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her feel lost and vulnerable. A wisp of fog threaded in front of her face like a beckoning finger. Shivering, she closed the side window.
    "There," said her dad. "There it is. Baudey House." It rose out of the fog, the steep, gabled roof speaking of severity and discipline. The house, a Richardsonian Romanesque mansion, seemed to glower at them from beneath its two sharp-browed gables above the third floor windows. The heavy crossbeam supporting the front portico looked like a grim mouth.
    "Well, it sure looks haunted," she said as her father pulled up next to the Volvo.
    "Yes, it does." He turned off the engine. "Home, sweet home?" he asked lightly.
    He is nervous, she thought. She was, too. Usually, a house that looked haunted, wasn't, and she knew the mansion's imposing appearance should be a relief. But it wasn't.
    As she climbed from the truck, ocean air kissed her face, chill and moist. The house watched and waited, silent and still as death.
    She heard a sound like distant laughter, cruel and feminine. Startled, she glanced at her father. He just shrugged, and looked at Pelinore, who stood beside her Volvo. Again, the
    laughter, more distant, just as cruel.
    "Birds," the woman said, her voice not quite steady. "It's only the birds. You'll hear them all over Red Cay at night."
    You're lying, Amber thought.
    "According to my research," her dad said, "one of the hallmarks of the Baudey House haunting is disembodied feminine laughter."
    Pelinore cocked her head and gave him a brown-nosed smile. "Pish posh," she said .
    Pish posh? Amber rolled her eyes for her father's benefit.
    "Just a silly old wives' tale." the realtor added.
    "Boy," Amber said innocently. "You really want to unload this place, don't you?"
    "Amber, please. Theo, you don't have to be coy about the house's reputation. Remember, I bought it for its phenomena, not in spite of it."
    "Well, I hope you won't be disappointed then, David, because I think you'll find this house will be a wonderfully peaceful and quiet place to live."
    "Gee, I hope not." He grinned boyishly. "I'd be very disappointed." With that, he turned and walked across the dirt road then turned, arms folded, and stared up at the old house, a thoughtful smile on his face.
     
     

Chapter Four
     
    Body House: 8:19 P.M.
     
    Monolithic, stone cold, the Mephisto Palace seemed to grow out of the ground, its towers stretching up, like tortured fingers grasping at the moon.
    "Is your father all right, dear?"
    Pelinore's concern amused Amber. Her dad had been standing back there, staring at the house and wearing his goofy smile, for about five minutes now. She'd seen him space out like that about a gazillion times, but people who didn't know him sometimes thought he was having a fit or something. "He's fine," she said. "He's just writing in his head, he does it all the time."
    Their words made David's cheeks warm with embarrassment, and he gave the two women a sheepish smile. "It's very impressive," he said, his eyes already drawn back to the huge old house.
    Tonight, in the muted moonlight, it appeared to be breathing, sucking the oxygen from the air to make him lightheaded, then wrapping him in its foggy exhalations. Built of squared rough-cut stone and trimmed in dark brick, the pale gray mansion the Mephisto Palace of his upcoming novel--was the archetypical haunted house, with its tall tower, cross-gabled roof, and dark, fathomless windows. Softening the severe lines of the house was a graceful wrought-iron railing that edged the second-story balcony situated on top of the heavy stone arches of the shadowy front veranda.
    "Well," said Theo Pelinore as she tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, "I'll have to speak to Mrs. Willard first thing tomorrow morning."
    "Mrs. Willard?" David asked.
    "She's the housekeeper I hired for you. I specifically instructed her to leave the lights on when she finished up for the day." Theo smiled apologetically. "I'm afraid there isn't much to choose from