“I will—thanks.”
She left the trailer, eager to get back to work at last.
Within a few hours she had to admit that Hank wasn’t the only one who would have found that day’s work incredibly boring. After the discovery of the first grave, Laymon was taking no chances. They weren’t digging. They were dusting—from the surface all the way down. Meanwhile, the remains she had discovered the day before were being painstakingly lifted, surrounding dirt and debris included. She supervised until the precious bones were tenderly crated, and then she went to work with the others, remembering that there were more graves, and more pieces of the past, to find. The process, however, was indeed slow and tedious.
She noticed, each time she stretched to give her back a break, that Robert Adair was frequently prowling the scene. His interest, however, didn’t exactly seem to be in the dig. She had the feeling that he was walking around the entire block where the dig was taking place and beyond. She wondered what he was up to and made a mental note to tell him that she would have dinner with him the following night.
At last she felt Brad’s tap on her shoulder. “Have you noticed something?” he whispered teasingly.
“What?” she found herself whispering back.
“It’s night. Even Laymon’s given up. C’mon. I’ll walk you back to Hastings House.”
“Oh!” She looked up. They were alone in the fenced-in area. “Did Laymon say good-night?”
“Yes,” Brad said with amusement. “I won’t leave you here alone, Leslie, even if there is a police guard at the gate.”
“Thank you. I’m actually in pain from stooping for too long,” she told him.
He shook his head sadly. “One of these days you’ll be a hunchback. Such a waste of youth and beauty.”
“I’m glad you stopped me, thank you,” she said, and laughed, looking down at her clothes as she stood. “I’m filthy. I can’t wait to get home, shower and go to bed.”
“What a wild child you are,” Brad said.
“You’re going out tonight?”
“I am.”
“Well, I’m impressed. Have fun.”
“You could come with me.”
“Thanks, but no thanks.”
“You should come with me. What if I wheedled?”
She laughed. “Thanks. Brad, but I’m beat.”
“That’s because you don’t realize you’ll be happy and awake if you go out.”
“Honestly, I’m exhausted. And I promised Robert I’d go out to dinner with him tomorrow.”
“Good man. Nice father figure.”
“He’s a friend.”
“Trust me, he wants something from you, too.”
“Maybe, but he’s still a good friend.”
Brad opened his mouth as if he were going to say something, but then he just shook his head. “When you want a wild night, you let me know. I can take you to all the coolest bars.”
“I know you can. And if you pick up any of the wrong girls, I’ll do my best to rescue you.”
“Aw, shucks, thanks, sis.”
He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and they trudged carefully from the site, stopping to say good-night to the officer on duty, who gave them a cheerful wave.
Brad saw her past the gate and up to the door.
“Want me to check the place out?”
“I’m fine,” Leslie assured him. “State-of-the-art alarm, remember? Anyway, some of the employees may still be around.”
“Tandy and Jeff…well, they’re all right. But Melissa…” He rolled his eyes.
“She’s sweet.”
“She’s neurotic, but hey…you have fun.”
“Thanks. Bed will be fun, after the amazing hysteria of a shower.”
“All right then, baby, you’re on your own. Luv ya—good night.”
“Good night. Thanks.”
She was glad to lock Brad out of the house.
There were always lights on—dim lights inside, brighter lights in the yard—and, of course, warnings about the alarm plastered rather unhistorically along the fence. She felt completely safe, and there was certainly no coming home, even at night, to be met by darkness. In fact, she had a clear view of the entryway and the hall.
And she was alone.
There were ghosts here.
There had to be ghosts here. Soldiers had died here during the Revolution, when the house had been used as a makeshift hospital. An escaping slave, mangled by dogs, had reached Hastings House, only to die moments after reaching safety. A girl, wounded in the riots of 1863, had lain on a couch in the long hallway and breathed her last.
There were lots of stories, but so far, none of the ghosts had decided to trust her, to make their presence known, to talk to her.
And certainly not Matt.
Except in her vividly passionate dreams.
She whistled softly as she headed for her room. Upstairs, she remembered that she hadn’t eaten, but she didn’t care. She was too tired to bother.
She warned herself that when she woke up in the middle of the night with her stomach growling, she was going to be sorry, but she ignored the warning. She was totally worn out, and not just from work.