"

"Not yet," he replied soothingly. "Let's start at the beginning. Adam, are you ready? Okay, three, two, one—rolling," Chris called out before facing the camera.

"Falcon County, Illinois—the original Land of the Free. Founded in eighteen twenty-three and spanning over six hundred and twenty-four square miles, Falcon County is comprised of six key towns and villages. As of the two thousand census, the county was divided into twelve separate townships, with Tyler as the county seat." Chris spoke clearly and with confidence, looking directly into the camera.

"Although today many people remain blissfully unaware of the quiet area with its sleepy little towns, rolling hills, vast stretches of farmland, and wide open spaces, Falcon County has been at the forefront of both news and development many times over the years. Industry, manufacturing, and transportation remain prominent in the county, with Route Fifteen serving as a major thoroughfare. Manufacturing is the main occupation for men in the area. Healthcare and education are the top-ranking professions for women.

"Abraham Lincoln used to travel these roads and even spent a night in a motel located in Tyler, Illinois. That motel has long since been converted to a private residence, but Falcon County is still no stranger to the public eye. From a feature spot on the hit news show Ninety Minutes, to the discovery of a local serial killer, surprisingly newsworthy events have a way of unfolding here.

"It was here that Elizabeth first met Peter Scott. Introduced through a mutual acquaintance early in two thousand five, Peter and Liz dated for about a year before deciding to marry in the summer of two thousand six." Chris held the microphone out toward Liz and gave her an encouraging smile.

"It was not love at first sight, but we fit—Peter and I and this place," Elizabeth recalled, taking a steadying breath before she continued.

"I was born and raised in Milwaukee, but I had family scattered across both Falcon County and Harris. Our family basically originated in the old settlement east of Tyler, on the outskirts of Illinois. So I guess it was just a natural thing, to return here to my roots. I made several trips a year from the time I was about seventeen years old to age twenty-one. That's when I met Peter. Within the year I packed up the car and moved to Illinois for good. I've been happy here. It's quiet and so peaceful. And for so long it just seemed like Peter and I were so lucky, that we had it all together."

"Can you tell me about finding this house?"

Liz smiled, seeming to shed some of her earlier nervousness. "House hunting was a nightmare, to put it mildly. It was probably one of the most stressful things we had ever done at that point in our lives—and we had one set of twin boys and another on the way. I lost count of how many houses we actually looked at, but I started seeing listing sheets in my sleep.

"Anyway, the house we eventually settled on actually came out of the rejection pile after we were unable to find anything else. This house. It was old, there was no front driveway, and the only bathroom was upstairs. So, not exactly ideal, but it had three bedrooms with the possibility for more, large rooms, a big backyard, and a newer roof.

"It needed a lot of work, but the inspector assured us that nearly all of the big-ticket items were either done within the last decade or in decent repair. The house had a good feel to it during the walk-through, until we went through the smaller of the bedrooms on the second floor. It just felt off. Creepy, you know? But I didn't really think much of it at the time.

"Anyway, Kate told us the county estimated the home's age at somewhere between eighteen ninety and nineteen ten. The records had been destroyed years ago in a courthouse fire. There was a lot of work to be done: old plaster walls, asbestos flooring in the upstairs hallway and bath, carpet that needed replaced… There was a lot of original woodwork and plenty of charm, but everything needed painting and scrubbing, and several of the stair treads needed replacing. Still, the home was priced right and the taxes were low. Many of the repairs were not the immediate-need type, and we imagined the house would look beautiful and be worth a decent amount when we were done. We closed the deal in May of two thousand nine. Max and Alex Scott were born healthy and happy on the eighteenth of June."

"Thank you, Elizabeth. Okay, guys, that's a wrap for today."