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followed a ghost? But once again she was overcome with curiosity, unable to resist the lure of answers to the afterlife.
    As she took a tentative step toward him, she half expected him to disappear in a poof of dust, but instead he merely went into the bedroom. Not about to let him disappear again, she raced after him, bursting through the door to see him standing by the chest of drawers, arms crossed and an impatient look plastered on his face. She paused, confused.
    “We have less than thirty seconds. Please.” His face changed from fearsome glower to desperate pleading before he backed into the corner, holding out his hand to her.
    Before she could decide what to do, he strode forward and gripped her wrist in a very strong, definitely corporeal way, dragging her toward the corner.
    “You’re real,” she said, stumbling into him in her shock.
    Not a ghost, a real person, probably the person responsible for the missing actress, probably a serial murderer. She twisted her arm to jerk free of his grasp, but the air around her turned frigid and she felt a burst of pain behind her eyes.
    “You’ll be home soon,” the non-ghost serial killer said.
    Full of terror at all the sinister things that might mean, she opened her mouth and screamed.

Chapter 4

    The man tossed her away from him, his face echoing the fear she felt. Tilly’s legs hit the bed and she sat down on it, something about that not seeming quite right, but too many things were wrong at the moment for her to register why. She instantly popped back up and launched herself away from him, still screaming the house down.
    “I beg you to be quiet,” he said, advancing toward her with his hands outstretched. “I don’t know what time it is and you’ll bring the servants.”
    He had to be the strangest killer in the world, worrying about the time. Did he have a schedule for when he chopped her into bits? She would be damned if she helped him stick to it, and while raising her voice a notch, she lifted her skirts and gave him a solid low kick to the back of his knees, nearly sending him to the floor.
    “Good,” she said, taking another breath. She wanted all the servants. Possibly neighbors, too.
    He closed his eyes and dropped his head back as if beseeching the heavens for guidance, then sank onto the bed. Immediately she clamped her lips closed and whirled around, really taking in her surroundings.
    The room was fully furnished. A stately bed, a different wardrobe and dresser, thick rug, lamps and tables, pictures on the walls. Had she been knocked unconscious? Was she in a different place altogether? Feeling dizzy, she clutched at her bodice, gearing up for a fresh scream.
    “Miss Saito, please.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and looked at her with near despair.
    Once again she clamped her mouth shut, only a squeak escaping. Wait a second, he knew about Emma? Was she his original target? Nothing made sense. Her head spun and she slid down the wall to sit on the floor.
    “What did you call me? Where are we? Who are you?”
    He stood up, clearly alarmed, and she also jumped to her feet, not wanting to be at a disadvantage. He looked like he might be ill, but she stayed on her guard.
    “Miss Saito,” he repeated desperately. “Miss Emma Saito?”
    “That’s not me.”
    “No, no, no.” He grabbed her arm again, jerking her back into the corner. She was too stunned to resist, and a moment later he dropped her wrist and stalked away, swearing.
    It was all too much and she felt tears coming, but blinked them back. “What’s going on?” she asked pitifully.
    The bedroom door flew open and a portly man with a lion’s mane of salt and pepper hair, his face like a gnarled walnut, entered the room. He was dressed like a fancy old-time butler, but all she could think of was that he looked like a novelty garden gnome, displeased with the intruders.
    “Ah, Lord Ashford,” he said with a slight bow. “And Miss Saito, I presume?” He turned to her