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front counter, brewing multiple pots of tea. Finally, when things settled down a bit, Theodosia turned her attention back to the ghost hunters.
    “Is this a nonprofit venture on your part?” Theodosia asked. “A hobby?”
    “It started out that way,” said Jed. “But now our goal is to produce a reality show called
Southern Hauntings
.”
    “Aren’t there enough paranormal shows on TV already?” asked Theodosia. You could barely channel-surf without seeing a gaggle of ghost hunters pawing their way through some old prison or rundown mansion.
    “We don’t think so,” said Tim. “There’s really a huge demand for ghosts and the paranormal, and we think we bring a fresh perspective.”
    “How so?” asked Theodosia.
    “Besides the obvious Southern angle,” said Jed, “the other TV shows concern themselves with trying to contact ghosts of people who died years and years ago.”
    “Okay,” said Theodosia, not exactly liking where this conversation seemed to be headed.
    “But we want to make contact with new ghosts, recent ghosts,” said Jed.
    “A-ha,” said Theodosia, though she did not share their enthusiasm.
    “You see,” explained Tim, “contacting the spirit world is a little like trying to establish a radio signal. Unfortunately, the longer a person has been dead, the weaker that signal is. What we want to do is try to contact the more recently departed.”
    “Because they emit a stronger signal,” said Theodosia. She couldn’t believe she was playing along with this.
    “That’s exactly right,” said Tim.
    “Here’s the thing,” said Jed. “We’d like you to go with us.”
    “Back to Ravencrest Inn,” said Theodosia, suddenly not relishing the idea at all. “But that would require obtaining permission from the owners.”
    “We’ll get it,” said Tim. “We can be very persuasive.”
    “Everybody and his brother wants to be on a reality show these days,” offered Jed.
    “If you go in,” said Theodosia, “you’ll find that the place isn’t all that large. So you certainly don’t need me to function as any sort of guide.”
    “We were thinking of you more as a spirit guide,” said Jed.
    Theodosia leaned back in her chair. “Oh, dear.”
    “Because you were near him,” said Jed. “When he died.”
    “And you found him,” said Tim.
    “And that’s important?” said Theodosia.
    “It is to us,” said Tim.
    “Let me noodle around your invitation,” said Theodosia. She wanted to let them down gently. They were obviously well intentioned, but this really wasn’t something she wanted to participate in, let alone help facilitate.
    Tim leaned forward, a question on his face. “Tell me, Miss Browning, when you first walked into that room, before you knew the man was dead, did you feel anything? Was there anything strange in the air?”
    Theodosia thought about the electrical pulse she’d picked up on immediately. A strange anxious feeling that had tickled her nerves, as if a transformer had just exploded. A feeling that something wasn’t quite right, a sort of . . . low, menacing vibration.
    “No,” she said. “I didn’t feel anything at all.”

5
    As always, Haley
was a marvel in a kitchen that was roughly the size of a postage stamp. In her white smock and tall chef’s hat that looked like an overblown mushroom on her head, she whirled and twirled her luncheon ballet: plucking a pan of bubbling pepper jack cheese quiche from the oven, giving her wild rice soup a quick stir, tasting her vinaigrette and adding a pinch more tarragon.
    “Are the ghost busters gone?” asked Haley. She gave a mischievous smile. “Did they vanish into thin air?”
    Theodosia, who’d been setting out white luncheon plates like she was dealing out a deck of playing cards, said, “How on earth did you know about them?”
    “Drayton told me,” said Haley. “Last time he buzzed through here. Though he seemed awfully put off by the whole thing.”
    “The intrepid Beckman brothers