Page 57 of The Sisters of Crimson House

“You flew in from Paris when you came home, yeah?”

“Oui, bien sûr,” Miranda replied. “What makes you ask?”

“Just wondering if it was close to Luxembourg. I’m American. It’s all the same to me,” she said. Miranda told her she had been in Paris. Case closed. Why would she lie about that?

Astrid raised an eyebrow behind Miranda’s back. Charley hadn’t wanted to bring her sister along, but leaving her at home alone to discover fresh horrors at the neighbors’ wasn’t going to be an option. Also, Zavier had the first tour at Crimson House since Sadie passed, and the thought of her sister roaming the halls while channeling God knew what filled her with a creeping dread. So did being alone with her sister here. She would be lying if she said she wasn’t grateful Astrid was there for backup.

Charley knocked on the door and stepped back. She heard the laughter first, uncertain if it was in her head or coming from somewhere in the yard. She turned just in time to see a little girl of maybe six or seven wearing a yellow shirt and brown shorts run past her. White, animal-shaped barrettes held back a shock of blond hair, and Charley wondered if they were alligators or sharks as the girl disappeared through the door. Charley felt the goose bumps spread along her arms and legs, a chill scurrying up her spine. For a stunned moment, no one spoke, Charley finally catching Astrid’s quizzical gaze.

So much for the plan.

The door was opened seconds later by a harried-looking realtor wearing a coral blazer and heels. She sighed, looking them up and down. “You must be the ghost busters. Just don’t be long.” Without another word, she promptly passed them and walked down the driveway.

Confused, Charley led the group inside.

She didn’t care much for Tudor houses, with their pitched roofs and dark masonry that looked like the provenance of hobbits, but the inside was surprisingly bright and welcoming. No sign of a scampering girl spirit. As the group shuffled into the small foyer, Sy was waiting for them, leaning against a massive oak entry table staged with a spray of roses in a ceramic vase and the realtor’s business cards fanned out in a pretty arc.

“Every time we meet, you look like you just saw a ghost,” he said to Charley. He was in a gray sweater over black jeans, his gaze curious as he looked her over.

“I guess you could say that’s my brand,” said Charley automatically, her eyes scanning the lobby for any additional spirits. How she wished she’d come off as effortlessly cool like Miranda, not the startled banshee she turned into around him. She nodded at the business cards on the table.

“You selling a house? I didn’t know realty was on your resume, too.”

“I know the owners,” he said. “I told them I’d help them get it ready if I could crash here while I was in town.” Well, that was one mystery solved. He’d said he wasn’t staying at the Peabody, so with no other clues, she’d pictured him living in the back of that rented Camry. But then his shirts had been too pressed to be living out of a car. Not that she had noticed. Or cared.

“You never mentioned you had a Memphis connection,” said Charley. He’d said he’d seen Miranda a month ago at their childhood home. He is trying to get under her skin.

“Never came up,” he said pleasantly.

Miranda said nothing, just quietly scanned the lobby. This partially explained why he was in Memphis. It explained nothing about why her sister had been here for nearly a month without telling her. If he’d been telling the truth.

“The realtor said ghost busters?” prompted Astrid, trying to get them back on track. “I would have brought my Ouija board if I thought we were hunting.”

“We’re not hunting,” said Charley. “We just came for my deck and to head out.” She flexed her hand, forcing herself not to look at the lines on her palm. At his hand tantalizingly close to hers.

“You’re not remotely curious about a haunted house,” said Sy, studying her.

The little girl was wearing alligator clips. She was sure of it. Sy had friends who lived in Memphis. She was nearly mad with curiosity.

“We’ll give you five minutes.”

“The realtor said we could have the place for the hour,” Sy replied. “I think the next showing is at two. Take your coats?”

“I’m fine to keep mine on, thanks,” said Miranda, immediately passing by him to head down the hall.

“Make yourself at home,” he called after her.

Charley shrugged at him. “I don’t think you need me to explain her to you.”

They moved into the living room, an imposing rectangle of dark hardwood and leather upholstery, complete with shadowbox-framed hunting rifles above a handsome stone fireplace.

“You’ve never visited 323 East Parkway?” Sy asked, watching her as she took in the room.

“Haven’t had the pleasure until now.” As opposed to the sun-washed entry, this room felt cold and imposing. Not a room that hosted tea parties with a baby girl in play clothes.

“Was it a hunting lodge?” asked Astrid, looking up at the rifles above the mantel.

“Owners collected antiques from around the world,” said Sy, following her gaze.