Chapter Fifteen

Stars filled the night sky. A cool breeze was ushered in from the north, and to Ginger it was a summons. She had been cooped up in the house of horrors, feeling as though her every move was shadowed by things that she could not see. That part was technically true, she admitted ruefully. For whatever reason, the "spectral form" or "spirit" or whatever they chose to call her, had taken a very intense interest in the ruby-haired girl who room-hopped night after night. Chris was certain the being who had taken to trailing Ginger's every move was none other than the dearly departed Annalise. The question was why. There were times when the tension around her grew so thick, so close to unbearable, that Ginger would have gladly asked the spirit why she insisted on hanging around her in particular. Why not Adam? Why not Chris?

She filled a tray with a jug of coffee and deftly added little ceramic pots of cream and sugar. "It would serve the two of them right." But she supposed she knew the answer to that question. She was a woman, they were not. End of story. For that reason, and probably that reason alone, Annalise would remain her shadow for as long as she stayed in the house on Walnut Street. Thank God they were leaving in two days. A private investigator and a genealogist would take over where they left off to try to find out what they could about the Switzer family and, more specifically, Annalise.

"Too bad I won't be around to see it." Ginger sighed, relief coursing through her entire being at the thought of being far away from Falcon County, Illinois, Walnut Street, and Annalise—most of all Annalise. It would feel good to get back to her normal life. No, she corrected, a smile lighting her from within, her new life. In Atlanta. It was past time she came home, after all.

"Hey, Gin, why the tray?" Chris questioned, dipping his finger into the sugar bowl.

"We are having coffee on the porch."

"We are?"

"Yes, we are," she informed him. "It's the first night we've had since we've been here that isn't ninety degrees." She smiled at Adam when he sauntered into the kitchen. "It's cool outside tonight, in a way, and we are taking advantage of it. Coffee will be served on the porch tonight."

"You're serving us the coffee?" Adam's face broke into a grin.

"Well, no, you'll be serving yourselves. And you'll have to carry the tray. But I made the coffee, and you'll be enjoying it on the porch."

"How could we pass up an opportunity like that?" Chris shared a look with Adam.

"Just take the damn tray and follow me," Ginger snapped, plunking the thing onto the counter and stomping from the room without waiting to see if they followed.

"We'd better do as she says, before she starts throwing stuff," Chris joked, raising his voice.

"Just you wait and see if I don't," she shot back, suppressing a grin. "Just for that," she told them as they seated themselves on the porch, "you can both pour your own cups of coffee."

"We have to do that anyway," Adam pointed out.

"Well, I had changed my mind, but now I'm really not going to."

"I'm confused." Adam pressed a hand to his head.

"Get used to it," Chris told him, adding a hefty amount of sugar to his cup before settling back against the blue vinyl siding at his back.

"That's enough out of you," Ginger teasingly warned her brother. "So, two more days. Are you guys ready to get the hell out of here, or is it just me?"

"It'll be good to get home," Adam murmured, his gaze fastening on Ginger.

"Yes, it will," she agreed, quietly regarding him.

"Does this mean you're coming home to Atlanta, to stay?" Chris asked, opening one eye.

"Yes, I guess I am. I think it's time, don't you?"

"Yeah, I think it is." Chris grinned. "You can have your old room for as long as you want it. The Deveraux is your home, too, always will be."

"Thanks, Chris, I'll take you up on that—for a while, anyway. I have a feeling I'll be making other living arrangements before too long," she said, glancing toward Adam again, feeling his intense stare move hungrily over her in the gathering shades of twilight.

Chris nodded. "Whatever you decide is fine with me. You know that."

"Thanks."

"So," Adam cleared his throat, "tomorrow is the last real day of the investigation, then?"

"Pretty much. We're interviewing Heaven and Harley Feldman along with Peter and Elizabeth. Filming starts at nine in the morning, sharp."

Ginger glanced at the neighboring house. "I haven't seen them around much," she observed, taking a sip of the vanilla-flavored brew and nearly moaning in pleasure. As far as she was concerned, flavored coffee was better than sex—almost.

"I have."

"You have what?" She frowned, dragging herself away from coffee erotica and back to reality.

"I've seen them. They seem like a nice young couple, from what I can tell. Two kids, a little older than the Scotts' children."

"We don't need to do anything on site at their residence?" Adam questioned.

"No. It was a possibility, initially, but we've gathered more than enough evidence right here in this house to build a case for paranormal activity."

"Besides, we still have the envelope of photographs and the video the Feldmans captured in their home," Ginger reminded Adam.

"That along with their filmed statements tomorrow will be sufficient. If the network executives need anything further from the Feldmans, they'll let them know." Chris drained his mug in one long swallow. "Ginger, don't let me forget, we need to have the Feldmans sign the media release tomorrow and let them know they'll be getting compensation as well."

"Got it. How much are they getting?" Ginger was curious.

"I'm not sure. Not as much as the Scotts, I'm assuming."

"You did a good thing for these people, Chris." She swelled with pride for her brother.

"I couldn't have done it without the two of you," he returned, his heartfelt gratitude ringing true.

"It was no trouble." Ginger told him the half-truth with a wry smile on her lips.

"I was due for a vacation," Adam said with a shrug.

"You took your vacation time to come here?" Ginger was stunned, although she couldn't say why.

"Sure. Why not? I find this stuff interesting, and your brother needed help," he said, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Since when?" Ginger asked, her brows snapping together. Adam had never given her any indication that he was interested in the supernatural. In fact, she was ninety-nine percent certain he had never expressed an opinion about what her brother did one way or the other. At least, not to her. Had he been hesitant to share such a thing with her, knowing how she felt about her brother's unorthodox line of work?

"A while now." His response was cryptic.

"I've been meaning to talk to you about that," Chris broke in before Ginger could respond to Adam's less than forthcoming declaration. "You've done a remarkable job with this case, and you're a quick study," Chris began, steepling his hands. "And in case you haven't noticed, as of late I'm a little short-staffed."

"Really? I hadn't noticed," Ginger cracked.

"Ginger." Adam glanced her way before his attention settled back on Chris.

"Would you like to come work for me?"

"What?" Ginger said.

"Yes," Adam was quick to respond.

"Great." Her brother grinned, reaching out to shake Adam's hand and, for all intents and purposes, seal the deal. "Welcome aboard."

Ginger captured her bottom lip between her teeth but remained silent, feeling as if she had just been sucked into a giant whirlwind. Adam was going to work for her brother? Adam was going to be a ghost hunter?

"Well," Chris pulled himself to his feet, dusting off his jeans, "I imagine the two of you have a lot to talk about. If you don't mind, I'll hit the sack and see you both in the morning. Adam, you can fill out the necessary paperwork as soon as we get back to Atlanta."

"I'll need to give two weeks' notice at the factory."

"That's fine." Chris nodded, approving. "It's a nice night for a walk. Goodnight, guys."

The night sounds billowed around them, and Ginger rested her head against the side of the house, exposing her pale throat and letting the semi-cool breeze lift her dark ruby hair. When she opened her eyes again, she noticed an ever-increasing spatter of stars had come out to play peek-a-boo with thin wisps of cloud high above. It was a nice night for a walk, she decided, climbing to her feet and turning to face Adam in the moonlight.

"Walk with me?" She held out her hand.

"Are you going to hit me?" he teased, capturing her hand in his own.

She frowned. "No."

"Then I'll walk with you. Which way?"

"Hmm." She peered through the dark, carefully considering each side of the street to determine which path looked prettier. "That way," she finally decided, pointing to her left.

"You still do that." Adam's voice was low, a ghost of a smile playing around the corners of his mouth.

"What?"

"Look both ways like that to see which way is better."

"Oh, that. It's habit." She shrugged.

"I like your habits."

"Do you now?" she crooned, thinking give it a year or two.

"Hmm." He nodded, strolling with her, hands clasped, for three full blocks before he spoke again.

"Say something, Gin."

"Are you really going to work with my brother?"

"Yes. Does that bother you?" he asked carefully.

"It doesn't, not exactly. It's a little strange. I didn't know you wanted to do something like this. I never would have guessed."

"I didn't want to make you uncomfortable."

"Well, I'm not uncomfortable," she said with caution, knowing she had to choose her words somewhat carefully if she wanted him to feel safe talking to her about his newly revealed interest. She wanted to share it with him, from a distance, but share nonetheless, despite how it made her feel. She pushed aside unbidden thoughts of "spectral images" following him home after a long day at work. They weren't mediums, she reminded herself. They were investigators. They observed and recorded. They didn't attempt to make real contact with the paranormal. Besides, she was pretty sure Chris had said that things that went bump in the night didn't really follow people home.

"I'm glad you don't mind."

"I'm happy for you." A few years ago, she reflected with a smile, she would have posed the question "would it matter if I did mind?" Now, however, she liked to think that the two of them both knew better. That line of questioning never boded well for the future. More than that, she knew they needed mutual respect for one another … and their individual choices. At least, the big choices. It was the details that were up for grabs in a partnership.

"So, will you marry me?"

"Is that your proposal?"

"No. But I want to make sure you're not going to say no, before I do the real thing."

"Right." Ginger snorted. "Makes sense, I guess."

"Is that a yes?"

"Ask me again when we get back to Atlanta," she told him, pulling him to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk and winding her arms around his neck, swaying with him a little in the shadow of an old maple tree.

"Count on it," he whispered in her ear.

* * *

The scent of fresh coffee wafted up the stairs to greet her early the next morning. She opened her eyes slowly, waking up by tiny increments until she was fully alert, sunlight filtering through the windows in the bedroom. The room where the old man had died. She groaned, completely awake now and wishing that she'd stayed unconscious a little while longer.

"Go away," she half-heartedly called out when the knock on the door sounded.

"I have coffee."

Adam. "Oh." She smiled, despite her unenthusiastic mood. "Well, in that case, come in."

"Hey, baby. I thought you might want to get up early this morning."

"I did, thanks." She accepted the mug from him, the heat searing her hands, a sharp contrast to the icy cold room. "Ghosts," she grumbled, wrapping her numb fingers tighter around the mug, seeking warmth.

"It's not that bad. Scoot over. We can have coffee in bed together."

"What about the tapes?"

"I said 'have coffee,' not ravish," he teased. "Although…"

"Don't even think about it," she warned, thinking about it herself. "Is Chris awake yet?"

"No, I don't think so," he said, his eyes narrowing as he followed her line of reasoning, deftly removing the coffee from her hand and setting in on the wide-planked wood floor next to the bed. "Want to play a game?" he asked, capturing her wrists and bringing them above her head. "It's called 'don't make a sound.'"

"Sure," she whispered, breathless.

* * *

Two hours later, they were gathered in the kitchen, finishing off the last of the coffee and talking shop while they waited for the Feldmans and the Scotts to arrive.

"Ginger, do you have the release forms ready?"

"They're in your blue folder," she replied, buttering a second piece of toast.

"Great. Adam, did you get a chance yet to go over the video from last night?"

"Yes," he responded, winking at Ginger behind Chris's back. "There wasn't anything interesting to see."

"Okay, then there's probably nothing remarkable on the audio either. After we finish taping today, we can start unhooking the equipment and pack it away for transport tomorrow."

"You got it," Ginger agreed, hoping her face wasn't as red as she feared it was.

"I wish we could have solved the mystery of Annalise while we were here, but I suppose that's a little ambitious, isn't it?"

"If by ambitious you mean unrealistic, then yes," Ginger said. "We're probably talking about a hundred-plus-year-old murder here. I hope the detectives and genealogists can figure it out, though. I really feel like I've gotten to know her these past two weeks," she added wryly.

"I bet she was murdered, and probably by the police's first and only suspect in the case, Charles Switzer," Adam speculated. "That would explain why she's still hanging around this house after all this time, wouldn't it?"

"Probably. It would also explain why she gravitates to women, most notably young women."

"Chris, what about her voice?" Ginger asked the question that had been secretly on her mind for days. "The EVP. Do they all sound like that?"

"Sometimes, but there was something different about hers. You noticed that, too?"

Ginger nodded, brushing bread crumbs off of her blouse with the tips of her fingers. "Yes, I did."

"You've got a good ear."

"Thanks," she started to say, only to be interrupted by a series of raps on the front door. She glanced at the clock on the wall. Nine a.m.

"They're here. It's time."