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plantation.”
    I clap my hands together. “Perfect. Thank you. I promise I only need a couple minutes there.”
    He shakes his head and leads the way to a golf cart to take us to the landing pad. “I don’t feel good about this, Rachael. You shouldn’t be leaving.”
    “It’s fine.”
    I mean it, too. It is fine. But he’s right. I shouldn’t be leaving. If one single thing goes wrong… delays us…
    You will never forgive me.

Chapter Nine
    When we pull up to the Weston Plantation in the black SUV you keep at the airport, Joan’s sitting in a little red sports car at the end of the driveway. Beck parks behind her and she gets out. A cigarette dangles between her shaky fingers.
    “You smoke?” Beck says, shocked.
    “I used to.” She glanced down at the cigarette like she forgot she was holding it, then tosses it on the ground and grinds it out with the ball of her foot. “Guess I do again. At least when I have to rehab houses with harassing spirits of past occupants.
Dead
past occupants.”
    She glares at me like it’s my fault and jabs her finger toward the house. “Get her to leave or I’ll haul a priest in here to douse her ass with holy water!”
    “Calm down. I’ll see what I can do.” I stride past her with my stomach contracted and squeezing. I have to admit to myself that I’m scared shitless. On one hand, it’s Ingrid and there’s this romantic notion in my head that we share a special bond somehow, but on the other hand, it’s a
freaking
romantic notion! I’m a logical woman. I’m rational and grounded in the reality. Right now, three steps away from the front door, I can understand why you’re concerned about my sanity.
    This is crazy.
    If there’s a ghost inside, Ingrid or not, I don’t want to come face-to-face with her.
    My sweaty hand slips on the door handle as I push it open. My feet echo across the hardwood floor. It creaks under my step, making me jump back with my hands over my heart, gasping for air.
    I take a few deep breaths and shake out my arms. “Calm down,” I whisper out loud. This is where I’ve wanted to be all week, where my mind has wandered all week. “So, you’re here,” I say, wondering if I’m talking to myself or if there’s someone here with me I can’t see. “I came to help you.”
    Grasping the railing, I start up the stairs. It’s dusty and dirty and not entirely safe, but if she’s in the attic, that’s where I’m headed.
    At the top of the stairs, I turn and make my way down the hall with careful steps. There are some loose boards that have been roped off, so I stay on the right side and hug the wall for safety. The door to the attic is straight ahead. When I reach it I pause, certain I heard whispering on the other side of the door. Holding my breath, heart racing, I listen for a few moments before telling myself it was only my skirt brushing against the wallpaper and there’s nothing to be freaked out about. Too bad I don’t believe it.
    I gather my courage, grip the doorknob, and brace myself for what I might find on the other side. I count to three in my head and yank the door open.
    Sun streams down the wooden staircase from a window at the top. Dust motes float, suspended in the air. There’s no railing, so I put my hand on the wall for support and begin the climb to the top. I’m halfway there when I see the bricks, a pile of them arranged in an oblong oval at the top of the steps. Anyone who came up would have to maneuver around them to get past. A little left of center inside the oval, a brick sits propped on its side horizontally. Across from it, slightly northeast of the center, another sits vertically on its end.
    It seems familiar for some reason. I wonder who put it there and why the bricks are arranged that way.
    Stepping over the bricks, I glance around the attic. This is where Ingrid’s trunk was found. You and MJ lugged it out of here for me. Maybe Ingrid’s upset that her things are gone?
    “I didn’t steal your