Chapter 7

The comforter slowly drifted down Jackson's body. Tickling his skin. Inching.

He flung his eyes open, surveying what little he could see in the dark bedroom without lifting his head from the pillow or switching on a lamp. Nothing seemed amiss, other than it was cold, so he pulled the bedding up to his chin and closed his eyes again. He'd probably kicked the blankets off himself with his foot.

It had taken him entirely too long to fall asleep, him unable to shut off his overactive brain, and the minute amount he'd gotten thus far had been restless at best. The crew was set to start their first day of official investigation of the mansion tomorrow, and he needed rest. He drew a slow measured inhale and-

The comforter yanked out of his hold with a forceful jerk, flew off his bed, and landed several feet away in a heap by the door.

He shot to a sitting position, heart refusing to thump, and looked at the darkened shadowed frame of the door, figuring he needed to rethink his sleep attire. Normally, he went to bed in nothing but his briefs. Last night, he'd gone shirtless with flannel pants. In honesty, he kinda felt...exposed. Improper. Of all the crazy things.

Gradually, his heartrate caught up and started to pound as he roused to a fully wakened state, the foggy dregs of sleep clearing. The guestroom wasn't just cold, but freezing. Absolutely frigid. Goosebumps rose over his flesh. His breath was visible in evaporating puffs before his face.

Holy crap.

He darted his gaze to the window, an obvious logical source if... Nope. Closed.

A quick survey illustrated no other changes in the room. Drapes as he'd left them. Furniture in place. Pictures properly hung. Personal items not moved on the surfaces.

Swallowing hard, he climbed from bed to collect the comforter by the door. Unless he'd grown wild in slumber, a blanket didn't just launch across the room on its own. He fisted it in both hands and tossed it on the mattress.

It was quiet in the room. The kind of quiet that was deafening. No bustling of car engines or horns or sirens from the road. No people hustling on the sidewalk or street, shouting at one another in rude deflection. Not even a howl of wind.

Yet, even with a lack of sound, the house held a constant hum. Not heard by the ear, but felt in the air. A static. A pulse. So strong, his hands shook and his body trembled.

He wasn't alone. There wasn't anyone physically in the bedroom with him, but he wasn't alone.

"Is anyone there?"

Though nothing occurred, the cold didn't recede. Frigid spots were a sure sign of paranormal activity, the theory being spirits drew from the room's energy. He couldn't see anyone or anything, but he sensed someone watching him.

"You have my attention." He paused. "Want me to freeze to death, do you?"

After standing for several moments, he shrugged in a nonchalance he didn't feel like a parent goading a child into reacting. Perhaps that might get a response.

He grabbed a t-shirt from his duffel bag on the chair in the corner and donned it, then climbed back in bed. Reaching for the comforter, he tugged it to his chin and lay down. On the nightstand was his digital recorder, something each of the crew kept in their sleeping quarters during investigations, just in case. He switched it on, and rolled to his side, facing the window.

Whatever was present in his room didn't give off an ominous vibe. Though the blankets had been stolen from him moments ago, and forcefully, at that, it seemed more like a ploy to gain his attention. He'd check the recorder in the morning to see if there were any EVPs.

A good twenty minutes, and his eyes grew heavy, lids drooping as the sweet, blessed relief of sleep loomed.

Until a scraping sound echoed near the window. Faint. Barely there, and would've gone unnoticed had the room not been so quiet.

Lifting his head, he glanced in that direction. He'd left the drapes open to allow moonlight and the orange glow from the streetlights to filter in. They were still open.

One tall dresser perched in the corner and a desk was arranged under the window. Neither seemed to cause the scraping noise. Maybe the hardwood floors bounced the sound? He rolled to his back, but the chair in the opposite corner hadn't moved, and nothing in his bathroom appeared amiss, best he could tell just glancing through the doorway from his position.

Sighing, he sat up. "Either let me sleep or tell me what it is you're after."

On cue, the top drawer of the desk slid open.

The air in his lungs vacuumed. He swiped a shaking hand down his face.

"Bloody hell," he whispered and shoved the blankets off to rise.

He hit the wall switch and blinked against the brightness. The room returned to its usual comforting warmth in seconds. Just like that.

Before touching anything, he opened his door and padded down the hall to Sammy's room. Without bothering to knock, he walked in. Her bedroom had twin beds. Sammy's was on the right, Kerry's the left. He pushed on the mound of blankets covering Sammy.

Her dark head poked out from under the covers. "Jackson?"

"You need to see this." Knowing that's all he'd need to say, he strode back to his room.

Rubbing her eyes, she strolled in behind him. "What's up?"

He told her what happened, and her jaw dropped. She hurried out of the room, and various door knocking commenced.

Kerry emerged in the hallway outside his room, so he again relayed what had happened.

Sammy returned holding the thermal camera.

Earl came inside with a video camera perched on his shoulder, green light on, indicating he was already rolling film. Without a word, he shifted to the corner.

With the thermal camera, Sammy swept the room, only to pause when it was aimed at the window. "Look at this."

Kerry shifted closer, and they peered over Sammy's shoulder at the screen.

There was a blue handprint on the open desk drawer. Blue indicated a cold temperature flux. Sammy panned the device over to the bed, where the red/orange heat signature from his body was still visible.

"Incredible," Kerry said.

Sammy set the camera down on the edge of the mattress and walked to the desk.

The rest of the team began filling the room, all but Tom, who needed an air-raid siren to wake.

"The drawer is empty." Sammy set her hands on her hips. "We'll have to ask Ava in the morning if there's any significance to the desk."

"Lee said there was something important about it," Kerry supplied. "He didn't know what, though."

Jackson rubbed the back of his neck. "We'll deal with it in the morning."

~~*

Ava flipped the omelet she was grilling for Amir while she listened to Sammy relay the incident from Jackson's room last night. She set the omelet on a plate, garnished it with a few blackberries, and handed it to Amir while shaking her head at the strange events.

"I've never gone through the desk myself, and certainly not seen the drawer open by itself." How odd, and to have it happen in the middle of the night with Jackson there, to boot.

Terrance set down his fork. "You know, old furniture like that sometimes has hidden crevices built in. Before safes and banks, it was like a security measure for valuables."

She dropped a dab of butter into the skillet and got to work on Sammy's Denver omelet. "What, like Scooby Doo? Pull a book and the shelf moves to reveal a secret room?"

Terrance grinned. "Hidden rooms weren't unusual either, especially if the family was wealthy. Paranoia over theft during war and whatnot."

She nodded, stewing it over as she finished, and gave Sammy her plate. "Okay. I'll take your word for it. I just think something would've been found long before now if it was there."

"Not if someone didn't know to look for it. When Jackson wakes up, I'll get to work on the desk."

Sammy swallowed and waved her fork. "Is there any significance to the desk?"

Done for now, Ava crossed her arms and leaned against the counter. "Rumor has it the desk belonged to Sarah Kerrick. Apparently, she missed her old one in her bedroom in England, so her father had it built it for her. It was the only item from the Kerrick estate Peter Trumble saved." She wrung her hands. "We're talking two centuries of gossip here."

Jackson strode in rocking a seriously sexy-as-hell case of bedhead, five o'clock shadow, and bare feet. Well-worn jeans were slung low on his narrow hips and an ivory-colored wool sweater brought out the blue in his eyes. "Smells good in here."

Because he looked too good, she turned back to the stove. "What do you like in your omelet?"

Coming up beside her, their arms brushing, he perused the items on the counter. "Ah, mushrooms, tomato, and cheese. Please, luv."

He needed to stop calling her "luv." She knew it was a casual British term of endearment, but he didn't seem to use it on anyone else, and it felt too personal. One thing she couldn't do was get any more personal with Jackson Granger.

"Anything else happen last night?" Sammy nudged her empty plate away.

Jackson poured himself a cup of coffee and sat next to her at the island. "Afraid not. Didn't get much sleep, though."

Ava handed him a plate and turned off the burner under the skillet. "What's on the agenda today?"

Terrance rose to set his dishes in the sink. "I'm going to inspect the desk."

"I'll go over Jackson's digital recorder for EVPs." Amir downed the last of the orange juice in his glass. "Then I need to go through footage."

"The rest of us can start investigating." Jackson's air of authority was almost contradictory to his nonchalance tone.

Ava began loading the dishwasher. "Do you guys need me? I have some work to catch up on."

Sammy brought her a few of the dishes. "I don't think so. Will you be in the library?"

"Yes. I also have a lunch date with a friend at noon." Ava was looking forward to hanging out with Casey. She needed to unload on someone and get out of the house for a while.

With the rest of the crew off to gather equipment and start their day, that left Ava alone with Jackson in the kitchen. She focused entirely too hard on her task to avoid conversation. She just didn't have the energy for his wit or charm.

What was the matter with her? He was just a guy.

"Great breakfast, luv."

Case in point. "Could you not call me that, please?"

A corner of his mouth quirked like he was amused. Oh, she'd bet her right arm he knew how to use that mouth in delicious ways.

"Luv? Just a term, Ava."

She briefly closed her eyes to his low, rough timbre. The way he said her name, like he had more than one fantasy running amuck in his head also, made heat pool low in her belly and between her legs. The latter part she thought an otherwise dormant area of her body until he'd shown up. It had been that long since she'd been with someone.

Setting another plate in the dishwasher, she cleared her throat. Twice. "Well, it bothers me."

"Interesting."

She closed the dishwasher door with a bit too much force. "Why is that interesting?"

He crossed his arms over his impressively wide chest and leaned a hip against the counter opposite her, settling in. "Most women don't mind."

"I'm not most women." She immediately regretted the slip, knowing she'd just left herself wide open for a barb or a come-on.

Give the guy an inch, he'd take a mile. Or twelve.

Amusement lit his baby blues as he studied her from head to toe, a leisurely path of perusal, igniting every nerve in her body. Moments passed while he looked his fill. But then, his gaze downshifted from delight to approval, from humor to heat. And the breath backed up in her lungs.

"No, you most certainly are not most women."

Her face heated, cheeks on freakin' fire, and she hoped he didn't notice. Unlikely. The man noticed everything.

Okay. Enough.

She pivoted and strode out of the room, the sound of his laughter following in her wake.

She settled at her desk in the library, sucking in a deep breath to center herself, and got to work on the bookkeeping for several shops in town.

Once done with the October reports for her mother's craft store, the hardware store, and Joe's restaurant, she moved on to business plans and ideas she had for a few merchants requesting her assistance.

Satisfied, she leaned back and stretched her arms over her head. A knock sounded at the door.

Terrance entered and closed the door behind him. "Hey," he whispered. "Would you mind helping upstairs for a sec?"

"Why are you whispering?" She mimicked his tone.

"They're doing EVP work in the parlor next door."

She shut down her PC and stood. "Lead on."

Terrance grabbed the radio from his belt and spoke into it. "Terrance and Ava leaving the library and heading upstairs." Before she could ask what that was about, he looked at her. "In case they hear footsteps or voices, they know it's from us."

"Gotcha."

Once upstairs in the bedroom Jackson was using, Terrance closed the door and gustily sighed like he'd been dying to get back and tell someone what he'd found. "I've been examining the desk all morning. I can't date the piece for you, but the carvings indicate it's pretty old. Now, check this out."

He climbed under the piece and pointed to a spot beneath the desktop. Ava squatted and focused where he indicated. In the left far corner, the initials J.K. had been carved with what looked like a soldering pen.

"John Kerrick," she whispered. "Sarah's father."

"Could be. Now, the desk is relatively standard. Simple, clean lines. Two drawers on the right side. The bottom drawer fits all the way to the rear of the piece. But this top one, the one that opened on Jackson, is strange."

"How so?"

He climbed out and opened the drawer. "The dimensions don't add up. See where the back of the drawer rests? There should be several more inches."

"Okay." She chewed that over. "So, you think there's a hidden chamber like you mentioned this morning?"

"If there is, I can't find how to access it. Not without pulling the whole thing apart. You're smaller than me, and Sammy and Kerry are busy investigating. I don't want to drag them away if I don't have to. If I give you instructions, do you think you could try a few things?"

"Sure." She glanced at him, realizing, and not for the first time, that he was a well-built black man who obviously had some kind of gold star gym membership. His biceps were like tree trunks. Not to mention, his hands were twice the size of hers. He'd most definitely have difficulty with the drawer. "Of course."

He instructed her to slide her hand inside the drawer and feel the underside of the desktop.

She did as he asked, and yeah. No way he could've managed. The drawer was very shallow. She barely had room to maneuver.

"I'm not feeling anything."

"What about the back of the drawer? Front and rear facing?"

She slid her fingers over the front-facing. Nothing. When she ran her fingers over the top lip to reach behind, she encountered a bump. "I think there's something here. Right side, top of the rear panel."

"What is it?"

"Not sure." She strained to get her arm in a better position. "It feels like a small thimble or something."

"Push it down."

She did, but it wouldn't budge, and she shook her head. She tried to slide it left to right with no success. Then she nudged it backward, and there was a small click.

She gasped and froze, staring at Terrance.

Wide dark brown eyes stared back at her in shock.

Slowly, she extracted her arm and eyed the desk. "Um..."

"Okay, let me take it from here."

Crouching, he peered inside. Carefully, he pulled out the drawer farther from the desk. Low and behold, it slid out with ease. Wedged inside was a slat of wood, mimicking the rear plate. There were, in fact, several more inches beyond that. In that small space was a stack of aged papers bound by twine.

No. No way.

"Oh my God. Are you kidding?" She reached for the papers, but Terrance shook his head.

"We don't know how old these are. We need to be careful." He gingerly set the drawer on the desktop and reached for his radio. "All hands on deck to Jackson's bedroom. You won't believe this."

The walkie crackled, emitting Jackson's voice. "The back door just opened by itself. It smells like lavender in here, too."

Terrance and Ava exchanged a look while her heart thundered in excitement.

He lifted the walkie. "Get up here now."

~~*

They'd decided to break for lunch after Ava and Terrance's discovery, before figuring out how to handle the papers they'd found.

Jackson trailed behind the pack, lost in thought as they walked along the cobblestone sidewalk in the town square.

They'd gotten nothing in their investigation so far today besides the kitchen door opening on its own. He couldn't help but be disappointed. The first few days after arrival had been loaded with energy and activity. Today, all that had vanished. Not even a solitary EVP. Then again, it had to be more than coincidence he'd smelled lavender and the door had opened within minutes of Terrance and Ava finding those papers.

In the desk that had also opened by itself last night.

They crossed a quiet Trumble Street and headed into a family restaurant called Frank's Diner near the library, the wind brisk against his cheeks.

"Are you sure we're not intruding?" Jackson held the door.

Ava was supposed to be meeting with her friend for lunch, but at the last minute, she'd invited the crew along.

"Not at all. Casey's into all this, so she'll talk your ear off."

A woman friend then. He'd been wondering. Curious if she was dating anyone, but didn't have the guts to ask. Which said something in itself. It shouldn't make any difference to him if she ran a brothel full of heady men, and he usually spoke his mind, not bit his tongue.

They walked inside a brightly lit diner bustling with activity. The white Formica counter along the right wall had several patrons. Neon signs displayed beverages and the diner's name. The walls, probably intended to be a cheery yellow, only managed to give off a dingy feel. A waitress emerged from the back to deliver a tray of food to one of the booths splitting the center of the room. The place smelled like a rare mix of grease and home-cooking.

Ava waved to a woman sitting near the back under a picture of Elvis. She headed that way, leaving the others to follow. By the time he reached them, Ava was making introductions. The rest of the crew scattered to open booths, so Sammy and Jackson sat with Ava and her friend.

"Pleasure to meet you," Jackson said.

"Oh, I love your accent."

He took in Casey's hazel eyes and short, brown hair, cut in a no-nonsense, no-fuss bob about chin-length. She had a stain on the front of her yellow t-shirt that looked suspiciously like grape juice. Or jelly. No cosmetics. "How many kids?"

"That obvious, huh? I have three boys."

The poor woman. "Adventurous of you."

She laughed and dropped her chin in her palm. "Mildly put. How's the investigation going?"

Ava turned sideways in the booth, all but busting at the seams. "I think we found Sarah's journal."

"No freakin' way!"

"Just now, before we arrived. In the desk in Peter's room."

Sammy cleared her throat. "Speaking of... I think Kerry's the best person to examine the papers. She has a sociology degree, but she studied to be an archeologist before changing majors in college."

He grinned as Ava's mouth opened and closed.

"Not to be rude, but what is she doing researching...ghosts, then?"

Though she'd been respectful and friendly to the crew, he'd often caught her looking at them as if wondering what planet they'd come from. Not unusual in the grand scheme of things. They did have a peculiar career compared to the average bloke. And, frankly, there were more skeptics out there who shot down what they did as hocus pocus malarkey than real work. Ava had seemed more open-minded, though. Perhaps he'd been wrong.

Draping his arm across the back of the booth, he relaxed against the cushion. "The entire crew has secondary careers. We all have higher education with bachelor's or master's degrees."

"Huh." Casey tilted her head. "So, like Ava said, why do this?"

Sammy crossed her arms on the table, leaning into them. "You mean subject ourselves to ridicule? Become a laughing stock?" She shrugged. "All of us, at one point or another, has had a paranormal experience. We get to travel, get paid well for it, and maybe find the answers we've been seeking. Besides, our paychecks the first year paid off our student loans. There's always time to use our degrees later."

This earned a nod of approval from Casey. "Well, all right."

Ava leveled her gaze on him. "What was your paranormal experience?"

Again, he rarely talked about his personal life on a case, but he was drawn to Ava. And for some ungodly reason, he felt like he had something to prove. "My grandfather had this old cottage in the English countryside, near Cornwall. I'd stay a night or two with him as a boy in the summer. I had what most call an imaginary friend. Except, he wasn't imaginary. I only saw or spoke to him at the cottage. His real name was Jacob Peasley, and he died of pneumatic fever when he was eight. In the cottage, a hundred years ago."

Her fascinating grayish-blue eyes studied him, and for the first time, he was having trouble reading her. "Who said he was an imaginary friend?"

"My father. He doesn't believe in the paranormal." Didn't believe in his son's career choice either, but Jackson left that part out.

Her all-knowing gaze seemed to notice the missing element, though, judging by her slight nod and the grief-laced understanding in her expression. There and gone in a blink. "What did you study in college?"

"I'm an architect."

He barely had time to register her surprise before the waitress arrived to take their orders. Perusing the menu, he quickly settled on a turkey club.

Casey sipped her coffee after everyone had finished. "How long do you guys plan on doing the show?"

He subtly shook his head for Sammy's benefit, and he could tell she picked up on the cue to be evasive right away. He adored that they had that close a friendship where words weren't always needed.

Sammy drank from her cola before responding. "We all got locked into a five-year contract, which is up this year. We're mulling over our options."

"Well, if that is Sarah Kerrick's journal you found, Ava can keep the house."

Ava blew out a breath. "God, I hope it's enough for Drop Dead Fred." She looked at Jackson and acknowledged his confusion. "My great-aunt's attorney. Whatever our findings, I have to present them to him. He determines if the evidence is enough to keep the deed in my name."

They ate in compatible silence, with the occasional story from Ava or Casey about the town. His turkey club was quite good, but Ava hardly touched her Caesar salad. As they were getting ready to leave, Casey turned toward Ava.

"I have an hour before I have to pick up the demons. Do you mind if I watch you guys for a bit at the mansion?"

Ava looked at him in question, as if needing his permission for company.

"Fine by us." He shrugged. "Aren't you afraid of the spirits?" He liked Ava's friend. She was down-to-earth and an easy conversationalist. It was truly refreshing to be around normal people.

Casey made a sound of dismissal. "Please. I have three sons. Nothing phases me."