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© 2009, Elizabeth
Black Reviews For THE HAUNTING OF THE SANDPIPER INN by Elizabeth Black This is a rather gripping read...The relationship between the characters builds up quickly, culminating in some heavy sex scenes. I did enjoy this book and felt like I was on one of those ghost investigation programmes...This book is definitely worth a read if you like hot and steamy mixed with horror and hauntings. Vivienne, You Gotta Read Reviews I loved this story by Ms. Black. I am
a huge fan of her writing and I thoroughly enjoy her haunting storylines
and characters. She developed a fun storyline that immediately pulled
me in from the very first page and entertained me until the very last
sentence. I felt as if I was walking along with Ellis and the GHOST
team trying to debunk the hauntings that The Sandpiper Inn seemed to
be experiencing. This is a great story that doesn’t just have
to be read at Halloween. If you love ghost stories and love to read
about haunted places, this is definitely one you must add to your library.
Ms. Black did a wonderful job with this story and I can’t wait
to read her next one. You’re definitely going to enjoy this story.
Don’t pass this one up! The lively characters in The Haunting
of the Sandpiper Inn are remarkably refreshing. I love the vibrant glow
they bring into the story. The moment I started reading about Ellis
and Beck, I wanted them to connect in so many ways. The story kept me
on the edge, even giving me little goose bumps on occasion. I already
love anything that has to do with the paranormal in these type stories
or events, and this one is remarkably written by Elizabeth Black. Once
I started it, I couldn't put the book down. The strong attraction she
gives to Ellis and Beck is magnificent. I adore the way Ellis and the
other GHOST investigators interacted together. This engaging read is
one that left a great impression with this reader. THE HAUNTING OF THE SANDPIPER INN is an attention-grabbing read that is well laid out and moves along quickly. It has a great paranormal edge to it with plenty of psychic phenomenon occurring and the start of a heady relationship between Ellis and Beck. Elizabeth Black’s tale makes you feel like you are part of the investigation team and I appreciated the realism of things. It is laced with a bit of humor and the steaminess it contained had me distracted just enough to almost ignore the goose bumps I got when reading through parts of the scenes. If you enjoy supernatural mysteries mixed with hot romance, then this book is for you. Reviewed by Pamela Denise for Romance Junkies "Ms. Black writes a suspense filled, tightly-woven, and tingling tale of ghosts and murders and hauntings...oh, my! Toss into the mix a hot, wonderfully erotic romance with a self-proclaimed skeptic who is out to prove things such as ghosts don't really exist, and you have a wonderful read that kept me turning pages until the wee hours! With delightfully wicked and funny characters like Lealand Ward, only one of the several ghosts who run amok at The Sandpiper Inn, and who loves to watch the ladies undress and enjoys copping a feel whenever his ecctoplasm is up to the task, Ms. Black weaves a wicked and tingly tale of murder, sex, and ghostly revenge with a master's hand! Well worth the read, and well worth the 8.0 on Fran's Richter Scale!" Fran Lee - The Examiner Sample Chapter For THE HAUNTING OF THE SANDPIPER INN by Elizabeth Black Ellis McKay set her suitcase on the floor. While she normally welcomed idle chitchat with owners of inns, she was so tired she did not have the energy to carry on a conversation. She had already taken photos of the outside of the house before the sun set. Less work to do the next day. The Sandpiper Inn was a lovely turn-of-the-century bed-and-breakfast, and Ellis looked forward to writing a chapter in her book about it. But at this hour, she had enough for the day and wanted to rest and get some food in her stomach. The only thing standing between her and a hot bubble bath was the chipper, plump owner of the Sandpiper Inn who wouldn’t stop babbling. “I’m so glad you’re doing a write-up about the Sandpiper! We’ve had many ghost sightings!” “I’m sure you have.” After the flight and her long drive in a tight rental car, she wanted to curl up in the bathtub, covered to her chin in bath bubbles, with one of Donald Westlake’s Dortmunder novels to keep her company. Although the inn’s owner was pleasant and had not done a thing wrong, Ellis wished she would quiet down, give her the key to her room, and leave her in peace. But she kept her mouth under control since she knew when she was tired she became very cranky. The last thing she wanted to do was to bark at the poor woman in a rude manner. Ellis didn’t want to hurt the woman’s feelings by being a crankypants. “You mentioned in your e-mail that room seven is the most haunted room in the inn. I requested the room in my e-mail to you.” “And it is ready for you, although I wish you would stay in another room. People who stay in room seven don’t stay long. The spirit haunting that room can be frightening.” “I don’t frighten easily. I’ve had more than my share of experiences. I can handle it.” “I hope so. Of course, the room is yours, and I must say I’m very pleased to have you here. It’s wonderful having a real live psychic in the inn!” “I’m happy for you.” “Did you know the ghost of the original owner haunts your room? He died in a rather embarrassing manner. He had a heart attack while having sex.” The woman pulled out a scrapbook and opened it before Ellis had a chance to protest. Ellis’ shoulders slumped. She didn’t want to waste any more time checking in than she had to. The woman pointed to a photograph. Ellis sighed, a tired, dry sound coming from her throat. Why complain? What would it hurt to give the owner a little attention? Just don’t bite her head off with your grumbling, or you’ll get on her bad side before you’ve even set foot on the stairs. “See this picture? It’s from one of our guests who took a picture of Lealand Ward as he leaned over the bed. Isn’t it wonderful?” She looked at the photograph and frowned, seeing nothing except for a halo around the edge of the photograph, likely caused by a reflection inside the camera. “It’s fabulous. May I have my key please?” She immediately bit her lip. Watch it, you’re getting nasty. Be pleasant, and soon you’ll be relaxing in the tub. “Certainly. I am so happy you’re here. We’ve never had a real live psychic before!” “The key?” Damn it! Be nice. She smiled, apologetic. “Please?” The woman handed Ellis a metal house key on a keychain with Sandpiper Inn printed on one side and the number seven on the back. As tired as Ellis was, she knew she’d forget the room number, even though she had specifically requested it. “Let me carry your bag for you. It would be an honor. I’ve read all your books. I never thought the Sandpiper Inn would find its way into one, though.” “You thought wrong.” “Wasn’t the photograph amazing?” Ellis was too tired to let the poor woman down. The photograph was not of a ghost. It was always the same story. A perfectly natural explanation lay behind most hauntings. It was rare to find a real ghost, and she should know, because ghosts chatted her up whenever they had the chance. Most ghosts were ordinary folk stuck in a horrid situation. Some of them didn’t even know they were dead. They could also be pushy and unpleasant. Despite her own experiences, hauntings were much less common than most people thought. Thanks to ridiculous television reality shows full of college-aged kids with EMF detectors and infrared cameras, most people these days thought there was a ghost around every corner. Ellis and the woman walked upstairs, with Ellis leading the way. “I’ve never met a psychic before. How long have you been psychic?” “As long as I can remember. I saw what you would call ghosts when I was a child. The first one I saw was my grandmother. I was very close to her.” “I hope you see ghosts this weekend. It would be wonderful and a great boost to our business. Tourism has been down here in Norwich because the economy has been in such bad shape.” “Yes, I know. All the inns I’m staying in for the book have suffered because of the poor economy. The owners figure a good ghost story could bring in customers. Sadly, ghosts are not nearly as common as many people think.” “You don’t say? Well, we definitely have ghosts. We’ve had many sightings of orbs. I have the proof in photographs and EVP tapes other investigators have left for us.” “I’ve never been impressed with orbs. Most of the time they’re just dust. No one talked about orbs until television reality shows started bringing them up a few years ago. Now everyone sees them.” Ellis shut her mouth. It was best not to say too much in her tired state, and she resisted snapping at poor Mrs. Amoroso. The woman didn’t deserve such treatment. After all, she only wanted to bring business to her lovely inn. Ellis didn’t have the heart to tell her most of those photographs could be proven to be of nothing supernatural whatsoever, and the EVPs could be anything from a glitch in the tape to natural noises made by houses as they settle in the cool of the night. Despite her skepticism, she knew to keep quiet, because her new book, Haunted Cape Ann, Massachusetts, would pay her rent, utilities, and World of Warcraft habit. “But you do see ghosts?” “Yes, ma’am. I see ghosts.” “What else do you see, as a psychic?” “I saw auras when I was in grade school. When I saw my first aura, I knew I was different.” “How fascinating. Can you see my aura?” “Not right now. Not when I’m tired.” “Maybe later, when you’re rested, you can tell me what color my aura is.” “Sure.” “Would you like a cup of tea and some biscuits? You look like you could use the pick-me-up.” Now she had done it. The woman made Ellis feel guilty. She didn’t have the heart to tell her most hauntings were figments of people’s imaginations. People who believed in ghosts wanted to believe in them so badly they imagined they saw or heard them. Although Ellis could see ghosts, they were much more rare than most people suspected. “Yes, I’d love some tea and biscuits. Just leave them outside my door.” Ellis excused herself and went in her room. The owner dropped off her suitcase without saying another word, something for which Ellis was very grateful. As soon as the woman left, Ellis locked the door, undressed, and threw her clothing in a heap on the floor. She grabbed her mini-tape recorder out of her backpack and turned it on. “Room seven at the Sandpiper Inn is modest yet comfortable. Four-poster bed with homemade quilt. Chocolates on the pillow. Nice touch, but I wonder if the owner does such niceties for all guests or only the ones writing books about the inn? Large writing desk and comfortable, plush chair. Beautiful view of the ocean and an old cemetery gives the inn quaint New England charm. Owner is too chatty for my taste, but she welcomed me adequately. Not a bad place. Certainly inviting.” Curious to know if any entities wanted to contact her, she sat in an overstuffed chair by the window, closed her eyes, and relaxed. The sounds of the inn surrounded her. Seagulls called overhead. A train rumbled in the distance. Footsteps moved down the hall—perfectly human footsteps, Ellis was disappointed to realize. Pleasant smells made their way to her sensitive nose: the scent of seaweed rotting on rocks in low tide; coffee brewing in the kitchen downstairs; the orange-scented cleanser used to clean the room. Nothing out of the ordinary. Most of the time when she investigated a house, she experienced no psychic phenomenon on the first day. The spirits preferred to feel her out first before rattling doors, moving tables, and futzing with the lights. No, check that. Spirits were not in the habit of destroying the crockery to prove they existed. Most spirits were not so dramatic. When Ellis was present, they didn’t need to be. They merely talked to her quietly. Much less interesting than breaking a lamp over someone’s head. Ellis was certain the Sandpiper would be no different. How wrong she was. As she sat in silence, she felt the faint stirring of interest, a phantom sense that was very faint but definitely present. She was being watched. It was thrilling knowing there were actual entities at the Sandpiper Inn. All too often, Ellis came up short-handed when it came to ghosts. There was usually a logical, natural explanation for supposedly ghostly happenings. She suspected the Sandpiper Inn would prove to be different, and such knowledge made her feel very satisfied. While she did not sense any outright animosity, she had the strong impression whatever walked in the house did not trust her enough to communicate. For the time being, she would comply with the spirit’s wishes. Once she had her computer up and booted, she turned on some Keiko Matsui jazz piano. If she turned on the usual techno she liked to listen to, she would only give herself a headache. She took the tray with tea and biscuits sitting outside her door and brought it into her room. When she turned to place her tray on the walnut writing desk, she saw a shadow out of the corner of her eye. Whirling her head in the direction of the bed, from whence the shadow came, she scanned the room but she saw nothing. Her hair stood on end as the temperature in the room quickly cooled. She knew what such feelings meant. She was not alone. A faint, throaty laugh floated over
the bed. It was a male laugh, virile in its intensity. “Whoever you are, I don’t appreciate you sneaking up on me while I’m naked.” As she gazed at the bed, she saw one side of the mattress press downward as if someone lay on it. The bedsheets on the other side scooted downward, inviting her to join in the fun. “No, thank you. Now get out of my room!” A breeze blew across the room, enveloping her. As the cool air touched her skin, she felt a distinct pinch on her bare right butt cheek. She jumped. “Don’t touch me! Get out of here, you pervert!” Playful laughter floated over her head, and the breeze blew across the room and sailed out the closed door. Immediately, the room warmed up. Just what she needed. A horny ghost. She was not about to let a phantom ruin her bubble bath. With the Dortmunder novel in hand, she walked naked to the bathroom and drew a hot bath. She poured a bit of her favorite ocean-scented bath and shower gel into the running water, and immediately bubbles burst all over the tub. The water felt warm and inviting as she stepped into it, and then she read about Dortmunder’s latest hairbrained scheme. She enjoyed her tea and biscuits while soaking in the tub. Whoever had visited her and flirted so openly with her was the furthest thing from her mind. Used to dealing with all sorts of spirits, she handled the playful ghost in a firm manner, which she suspected was exactly what he needed. He did not bother her while she soaked in the tub and read her novel. An hour later, rejuvenated, she dressed and unpacked. When all her belongings were in their proper place, as she liked them to be when she traveled, she walked downstairs. She hoped the owner wouldn’t chatter too much when Ellis asked for directions to a cheap restaurant within walking distance. A group of young people carrying boxes and recording equipment took up all the room in the lobby. Was a movie being shot in town? “I’m so glad you’re here, Miss McKay,” the owner ran to Ellis. “These people are from Ghost Hunters of Scenic Thatcher’s Island, and they’re staying here for the next couple of days to do an investigation! I told them about you, and they’d like to meet you.” Ghost Hunters of Scenic Thatcher’s Island? GHOST? Oh, be still my beating heart, I know this bunch! Their hearts are in the right place, but they squeal at the slightest creak in a house. Much too impressionable for my taste. A group of young men and women dressed in jeans and GHOST baseball caps and T-shirts stood before her. They were college-aged, which didn’t surprise Ellis. College kids these days formed their own psychical societies all over the country, and did their damnedest to get on television, what with the popularity of shows like Spook Central and Ghost Hunters. At least the people on Ghost Hunters were skeptics. The same couldn’t be said for the crew on that ridiculous show Spook Central. When Ellis was college-aged, she worked on her journalism degree. Now, at forty, she published books about hauntings and legends. Those books paid her bills, so she couldn’t complain much. The young man who appeared to be the group’s leader stepped forward and held out his hand. “Hi. I’m Jim, the founder of GHOST. I’ve heard of you. Read your books. It’s great to meet you. We’re one of New England’s best paranormal investigative teams. We’d love to have you join us if you wish.” “Thanks. I’ll have to think about it. I’m working on a new book, Haunted Cape Ann, Massachusetts.” “Let me introduce the team to you. Steve, our tech expert. Brian and Cath, investigators, Alan Horner, psychic, and our newest member, John Becker. The camera crew hasn’t arrived yet. You’ll meet them when they do.” Alan Horner stepped toward her. She was already familiar with that irritant. While she bit her tongue to keep from snapping at the owner of the Sandpiper, she would not give fake psychic and media whore Alan Horner the same respect. Wasting no time, Horner wormed his way into Ellis’ personal space, standing so close to her his spittle flew in her face when he talked. If she had to put up with his presence her entire time at the Sandpiper, she knew things were going to get very animated, and not in a supernatural sense. “Would you like to interview me for the book? I am already getting vibrations from the Sandpiper. The spirit presence here is very strong. I sense the presence of a man who died here… What did you say, White Feather? He was a traveler who was murdered for his pocketbook. He is standing in this room, watching us. Do you sense him?” “I sense something unpleasant.” “Fabulous! We could work together while GHOST is here. It would be a good addition to your book.” “Wonderful.” Fat chance in hell of you ever getting free publicity in my book, bub. “I’ll even give you an autographed hardback copy of my latest book, Ghosts And Me.” “I’m honored.” “Would you like to join us during our investigation? I have plenty of great information for your book.” “I have my own way of doing things. But thanks for the invitation. Let me think about it when I get some food inside me. Where are the good, cheap restaurants in Norwich?” “I was about to ask the same thing, Ms. McKay.” A tall man stood next to her, shoving Mr. Famous Psychic out of the way. Just for shoving aside the brown-nosing creep, Ellis liked him already. He was handsome in a boyish, playful sort of way. His wavy, dark hair fell to just below his shoulders. Bright hazel eyes took in everything around him, not missing a beat. His slender body was muscular without being pretentious. Broad shoulders, strong legs, and a narrow waist. He had perfect white teeth. She’d bet money they’d been capped. Ellis had a weakness for men with perfect teeth. “Please call me Ellis.” “I will. My name’s John, but everyone calls me ‘Beck.’” “Why ‘Beck’?” “Because it’s the only beer I drink.” Everyone laughed except Ellis. She wondered if she was the butt of a joke she couldn’t understand. “Also, my last name is Becker. ‘Beck’ for short.” “Makes perfect sense to me. Beck, it is.” “I’ve read your books. Nice job. You cover the history of the region very well. What kind of book are you writing now?” “Another local ghost story book. I’ve never covered Cape Ann before, and my editor likes the idea. So, here I am.” “It’s great to meet you. Are you as hungry as I am? I’m sure the guys will tag along as soon as we get our luggage and equipment squared away. How long are you here?” “Couple of days.” “Same here.” He turned to the owner. “Mrs. Amoroso, can you suggest a place for all of us to eat?” Her name was “Amoroso”. Ellis had forgotten. “The Chowder House is always a good bet. Best chowder in Norwich too. You can walk to it from here. Turn right outside our gate and walk for about two blocks until you get to Main Street. Turn left. Follow Main Street until the end, at Beach Road. The Chowder House is on Beach, on the left, facing the ocean.” “Sounds good. Would you care to join us, Ellis?” “Sure.” Even though Ellis seriously doubted GHOST had ever contacted anything even remotely paranormal, she hoped they recorded something during their stay at the Sandpiper. Most psychic teams relied on phony mediums like Mr. I’m Full of Myself, who let their imaginations run wild with “sensations” and “messages” from ghosts that were really nothing more than their very vivid imaginations. For some reason, people paid lots of money to have idiots like Horner investigate their houses. Ellis was sure it was because they wanted the publicity, and they were starstruck. Imagine being starstruck by a fake soothsayer. Oh, knock it off. You’re jealous, is all. Putting on a good show was never one of your finer points. Despite her jealousy, she wasn’t about to fake her way to a paycheck. With a much quieter method, she refused to engage in theatrics. At least Mrs. Amoroso was going to get something concrete for Ellis’ services and the eight-hundred-dollar fee she paid for Ellis to come to the inn—a chapter in a book. Her book was already contracted and was likely to sell well. Ghost legend books sold like hotcakes, especially around Halloween. Once the crew dropped off their luggage and equipment in their rooms, everyone headed out to the Chowder House. Beck moved quickly to walk by Ellis’ side, shoving Alan Horner out of the way. “Congrats on the new book. Does it have a publisher?” “Yes, it’s already contracted. I have another three months of writing to do before it’s ready.” Why did Ellis have a feeling Beck held something back from her? It’s the twinkle in his eye and his grin that won’t stay off his face, as if he’s in on a big secret, having something to do with me being the butt of a very bad joke. Although he was pleasant, she sensed he was laughing at her, although she had absolutely nothing on which to base her impression. No matter how innocuous their conversation, she wondered why she felt as if he looked at her with amusement, as if he was about to drop a surprise in her lap. “Is this your first time to Norwich?” “No. I vacation here sometimes during the summer. I’ve never been here in the fall before. It’s very pretty.” “Yes, it is. It’s taking the leaves longer than usual to turn, though. Must be the mild weather we’ve had the past few months.” “I wondered why all the leaves are still green.” “So, you are a psychic?” Here we go… “Yes. I’ve been one since I was a child.” Alan Horner wormed his way between them. Nothing irritated Ellis more than someone who butted in on other people’s conversations. Feeling especially ornery, it was hard to not allow her smart mouth to get the better of her. “Being a psychic is very special. There are so few of us, aren’t there, Ellis?” “Yes. It’s hard to find an authentic psychic.” “And here we have two authentic psychics staying in the same inn.” Ellis bit her tongue. She wasn’t
about to start snapping at Alan Horner. She’d wait until she could
catch him in a bald-faced lie while channeling his spiritual advisor,
some two-thousand-year-old Indian guide named White Feather. Bah! An
ancient Indian guide! Talk about a lack of imagination! The notion of
White Feather seemed so ridiculous to Ellis, she could barely prevent
herself from complaining about it. Why did so many of these fakers channel
queens, Egyptian princes, Indian guides, and other important, impressive
people? She had never heard of a psychic channeling the spirit of Bob
the plumber from Hoboken. Poor Bob wasn’t exciting enough for
these idiots. Imagine…a spirit guide with butt cleavage? If Ellis
ever ran into such a creature, she’d know she had finally met
the real deal. “I’ve reached many spirits in my years working as a psychic. I’ve contacted kings and peasants, although Beck here has his doubts.” Aha! I knew there was something off-putting about him. Now I’m about to hear what it is. “You do? Why? I thought you were part of GHOST’s team.” “I’m a new addition. I’m their resident skeptic.” So that was the surprise he held back. As she watched the corners of his lips rise in an amused smile, she felt a strong need to put a little distance between them as a means of protecting herself. It was one thing if both of them thought Alan Horner was full of shit. What if Beck looked at her with the same sense of disdain? Was the turned-up mouth of his a way for him to tell her he thought she was just as fake as Horner? She didn’t want to be lumped in with Mr. Full of Himself, even if it was by someone she’d just met. Would Beck be as dismissive of her gift as he was of Horner’s obvious grandstanding? Why was Beck’s opinion of her so important? She didn’t even know the man, although she could not help but admire the way his shoulders filled out his jacket. Defensive as always, she pulled away from him a bit. Sometimes skeptics could be intentionally cruel. Over the years, Ellis had grown an iron shell to keep the hurtful looks and comments from bothering her, but she was not always successful at protecting herself. Wary of Beck, she braced herself for the usual rude doubts she encountered when dealing with people who wanted to ridicule her. What made her think he wanted to ridicule her? He had been polite so far, but most skeptics were initially polite. The last time Ellis had encountered a skeptic was only a week ago, during one of her book readings. The man put on a good show with his pleasant small talk and innocuous questions, until she let her guard down and made it clear she felt comfortable with him. Then, without warning, he dropped the bomb, saying he didn’t believe in her at all, and he knew—without even having had the benefit of getting to know her—that she was a fake. He said he had been taken in by a fake psychic years ago, and he made it his mission to publicly condemn anyone who claimed to be a psychic. In his opinion, it was especially fitting that he bash her at her own book reading. He yelled at her, accusing her of taking advantage of people when they were vulnerable. Not only could she not get a word in edgewise, his voice rose until he was nearly shouting. People left the room in fear. Ellis felt mortified at the disdainful expressions of the people around her as this stranger yelled at her. She wanted to crawl into a corner and disappear, she felt so humiliated. His animosity frightened her so much she froze where she stood. He then turned on his heels and left her standing alone to wonder what she had done to deserve such shoddy treatment. She had not yet recovered from the verbal beating. She was afraid Beck would treat her the same way. And she didn’t want him to. While confident in her psychic abilities, the hateful comments hurt her. After all, she wasn’t made of stone. Whoever came up with the saying “sticks and stones may break our bones, but words can never hurt us” had never lived with the criticism psychics live with every day. She decided to tread carefully in their conversation until she knew exactly where she stood. “So you don’t believe in ghosts?” “No, I don’t. I’m here to keep GHOST honest.” “It’s brave of them to hire a skeptic. I must give them kudos for doing so.” “I’ve always enjoyed ghost
stories, but I don’t believe in them.” He winked at her.
“Told you,” Horner said with a smile. “She sure reminds me of Kate,” Steve said. “Who’s Kate?” Ellis asked. “Beck’s ex-fiancée. She was a psychic. It ended badly,” Steve said. So being burned is why Beck treated her with kid gloves. Great, she reminded him of his ex-fiancée. That’s just what she needed when she had to spend the next few days working on a chapter for a book about hauntings. He had almost married a psychic, and now he had a mission to debunk them? Ellis wanted to ask him about his ex, but she knew not to tread where she was unwelcome. Maybe in time, she can learn more about the woman and help Beck understand she probably doesn’t resemble the ex in the least. “I thought you were a skeptic,” Ellis said to Beck. “I am. I thought Kate was the real thing. I was very wrong. And enough about Kate.” Beck glared at Steve. “You didn’t need to bring her up.” Steve raised his hands, warding off the emotional blows. “Don’t hate me, bro. I just noticed the similarities.” “Thank you, Steve. You’re
a real friend. When you aren’t watching, I’ll clobber you.” “I don’t know, but in my experience, most so-called psychics are fakes. I’m curious to see what you come up with, though. What kind of psychic are you? Mental or physical?” “Both, although more commonly mental.” “Now you’re telling me something unusual. Most psychics are either mental or physical, but not both. You are an exception.” “If you see any dishes fly off the breakfront, you’ll know who to blame.” Horner piped in again. “I can cause physical manifestations. My most famous one was at the Lizzie Borden bed and breakfast. I moved a teacup six inches.” “How impressive.” “What kind of physical manifestations have you caused?” Beck ignored Horner’s boasting, much to Ellis’ relief. “The usual. Doors opening of their own accord. Barbie dolls walking around the room by themselves. Red sludge coming out of sink faucets. It doesn’t happen in every house I’ve investigated, but it happens enough.” “Happens for me all the time,” Horner piped in again. What is this, some kind of contest? “Red sludge?” To Ellis’ relief, Beck smiled at her. At least he could appreciate a good joke. “Surely you jest.” “Of course I jest. Nothing dramatic happens around me because most of the time ghosts aren’t dramatic. They usually bore me with small talk. Talking to ghosts is almost like going to an AA meeting. True confessions time, and they are very selfish. They drone on and on and on about their problems, but they don’t always want to do anything about them.” “I’ve never heard anything of the kind before,” Beck said. “You just might convince me psychics are real.” He then gave her a wicked grin. “But I doubt it.” |