The Dead Room

She streaked across the site, avoiding the ropes and stakes of the grid out of habit. She headed straight for the fence.

 

But Robert was gone.

 

And the other man was gone, too.

 

As if he had never been.

 

As if he were…

 

A ghost.

 

 

 

 

 

5

 

 

 

 

That night, he came to her at last, but not as she could ever have expected.

 

It was late when she left the dig. Her hasty exit from the trailer had exposed her to the reporters again, and there had been more pictures to be taken. This time she posed with Brad. Inevitably, there had been questions about the events of last year, and even some unexpected concern about her health. She was grateful to realize, during the course of the questioning, that no one had mentioned that she had chosen to stay at Hastings House, so she was spared any inquiries on that score. Still, the whole thing seemed to take forever, and she was longing for a shower and solitude. She realized, however, that she had been given an opportunity to remind everyone that this had been a graveyard and the remains found here deserved to be treated with respect and consideration. “I’m hoping we can put some families back together again,” she was able to say.

 

Finally it was over.

 

Laymon had ordered pizzas for everyone who wanted to stay, so, still dirty and very tired, they crowded into the trailer, ate and called it a day.

 

“I’ll walk you home,” Brad told her.

 

“I live down the block,” she reminded him.

 

“I know. I’ll walk you.”

 

“I’m a New Yorker and can take care of myself,” she reminded him.

 

He looked straight ahead. “I don’t know. Matt always called you a rebel.”

 

“You remember that?”

 

“Sure. But I want to walk you home just because…well, I don’t care how street-smart you are. I’ll see you in, and then I can stand on the curb and pray for a cab or just wander over to Broadway and get one. And thanks, by the way.”

 

“For what?”

 

“You tossed all the press attention in my direction again.”

 

“We’re partners.”

 

“Yeah, but you’re the one who always knows where to dig. Anyway, the limelight finds you no matter what. The reporters love you. You’re young and gorgeous, and you dig up the dead. That kind of thing fascinates people.”

 

“I don’t dig up the dead, I dig up history,” she said.

 

He shrugged.

 

“And besides, you’re young and gorgeous, too.”

 

“Thanks for noticing,” he told her, laughing.

 

She laughed, too, and they walked arm in arm to the house.

 

He saw her to the door and left her. The moment he was gone, she dialed Robert’s number.

 

“Are you all right?” he asked immediately.

 

“I’m fine.”

 

“Good. You home? Or at Hastings House, I mean.”

 

“Yup.”

 

“It was a zoo out there today. A good zoo, though.”

 

“Sure. I guess. So…what’s up?”

 

“Um…Robert…” She hesitated, trying to sound light. “You haven’t started seeing ghosts, have you?”

 

“What?” He sounded astonished—and then worried again. “Leslie, what are you talking about?”

 

“Who was that man?”

 

“What man?”

 

“The one you were talking to.”

 

“Leslie, I talked to dozens of men today.”

 

“This afternoon. Out on the sidewalk near the site.”

 

Did he hesitate for just a second? Was she imagining that he sounded suspicious when he answered?

 

“I think you know most of the people I talked to today. Hank, Dryer…maybe you saw me talking to him? Let’s see, I talked with Brad a couple of times, with Laymon…a really cute grad student—but she was no man. Hmm. A not-so-cute grad student, some other cops, a P.I., a nosy businessman…a guy driving a double-parked limo….”

 

“Okay, sorry. Never mind,” Leslie said.

 

“You sure you’re all right?”

 

“I’m great. Actually, I’m tired and filthy, but at least I’m not hungry—we had pizza. I’m sorry I bothered you, Robert. I’m going to clean up and go to bed. But enough about me. How are you doing?”

 

“I’m great. No, no, I’m not,” he said, and she could hear the rueful humor in his voice. “Half the time I’m so frustrated I could scream, but then again, I’m an old cop, and I’m accustomed to that feeling. I’ll tell you what. When I take you to dinner, I’ll pour my heart out, how’s that?”

 

“Sounds fine,” she assured him.

 

“Good night, then. You call me if you need me. And ask me anything. Anytime.”

 

“You’re a doll. And you know I will. Thank you.”

 

She clicked off, then stood in the entryway and looked around. The house was so quiet it seemed almost unnatural.

 

Heather Graham's books