The black SUV with the Ghost Releasers logo splashed across the side in deep-red lettering and graphic pulled up to the enormous iron gate. Jack O’Malley put his window down and pushed the call button on the speaker box. “Jack O’Malley to see Megan Trent.”
A tone sounded as the gate clicked open. He whistled as the heavy gate slid across the paved road without a sound and they drove through.
His producer, Luke Tremaine glanced over at him. “Sheesh, must be nice.” Jack shot him a look. He heard the usual greed in Luke’s voice and didn’t need to look at him to see the dollar signs in his producer’s eyes. The man was predictable when it came to money. He could hear the ka-ching in Luke’s head as he scanned the expansive land they drove through on a long, winding paved road.
“It doesn’t matter how much money a client has. Everyone pays the same.”
“Just saying,” Luke added, with a smirk. “We could make a killing. Ghostly haunts of the rich and famous. At least two episodes. Maybe a special event for the fall or holiday season.”
His fingers gripped the steering wheel. “I already told you. The Martin-Stovall’s want no publicity.”
“Can’t help it if information slips out to the press.” Luke rubbed his hands together, his trimmed mustache and goatee making him appear too devil-like for comfort.
Jack sighed. His friend never changed. Everything in life relegated to dollars and cents. He might co-produce Ghost Releasers, but he didn’t believe in them. The only thing Luke Tremaine believed in was the dollar signs of a spreadsheet.
Jack didn’t hold it against him. You either believed or you didn’t. Unless something happened to you, you didn’t know whether ghosts were real or not. Some people like Luke, and Andrea Martin-Stovall, come to think about it, didn’t believe in what they couldn’t see, touch, or feel. That was okay with Jack. Plenty of people did believe. Enough to keep him busy and Ghost Releasers on the air each week. And more than enough money in Luke’s balance sheets.
Following the instructions he’d been given days ago, Jack drove the SUV down the long driveway, and around the right side of the house, to the cottage in back. As he pulled up and stopped in front of the Tudor-style house, he realized the ‘cottage’ could hold three of his home inside.
Acres of immaculate lawn surrounded both buildings. No drought existed on the rolling green hills of Martin-Stovall land. Through a break in the trees behind the cottage, Jack and Luke spotted a meandering river rolling by. A yacht sat in the water, tied to a dock on the bank.
Jack turned off the SUV as the door to the cottage opened and he spotted Andrea standing in the doorway looking like she’d seen a ghost, to pardon the pun. Her ashen face and the hand clutching the pearls at her throat told him something had happened before they arrived.
He yanked the keys from the ignition, jumped out of the vehicle, and raced to the doorway. Luke ran, two steps behind him. Andrea scooted aside and pointed into the house. Jack rushed in and faced a room torn apart by a hurricane. Curtains laid on the floor, yanked from their poles. Debris, glass, and torn paper lay scattered across a hardwood floor, in the middle of which Megan Trent sat silent, rocking back and forth with shreds of paper in her hands.
Jack rushed to her side, shattered glass crunching under his shoes. He slid to a stop and squatted down beside the huddled woman. His fingers trembled as he reached out to dust glass particles from her hair. They lay like ice among the blonde strands.
“Why? Why would he do this?” Her blue eyes looked up at him, begging for an answer he didn’t have yet. Her hands shook where they held a torn picture. He could see it was of a gorgeous Megan in a fairytale dress, gazing up with love in her eyes to a tall, young soldier. Aaron, he presumed.
He took the pieces and placed them on the table. Jack reached out and grabbed Megan’s hands and pulled her upright. Her body swayed in place. He glanced at her bare feet amid the shards of glass. Swearing under his breath, Jack reached under her knees and swung her up into his arms.
Her eyes widened, and she stared at him with surprise in those crystal-blue eyes. She struggled in his arms. He glanced at her naked feet, with her gaze following.
“Oh,” she uttered softly, settling down.
Jack reached the kitchen and placed Megan on a chair. He strode back to the center of the room, his gaze taking in the nail holes in the walls where the pictures in pieces on the floor had once hung. The curtains lay in tangled heaps below the windows, pooled like puddles of blood. Glittering glass sprinkled across the wood floor amidst the shattered wood pieces of picture frames.
A part of his brain registered when Luke reached his side, a big grin plastered on his face.
“Too bad we missed all the fun.”
He frowned as he stared at Megan’s pale, frightened face. Didn’t look like she shared Luke’s idea of fun. Glaring at the mess, he was pretty sure he didn’t either.