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  "Can you talk to them? Can they hear you?"

  "I can try," she said but the sounds of footsteps climbing the stairs ushered them on to the next room. A family of five was right behind them showing their impatience as if they were waiting for a turn at mini-golf and Max was holding up the line.

  Later, Max and Sandra entered the reception room, a large ball room on the second floor — or maybe it was the third or fourth floor, the house had so many stairs and ups and downs it became difficult to know for sure. In a glass booth, Max saw the most frightening marionettes — one a copy of each member of the family. They had exaggerated features and old, chipped paint.

  "Sandra."

  When she walked over and saw the marionette family, she let out a gasp. "I'd rather see ghosts," she said.

  "They would be a good place to hide a magic brush."

  When they reached the attic, Sandra grasped Max's hand with crushing strength. The entire floor had been converted into a theater with a wooden thrust stage at one end and chairs all around. Off to the right was a large replica of the house with the center cut out and curtained — a puppet theater. The ceiling raised up to a point and on their slanted sides were eight enormous murals.

  But Max knew that the impressive sight had not caused Sandra's reaction. "How many do you see?" he whispered.

  "I don't know. They're all blurring together." Sandra's skin turned bone white and she leaned in to Max's shoulder. "I don't feel so good."

  Without another word, Max escorted her through the house, not worrying about the proper tour path, and garnering a few perturbed glares from other visitors. He led Sandra outside, and the fresh air had an immediate effect on her. Her skin regained some color as she took long, deep breaths.

  "You okay?" Max asked.

  Sandra nodded. "I don't know what happened. It was just so strange. In my whole life, I've seen maybe three of those blurry ghosts. But up there ... I can't believe how many there were."

  "Does that mean the paintbrush ..." Max's voice trailed off as his eyes looked toward the parking lot. He could feel Sandra's quizzical stare falter and felt her shift as she followed his gaze. He heard her breath catch.

  Dr. Connor and Mr. Modesto leaned against the old Honda.

  Chapter 19

  "Did you enjoy your tour?" Dr. Connor asked. She looked much healthier than at any other time in the past few days. She also looked like somebody savoring her own maliciousness.

  "Get off my car," Max said.

  Mr. Modesto gazed down to indicate that he did not actually touch the car. The sneer on his face showed that he wouldn't touch the car even if given permission. Dr. Connor, on the other hand, pressed harder against the car door.

  "Mr. Porter, let me begin by assuring you that you will not find the object which you are seeking," Mr. Modesto said. He spoke a bit slower than normal, choosing each word with great care and purpose. "However tarnished by you, we still possess the actual painting. We have all the information required and we have a greater desire to acquire this object. So, if you will simply let this go, we can get this object for our employer and no further contact between us will be necessary. Your insurance policy that you so gleefully hold over us will continue to be honored, of course."

  "Get off that car, now," Sandra said. Even from his peripheral vision, Max could see that Sandra was about to take a swing at Connor. Perhaps the witch sensed it, too, because she did take one step away — smiling the whole time.

  "Furthermore," Mr. Modesto said and threw a distasteful look at Connor, "I believe this woman owes you an apology."

  Connor locked eyes with Mr. Modesto just long enough to show that she hated doing this, that he had forced her, and that she didn't mean a single word. She faced Max and Sandra with her mocking grin. "I'm sorry for taking you from your husband, and I'm sorry for causing you so much trouble. The Hull family had no part in it."

  "Thank you," Mr. Modesto said. Dr. Connor threw in a patronizing curtsy and stepped back.

  Max leaned in towards Mr. Modesto. "Y'know, you keep coming to me with apologies. First, Mr. Gold and now Dr. Connor. The Hull family should look closer at their hiring practices."

  "Undoubtedly. They hired you, after all."

  Max let out a slight laugh. "And, thankfully, I don't work for them anymore. So, I don't take their orders, either. It's been nice chatting with you. Now, if you'll please move aside, we have to confer with our client."

  "Am I to take that to mean you're still going to pursue these matters?"

  "Take it any way you want."

  "You won't find it. We have the painting. And we know exactly where the object is."

  Sandra pushed Connor aside as she stormed to the car door. "It's called a paintbrush. We all know it, so stop with all the 'this object' nonsense. And the answer is no. We are not backing out of this case. Besides, you're a bad liar. You have no clue where this paintbrush is."

  Connor came up to the car door and shoved it closed just as Sandra got in, narrowly missing her fingers. "We know exactly where it is. We just have to wait for the right time to get it."

  "Dr. Connor," Modesto snapped.

  The witch backed away from the car, pulled out a hip flask, and swung back its contents. "I'm watching you," she said and waved a finger at Sandra — naughty, naughty.

  As Max started the car, Sandra raised a finger of her own.

  * * * *

  They drove straight to the office without a word. Sandra fumed while Max tried to replay the entire conversation in his head. Something didn't sit right. Something felt off in the way Modesto spoke.

  When they entered the office, Max felt a surprising twinge of disappointment that Drummond was not to be found. He settled behind his desk, propped up his feet, and got lost in thought. Sandra tapped away at her computer.

  "They close at four o'clock," she said.

  "Who?"

  "Korner's Folly. The house closes at four. I'm assuming you want to go there tonight to see what we can find."

  "What about the blurry ghosts?"

  Sandra shrugged. "Guess I won't be going into the theater."

  "Honey, I don't know if —"

  "Don't even start. You know we have to go. Besides, that bitch-witch said they knew where the paintbrush was, they just had to wait for the right time. It's got to be in that house. They wouldn't have come all that way just to mouth off at us."

  "No, but if Hull told them to do so, they certainly would come to make sure we had accepted that apology. They don't want those journals released."

  "Maybe. But they had to be scoping out the house, too. And it seems they think they know where it is."

  Max nodded. "Which means they'll be going after it tonight."

  "That's why we have to get there first."

  Scratching his chin, Max pictured the house. "We'll all have to wait until dark. Even then, the house is right on a major street. I don't see how we're going to get in without attracting unwanted attention. Not to mention we've got to get in, find the paintbrush, and get out before Hull's people show up. You got any bright ideas?"

  Before Sandra could answer, Drummond burst in the office from the bookcase. "I've got an idea," he said as he swooped into a chair.

  Startled, Max sat forward, banging his knee on the desk. "I can't believe you. Have you been here the whole time? Just eavesdropping from your bookcase?"

  Drummond dismissed the accusation with a shrug. "Seemed like a smart thing to do at the time."

  "Don't you trust us?"

  "More than most people, but until you're a ghost floating around this office with me, I've got to protect myself now and then. Oh, get over yourself — I wasn't eavesdropping. I only caught the end of what you were saying. Okay, Mr. Uppity-uppity?"

  Max crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. "Fine. I've got more important things to worry about. Like have you found Jules Korner yet?"

  Drummond leaned back and glanced at Sandra. "He thinks I wouldn't have told him about that already? C'mon.
"

  "Then why are you here and not looking for him?"

  "Because sometimes you have to be calm, put out your feelers, and wait. I've spread the word in the right ears, and I need to wait a little to see if Korner shows up. Now, do you want to hear my idea, or do you want to sulk around your office for a few hours?"

  Sometimes Max wished Drummond had a more substantial body, so he could smack the ghost hard. "Tell us your idea," he said, slouching back in his chair.

  Bringing his hands together with one, sharp clap, Drummond popped into the air and looked at both his partners. "I could go to the house right now. Nobody can see me, so I can search for this paintbrush while the tours are still going on. Then, when evening comes, you guys show up, and I guide you to where it is — or at least, where it isn't, if I haven't found it by then."

  Max let Drummond hang in the air with an expectant gaze. He knew the idea was good. It didn't take a genius to see that. But he still felt ruffled by Drummond and wanted the ghost to stew a bit.

  Sandra misinterpreted Max's hesitation for doubt, and said, "That's one of the best ideas I've ever heard from you. Go do it, and we'll meet you at Korner's Folly tonight. It's not too far, is it? I mean, you won't get snapped back like you did on our way to Lake Norman?"

  "I don't think so," Drummond said, but he didn't seem so confident. "I suspect it's close to the edge of my territory, though, so I might be in a bit of pain. You might have to nurse me a bit when I get back."

  Sandra shook her head. "Just get going."

  "Sugar, you're a heartbreaker."

  Sandra laughed as Drummond flew out of the office. When she turned around, Max had not moved from his desk. His old anger had ignited deep in his gut, and he could see on his wife's face that she knew it, too.

  "I don't want to fight," she said, picking at some papers on her desk.

  "This is so messed up. You're flirting with a dead guy right in front of me while I'm feeling guilty over Melinda Corkille when nothing happened."

  Sandra slammed the papers down. "I knew something was going on with that woman."

  "Nothing went on. I mean, she tried, but I wasn't buying."

  "But you feel guilty."

  "I'm a man. I have thoughts even if I'm strong enough not to act on them. And frankly, things haven't been all that wonderful between us lately, so you shouldn't be surprised that I'm having thoughts."

  "Really?" Sandra said in a tone that spewed fire and brimstone. "Is that the way it is for men? The second we have a little marital spat, you just start thinking about screwing other women?"

  Max was on his feet now. "Honey, guys think about screwing other women all the time. It has nothing to do with our marriage or love or anything. It's just the way we're wired."

  "So what's your problem then? It's okay for you to flirt with Melinda but if I sass Drummond just for fun it's wrong? What kind of fucked up logic goes on in your brain?"

  "I'm not mad about that," Max shouted. "I'm not angry at all!"

  His thundering voice echoed in the building. Sandra locked eyes with him, both of them seething, and before another word could be yelled, she processed his words and the corner of her mouth trembled upward. The other corner also moved up until she fully smiled.

  "This is serious," Max said, but the end of his words were caught in a laugh.

  "I know," she said, and stepped back, covering her mouth.

  That did it. The two of them burst into hysterics. Sandra collapsed at her desk, clutching her stomach, and letting out laughter with abandon. Max's eyes watered as he followed suit.

  So much of their stress poured out with each successive wave that once their bodies got started, stopping seemed impossible. Max's sides ached yet every time they thought it ended, a snort or chuckle would send them off again. And if felt good. More than just a release, the moment brought with it relief.

  At length, they managed to speak with only a few giggles breaking through. Max dabbed at his eyes and said, "I swear, honey, you have nothing to worry about. I love you. I always have."

  "Then trust me. And I don't mean about jealousy. I know you trust me there, and I know you don't really think anything about Drummond. But in the rest of our life, you've got to trust me."

  "I do."

  "No, you don't." She stepped near Max and wrapped her arms around his waist. "How long have you been sitting here in this office wishing I'd leave? Hmmm? It's driving you nuts having me here. You said it the other day that you feel smothered. But you're stuck because business is bad and I'm an asset you can't do without right now. I get it. It's tough. But you think it's a picnic being around you all day?"

  Max smiled. "Maybe not a picnic, but surely a nice snack."

  "Don't flatter yourself." She playfully slapped his chest. "Look, unless you gain the ability to see all the ghosts like I have, you're stuck with me."

  "I don't mind having you here."

  "Yes, you do. But that's okay. Couples aren't meant to be glued together all the time. We'd kill each other while professing how much we love one another."

  "Then what do we do?"

  "I don't know." They both let out a short laugh. "But now that we're actually talking again, I do know that we can figure it out. We make a pretty smart team."

  Max hugged his wife tight and strong. "You're an incredible woman. Far more than I ever deserved."

  "Don't forget it," she said and wiped her eyes on his shoulder. "Now, let's go find that stupid paintbrush."

  Chapter 20

  Max and Sandra had to kill a few hours before it would be safe to go out to Korner's Folly. They drove to T.J.s Deli, scarfed a few sandwiches — eating too fast from nerves — and they waited. As worrisome as the whole situation had become, a small part of Max enjoyed sitting with Sandra at the deli. It was such a simple, normal thing to do. So unlike their everyday lives that he had to stop just long enough to etch the moment into his brain.

  And then it was time to go.

  They drove in silence but not a quiet boiling with anger. Nerves, of course, but the tension between them had disappeared. Now, Max could focus entirely on the job at hand.

  "I want you to be my getaway man," Max said as they neared the off ramp for Kernersville. "This house is so visible. I need you to stay in the car, keep it running, honk if you see a cop or Modesto or anybody really. If I come running out, open the passenger door and be ready to get us out of there. You okay with that?"

  "I can be a getaway gal, if that works for you."

  Max smiled. "My apologies. 'Getaway gal' sounds much better."

  They pulled in the visitor parking lot and drove onto the grass behind the house. It wasn't completely out of sight, but anybody passing in a car would probably miss them. If someone came by on foot, however, they were in trouble.

  Max kissed Sandra on the cheek and headed toward the building. He moved to the side entrance (which was used as the exit from the tour) and tried the doorknob. Locked.

  "Drummond," Max hissed as loud as he dared. "Drummond."

  No answer. He slid along the wall toward the front of the house, trying to stay behind the various brick walls. From the corner, he saw no easy way to get to the front door. It was probably locked anyway. As he started to turn back, he glimpsed the beaten pot in front of the words WITCHES CORNER.

  Why not? He dug out a dime and a nickel and tossed them into the pot. The dull clink seemed loud to his ears, but nobody appeared to notice.

  "Drummond," he whispered again as he hurried back to the side door. "Come on. Open up."

  The side door lock clicked. Max stared at it as if he had never seen one before. Then he tried the knob and found it opened with ease. He stepped into a long room — the sewing room, if he recalled correctly from the tour — it was hard to tell in the dark. He had a small penlight with him but didn't want to use it unless he had no other choice. With so many windows in the house, he feared somebody might notice the light.

  Drummond's ghostly visage seemed to shine pale li
ght all around but didn't illuminate anything. It was a strange sight, one that Max had never noticed before. Drummond looked tired, even for a ghost.

  "There's no paintbrush here. I've checked all but one room."

  "What? Why didn't you just come back to the office and tell us not to bother?"

  "Because it has to be in that room. I just can't go there."

  "Out of your range?"

  "No," Drummond said, glancing upward with a shiver. "It's not that. The room is at the very top — the attic that's a theater. But it's filled with the ghosts Sandra calls blurs. I can't go in there."

  "Why not?"

  "It hurts." Drummond turned away and let out an eerie sigh. Max thought, not for the first time, that Drummond could haunt a house to great effect. "I'm going back to the ghost realm. I'll find Jules Korner. He should be looking hard for me now, so it should be easy."

  "Okay. I'll check out this theater. Don't worry about it."

  "Who's worried?" Drummond said but he looked as if a giant arrow pointed at him.

  Once his ghostly partner disappeared, Max headed deeper into the house. He flashed his penlight from time to time but never kept it on for more than a few seconds. The creaking wood floors and odd echoes made him think of a classic haunted house.

  Every painting with a face followed his movements. He could feel their eyes upon him. From every ceiling mural, they looked down upon him. From every dark corner, every misshapen doorway, every narrow staircase, Max could feel the growing pressure of being watched.

  Maybe he should have had Sandra come with him. The tour lady had said this place was officially haunted. Sandra would be able to see the ghosts, maybe even get them to talk.

  As enticing as the idea of getting his wife by his side was, he knew he couldn't go back to get her. If he left this house, he wouldn't want to re-enter. Though not a believer of New Age-type things, he did believe that this place gave off a bad vibe. Something was wrong with this house. At least it felt that way at night, alone and in the dark.

  After one wrong turn, he found the main stairwell that led up to the theater. He paused just long enough to feel his legs quiver and taste the dry coating in his mouth. Surely, Drummond could find out from Jules Korner where the paintbrush was hidden. Max didn't need to do this. Except there was no guarantee Drummond would find Korner let alone that the man would talk. And if Mr. Modesto was to be believed, time was not on Max's side. Through force of will, he moved upward, ignoring the strong desire to race back to Sandra, drive off, and never return.