Read Speed Dating With the Dead for Free Online Page B

the hall from the infamous Room 318. She’d drilled a hole through her closet ceiling and surreptitiously ran two cables into the attic. One cable connected to her multiplexor to store video footage on a hard drive, while the other cable allowed remote operation of a pocket-size projector. She’d borrowed the gear from the Optical Sciences department at Westridge University, where she was a tenured professor of physics.
    The trick had worked better than she had imagined. With Duncan’s help, she’d collected footage of herself in a black gown and stage make-up, dancing and cavorting in front of a sheet while floor-level spotlights blazed up from below. In the editing process, she’d turned the image into a reverse negative, so that her body appeared almost translucent. She’d then dubbed the footage in slow motion, creating a rippling, almost sensuous ballet. It had taken an hour to aim the projector lens so that the image appeared to float across the attic, and the dust and sweat had been worth the result.
    Ann figured Digger would squeal like a pig on a hillbilly honeymoon, run from the attic, and cry “Wolf,” giving her an opportunity to retrieve her gear and let the mystery drive SSI batty for a few days. Then, after all the conference attendees had marveled over the “evidence,” Ann would come out with her own version of the facts, backed by a video recording of the hoax.
    But Digger had actually approached the image, more startled than afraid. She could almost respect him for that. After all, his sick obsession was a close cousin to her own scientific curiosity. A pity he wasted his energy and resources on bunk.
    “What did you get on him?” asked Duncan Hanratty, her graduate assistant and temporary lover. He was on the bed, propped against pillows and reading the latest issue of Popular Mechanics .
    “I’ll show you the clip later,” she said. “When the phonies stand up and start blathering, I’ll roll this out and dash ice water in their faces.”
    “You’re sexy when you’re mean.”
    “Lucky for you.” She wondered if Digger had reported the incident to his team. She might not get an opportunity to sneak back into the attic, especially if SSI got their cameras hooked up. For space cadets, they sure knew their stuff when it came to high-tech gear.
    “What do you have against these guys, anyway?” Duncan said, tossing the magazine aside and rubbing his tousled hair in that sleepy, Teddy-bear manner that made him so adorable for minutes at a stretch.
    “This pseudoscience gives real science a bad name,” she said. “We’re planning the first mission to Jupiter, we’ve mapped the human genetic code, and we’re making major breakthroughs in nanotechnology. But there’s no sense of wonder in it. People would rather engage in make-believe.”
    “Still seems like a waste of our weekend,” Duncan said. “We could be logging some lab time.”
    “You’re too young to understand.” It was her favorite taunt, though he was in his mid-twenties and only 15 years younger than she.
    “I understand perfectly,” he said. “You need to know you’re right, and you need other people to know they’re wrong.”
    Ann checked her laptop and made sure the other pieces of bait were ready. She’d planted a few digital recorders around the hotel, triggered by wireless remote signals. The recorders contained cryptic sound bites such as the one she’d broadcast for Digger in the attic. “You’re blinding me” was one of the most obvious, given that ghost hunters tended to work in the dark and carry flashlights.
    “The trouble is they don’t know they’re wrong,” she said. “They’re trying to prove a negative.”
    “Well, your scientific method is suspect, too,” Duncan said, with that infuriating smugness. Or maybe Ann was only infuriated because he had a point. “You can hardly consider your approach methodical and objective, because you hold the belief that ghosts don’t exist.