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  Tru strutted around the dining room table. “What a performance, don’t you agree?”

  He didn’t wait for an answer. “I’ll bet by the time the footage goes through the art of editing and special effects it will prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that a ghost was in our midst to anyone who wasn’t here.”

  “I beg your pardon,” Sylvia said. “Are you doubting that the Ghost in the Grove spoke through me?”

  “I’m sure it did, since the proprietor of this establishment and you hatched him up for your own gain in the first place.”

  Holly shook her head. “That’s not true. I never wanted Burl to come back. Of course, I didn’t wish him dead, but—believe me—I never wanted him back. I swear on a stack of bibles.”

  Tru turned in a circle. “Burl? Burl? Is that true?” He cupped his hand to his ear. “Poor man, he can’t defend himself, can he? Convenient, huh?”

  “He’s not here now,” Holly said. “Look, all I know is he came back. Watch the YouTube video, talk to others who encountered him. He was here.”

  Tru leaned on the back of Holly’s chair. “But he’s not here now if he ever was.”

  Sylvia stood and pounded the table. “Are you calling me a liar?”

  “More of an opportunist.” He singled out Angel. “And she does it full time, or are you a barista by day?”

  “You know nothing about me or my gifts,” Angel said. “You would be wise not to challenge the spirits. They are more powerful than you know.”

  “Right.” He loaded the word with sarcasm. “I read about violence in the streets perpetrated by spirits all the time.”

  “This is supposed to be an interview,” Sylvia said. “And this is my show. So, if you’ll have a seat, I have questions for you.”

  Go get ’em, Sylvia.

  “I like to think of it as more of a conversation the world needs to hear.” Tru didn’t sit down. “Do you know how much money is extracted from clueless people by charlatans like that medium, greedy owners of tourist traps, paranormal TV shows—like yours—magazines, and on and on? It’s a multimillion-dollar business that preys on the one thing that everyone wants to believe: Death is not the end.” He raised a finger in the air. “But it’s a cruel lie.”

  “You’ll soon find out,” Angel said under her breath.

  Tru whirled around to her. “Yeah, right.”

  “We all die,” Angel said. “Some sooner than others. As my gift to you, I tell you that you must change your ways or your life will be short.”

  Tru chuckled and shook his head. “Did the spirits tell you that?”

  “No. Your aura.” She made the motion of a halo around her head.

  “Something only you, the very gifted, can see, no doubt. Come on.” He jabbed his hands in the air. “You can do better than that.”

  “That green glow we all saw back there earlier.” Angel gave a nod to above where Sylvia had been sitting. “That was the remaining aura of someone who has passed on but is still lingering among us.”

  Tru threw his head back. “Ha! That’s someone in here with a laser pointer.”

  “Think what you want.” Angle kept a level tone. “I speak truth for the spirits.”

  Tru ambled to behind Angel’s chair. He rested both hands on the back of her chair and leaned down beside her, then looked into the camera. “You colluded with your accomplices to rig a ghosting for TV, didn’t you?”

  “There is no laser pointer.” Sylvia said.

  “Oh, it’s here,” he said dryly as he straightened and eyed Holly. “It was a good effort. Just like lowering the temperature in here.”

  Busted. Heat rushed her cheeks. “I swear, I didn’t lower the temperature in here.” Which was true. She just kept the heated air from getting in.

  “It’s a fact that when a spirit is present it chills the air around it,” Angel said.

  “Yeah, right.” He rolled his eyes. “We all know when a ghost is present the temperature drops because people like you tell us so. But someone closed the vents and opened the windows in my room just last night. Of course, with a little time it gets cold. If I were gullible, I may have thought the chill proved the ghost rumor about Holly Grove true. But I’m not gullible.”

  “The windows are all closed. Check for yourself.” Holly glanced at the windows. “For all we know, you closed the vents to make us look bad,” she said to take the heat off herself.

  “That’s right.” Sylvia stood. “You’ve made all these accusations with no proof.”

  Rain pelted down on the windows and flashes of lightning lit up around the edges of the closed drapes. “And why does it have to be dark or midnight to have a séance?” Tru asked. “Would a ghost care if it was night or day? All the haunting goes on at night, right?”

  “Not necessarily,” Holly said. “Burl showed up night and day.”

  “So you say, but who else actually saw him?”

  He picked up a spent candle. “Funny how they all blew out one by one while the medium was conjuring up fake ghosts. Could these be trick candles or somehow rigged to go out?”

  Holly slid a little lower in her chair.

  “The darker the better, right?” He continued. “To be manipulated by a medium who tells you what to see in the dark.” He tapped his temple. “The power of suggestion, right?”

  “If it was light enough to shoot video in here, it was light enough for us to see what was going on,” Sylvia said. “You’re reaching.”

  “It’s an easy reach.” He shrugged. “The most obvious con was your performance.”

  Sylvia lifted her plucked brows. “Excuse me?”

  “Wait.” Tru looked skyward. Then lifted his arms. “A spirit wants to communicate through me. He’s telling me something important. He’s telling me.” He paused for effect. “This whole séance, ghost thing is a big crock of steaming hot—”

  “You can’t say that on TV,” Sylvia said. “And you can’t possibly understand what happened to me when Burl entered my body. I would have never believed it if I hadn’t seen it on video.”

  “You won’t believe it when you see this footage.” Tru smirked then looked into the camera. “Challenge over. ‘The Ghost in the Grove’ debunked.” He turned to Sylvia. “You lose!”

  “I never lose.” Sylvia glanced at her cameraman and made a slicing motion at her neck.

  “Cut.” Bob gave a thumbs-up. The red recording light switched off.

  “Let’s get one thing straight,” Sylvia said. “That will be cut from the interview. You will not attack my character on my show. The video will speak for itself.”

  Thunder rolled as the rain picked up.

  “Yeah.” Tru jabbed his hands in the air and rolled his eyes. “After a Photoshop-palooza you can make anything look believable.”

  “Every professional show is edited to frame the story we want to tell.” Sylvia’s lips curled in a triumphant grin.

  “Even if it’s a lie?” Tru drilled Sylvia with a stare.

  “Lie is a rather harsh word, don’t you think?” Sylvia slithered into her chair at the dining room table.

  “And you’re going to edit me?” He pointed his finger at Sylvia. “That’s bull!”

  “You signed a contract.” Sylvia folded her hands in front of her on the dining table as if closing the conversation. “My show. My terms.”

  Tru sighed and looked down at the floor, then back at Sylvia. “I never had a chance of winning, did I?”

  “Of course not. I told you the ghost was real and now I’ve proved it to the world on video.” She folded her arms and cocked her head sideways. “Again.”

  “Did anyone here see a ghost? Hear one?” Tru asked.

  No one answered.

  “I didn’t think so.” Tru pushed his glasses up on his nose. “So, we all agree there is no Ghost in the Grove, right?”

  Silence.

  Holly almost felt sorry for him. The séance had been awful. By all rights, he should win, but . . .

  “I have the r
aw facts—no spin—that totally debunk your ghost, right here.” He tapped the side of his glasses. “I’ve recorded every conversation since I’ve been here, including all of tonight with these glasses.”

  He pointed to Sylvia and her crew, and then Holly. “You are all going down.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “His glasses recorded everything?” Holly asked Thomas. Surely a guy who invests in tech would know. “Is that possible?”

  “Possible?” Thomas shrugged. “The technology has been around a long time, but more recently for the public.”

  He seemed nonplussed.

  “Bought them online for less than two hundred bucks.” Tru adjusted his glasses. “Worth every penny to debunk this whole fiasco.”

  “It’s not legal to record someone without their permission,” Liz said. “I demand that you turn them over right now.”

  Thomas cleared his throat. “I believe we all gave permission to be recorded for the show.”

  “That’s right.” Tru made his way to the corner of the room where Liz and Bob stood. “I tell you what. I’ll make a deal with you.”

  Sylvia marched over and stood by Liz and Bob. “What kind of deal?”

  Tru pointed to the camera. “You give me the raw footage and I’ll just show that. Inquiring Minds gets their show. I get the truth. We all win.”

  Sylvia gave a nod to Bob and he pressed a few buttons, then looked back at Tru. “Looks like the video is corrupt, man.”

  “Right.” Tru lunged for the camera. A clap of thunder shook the house and the lights went out.

  “Back off, man,” a male voice said. Holly guessed it was Bob.

  Then scuffling sounds, grunts, followed by a crash in the dark and chair backs hitting the floor. The lights flickered back on for a minute. Bob had his tattooed forearm pressed against Tru’s neck.

  Tru’s legs flailed as he clawed against Bob’s arm.

  “Stop!” Holly screamed. “You’re going to kill him.”

  “If I wanted him dead, he’d be dead,” Bob said. “Nobody gets in my face like that.”

  Tru’s eyes bulged. “Okay. Okay. I’m sorry. Get off me.”

  Bob yanked Tru up by his collar then slammed him onto the table before backing away with his hands in the air.

  Whoa. I’ve always heard to watch out for the quiet ones. Holly helped Tru up. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Not that you or anyone else here would care.” He lifted his shirt and it seemed to stick to him. “Other than candle wax melted to my clothes.” He looked at Sylvia. “You should keep that guy on a leash.”

  Tru felt his face. “My glasses. Where are my glasses?” His mouth hung open as he frantically looked at the table and the floor and then accusingly at Bob.

  “I don’t have your glasses, and you don’t want any more of this,” Bob said, taking a step forward.

  Tru backed up and drilled Holly with a stare. “You were right there.”

  “I don’t have them.” Holly held her hands up. “I swear.”

  “Over here.” Thomas bent over and picked up the glasses.

  Tru rushed to Thomas and snatched the glasses from his hands. After turning them in every direction, he put them back on his face and slid his fingers across the frame. He let out a breath. “I know you guys will be glad to know they still work and you still lost.” He turned and started walking out of the room.

  Mercy. My business. My home. My reputation. All shot to hell. I really did have a ghost, but who’ll believe me now?

  “You really don’t understand. This is all a huge mistake. I can explain,” Holly said.

  “No.” Tru shook his head. “You don’t understand. It’s over.” He turned and started walking out of the dining room with enough footage to ruin Sylvia. Angel. And Holly.

  “Wait,” Holly called.

  He didn’t.

  “You realize this is all your fault,” Sylvia said to Holly.

  “Mine?” Holly pointed to her chest. “I told you my ghost was MIA.”

  “And you,” Sylvia turned her wrath on Angel. “You should have taken my advice. If he releases that video, you’ll never work again.”

  “You may never work again,” Angel said in an unusually calm voice. “The spirits are with me.”

  Sylvia made a beeline for the stairs. “Tru, I want to buy that video.”

  “You don’t get it,” he said without slowing down. “I don’t do this for the money. I do it for the truth, something you can’t afford to buy.”

  “Everyone needs to calm down,” Thomas said. “Videos taken with glasses like his are often very poor quality. He probably doesn’t have anything.”

  “But what if he does?” Holly’s voice cracked.

  * * *

  After everyone stormed off to their rooms, Holly walked past the five generations of women who had managed to hold on to Holly Grove. It would all end with her. Her throat tightened around sobs as she climbed the stairs. If her B&B failed, she couldn’t afford to keep it.

  They’d always found a way to keep Holly Grove through the worst of times. Wars, depressions, floods, all worse than anything she had to deal with. She’d let them all down, and now she’d lose everything they’d fought for.

  As if in a trance, she walked down the hall she’d taken her first steps in, as had her mother and grandmother, and on back probably. If she ever had any children, they’d never know Holly Grove because she’d have to sell it. She couldn’t even pay the taxes and utilities with the little bit of money she got from leasing out the few acres she had left to a sugarcane farmer. Every generation had sold off a little more of the land to keep the family home. By the time her grandmother inherited it, there wasn’t much left to sell. Even if Holly sold that last bit of farm property, how long would it last with the constant maintenance of a 150-year-old house? How in the world had her mother managed to keep it as a single parent on a schoolteacher’s salary?

  When she reached the middle of the hall, she noticed the mystery portrait was crooked again. Surely the little bit of hammering she’d done on the widow’s walk above hadn’t jarred it loose? She sighed. And if it’s the weak ghost Angel says is here, it could have at least moved a tiny votive candle or something at the séance.What a disaster.

  Rhett trotted to her side, probably ready for bedtime. She scooped him up and sighed. I need my bed and sleep to forget the day. She dragged herself to her room and sprawled across her four-poster bed with the only male she could count on. Rhett snuggled up to her side, but it was little comfort. She kicked off her heels and they clattered to the floor.

  If having a ghost go viral put Holly Grove B&B in the company of the most successful B&Bs anywhere, this debunking and the buzz with it will be the end of my business. There was no way to fix this. She stared up at the ceiling.

  If only Tru understood that I really wasn’t lying. If only Burl could come back for just a few minutes to explain. If only I could have told Sylvia Burl was gone for good. If. If. If.

  Holly rolled out of the bed and wrapped her coverlet around her. She put her slippers on and shuffled to the French doors and looked outside. The storm had passed. She opened the French doors and stepped out onto the balcony into a calm night. Rhett trotted out with her. She sucked in the scent of fresh rain. The moonlight shone over the twin row of oaks, as old as her home, which led to the Mississippi River. Any other night, she’d find comfort in their strength. Tonight, she saw the future of Holly Grove, and it wasn’t good.

  She tightened the coverlet around her shoulders and sat with Rhett on the swing that she and Grandma Rose used to sit on every night drinking hot chocolate after Mama died.

  Tears welled in her eyes. Every memory she had was tied to Holly Grove. It was a piece of her grandmother and mother. It was more than a house. It was the memory of all she loved and all who had loved her and Holly Grove.

  Now, Tru and his spy video were going to take all that away. For what? To prove he’s the biggest debunker that ever lived? What doe
s he get out of that? All because I didn’t tell everyone, oh by the way, my ghost moved out.

  He’d probably cost Sylvia, Bob, and Liz their jobs, not that she felt all that sorry for Sylvia. She’d probably already started planning legal action to stop him from posting the videos. Good luck with that.

  All because of Tru digging up trouble, they’d all be out of a job and his video would live forever on the Internet. She stood and walked to the railing. She hoped karma bit him in the rear with a vengeance.

  Remnants of rain spattered to the ground with the slight breeze. and with that breeze came a hint of a charred scent. Holly sniffed. Cigar smoke.

  She flung the coverlet off and charged for the door with Rhett at her heels. It’s not good enough that he’s trashing my reputation and my business, now he wants to chance burning it down. He’s out of here tonight, if I have to call the cops to evict him.

  A crash and a several thuds clamored above. Either a tree branch fell on the house or worse—Tru.

  Heart pounding, she bolted from her bedroom for the stairs and to the widow’s walk.

  Surely he didn’t fall through another soft spot on the decking. She and Thomas had checked it for weak spots. Didn’t find any. She’d warned Tru the railing was too low. He’d know better than to get close, wouldn’t he?

  Taking the steps two at a time, she reached the door to the widow’s walk and flung it open. She was blinded by the change from the lighted hallway to the night sky outside. The clouds raced across the moon.

  “Tru!” she called out. She held her breath as she listened for his reply.

  It didn’t come. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she scanned the widow’s walk. He wasn’t there. The remnants of his cigar smoke hung in the air. He could be hiding behind one of the chimneys. The clouds parted enough for a sliver of the moon to shine through as she walked toward the closest chimney.

  A woman’s scream from down below pierced the eerie silence.

  Holly turned toward the sound coming from the lawn below.

  A flashlight beam bounced along the pathway below. The beam grazed the wrought-iron railing of the widow’s walk. Then shouts.