The Ghost Wore Yellow Socks - lanyon Josh (читать книги онлайн txt) 📗

A total twink. Cute, though.

Nick let Perry go, stepping back. He looked away so he didn’t have to see the disappointment on the kid’s face.

Perry sucked in a sharp breath and looked up. He didn’t speak. The silence took on a strained quality.

“Look,” Nick said briskly. “By the time I leave here, this will all be sorted out. There’s only so many possibilities, you know?”

Perry had turned away and was facing the rain-speckled window. His shoulders were rigid. He said roughly, “Really? When are you leaving?”

“I’ve got a few loose ends to tie up. It’ll be a couple of weeks.” Nick was surprised to hear himself say this after telling Roscoe and the guys that there was nothing to keep him from pulling up stakes immediately.

But he couldn’t walk out and leave Foster in this jam. No fucking way was he leaving him until this thing was past crisis point.

Perry sighed. His shoulders relaxed, and he turned to face Nick. “Well, personally, I think if it’s going to get sorted out, we’re the ones who’ll have to do it. I was thinking maybe I would try the historical society today. See if I could find some more information on the history of the house.”

This aggressive, hands-on approach took Nick aback and didn’t quite jibe with his image of Perry Foster as a damsel in distress. Still, he was relieved beyond measure that the kid was taking his withdrawal calmly. He had been on guard against an emotional outburst. Foster’s calm redirect to the problem at hand was unexpected -- and welcome.

“What about getting hold of a copy of the blueprints?” Nick asked.

“There won’t be blueprints for the original structure,” Perry said. “Before 1900, builders didn’t draw up elaborate plans like they do now. Not with the kind of specs architects provide these days. There might be some kind of plans from the renovations done when Alston bought the place in the twenties.”

“Would Mrs. Mac have them?”

“Maybe. But do we want her to know we’re looking that closely into the history of the house?”

Once again, Nick was nonplussed by this unexpected shrewdness on Foster’s part.

“What are our other options?”

Foster considered. “We could try the building inspector’s office at Town Hall. They must have filed for permits when they did the last bunch of renovations, when the house was gutted for apartments. That was probably done in the last twenty years or so. I’m not sure when Mrs. Mac took over.”

“Does she own the place or does she manage it for someone else?”

“Now that you mention it, I don’t know.” Perry thought it over. “Everyone sort of assumes she owns the place. Maybe she doesn’t. We should find out. And we could also check out the fire insurance maps while we’re at Town Hall. Some of those date back to the late 1800s. You can get a good three-dimensional view sometimes. Something that would indicate the outlines of buildings, the placements of doors, windows, porches --”

“You’re still thinking secret passage,” Nick said. He wasn’t jeering at the idea as he had before.

“I guess so, yeah. Somebody got upstairs past the deputy.”

“The deputy could have been downstairs a lot longer than he’s saying -- or even realizes.”

“True.” But clearly Perry was only giving lip service to this idea, because he added, “We could try the city archives too, or maybe the library. Definitely the historical society. The house has always been one of the important ones in the area, even back when it was Hennesey Farm. I’m sure some version of the plans will be in historical records somewhere.”

“You seem to know a lot about this stuff,” Nick said curiously.

Perry’s expression grew vague. He said, “I was studying to be an architect for a while. It wasn’t my thing, though.”

“Your thing is painting,” Nick said, watching him.

“Yes.” Perry changed the subject. “The other possibility is what they used to call pattern books. A lot of turn of the century builders got their ideas from stock plans published by different companies. But I don’t think those would give us a clue to any secret passages or hidden tunnels. Those would probably be unique to the house.”

“Okay,” Nick said, reaching for his jacket. “Sounds like we’ve got a plan. Let’s start with the historical society and work from there.”

* * * * *

Jane was taking delivery of a pizza as they reached the front hall. She paid the girl in her brightly colored uniform and locked the door against the rain and wind, starting as she spied Nick and Perry.

“The breakfast of champions,” Nick remarked, taking in the familiar logo on the flat pizza box.

“Hey, it’s after noon,” Jane said. “Besides, I like pizza for breakfast.”

“You’re not going to work again?” Perry asked.

“No.” She lowered her voice. “I just heard about Mr. Stein getting clobbered in your apartment.”

“He said he heard someone walking around in my rooms,” Perry said.

“And he went upstairs to investigate? That was civic-minded of him.”

Nick scrutinized her. “Why do you think he went upstairs?”

“I have no idea,” Jane said. “Maybe he did hear someone walking around, but everyone in this place is starting to act very strange. I noticed Miss Dembecki wandering around in the garden a while ago, and I had to call to her four times before she came inside. I hope she’s not losing it. I don’t think she has any family.” Jane resumed normal speaking tones. “So where are you two off to?”

“Town,” Perry said succinctly.

“You might want to rethink that. There’s another storm on the way.” She shivered. “Mr. Teagle thinks the bridge will flood out for sure.”

“Gee, wouldn’t it be too bad if we couldn’t get back,” Perry said sarcastically.

“Oh, but it would!” Jane said. “You’ll miss the seance.”

Perry, who had one hand on the door handle, stopped. “What seance?”

“D -- Mr. Center -- has agreed to conduct a seance tonight here in the house.”

“You gotta be kidding me,” Nick said.

At the same moment, Perry demanded, “A seance? Why?”

Jane said defensively, “Why, because of the haunting, of course!” But she was avoiding his accusing gaze.

“That’s ridiculous,” Perry said with unusual heat. “A ghost never hit Stein over the head. No ghost shot Tiny.”

“I never said a ghost hit Stein over the head. Not that I would blame them.”

“Whose idea was this seance?” Perry demanded, his pale face flushing with angry color. “Who are you supposed to be contacting in the spirit world?”

Jane looked impatient. “Your ghost, of course.”

Perry’s mouth parted, and he seemed to struggle for air. Nick put an unobtrusive hand on his arm. The younger man was shaking. “He isn’t mine! Anyway, he wasn’t a ghost.”

“David says it was.”

“He wasn’t there! I was.”

Jane was now red as well. “Well, sweetie, sometimes it takes an expert to tell the difference.”

Perry’s mouth moved, but no words seemed forthcoming. He seemed genuinely at a loss -- or maybe just inarticulate with anger.

“You’re not going to win this argument,” Nick told him, his hand tightening on the tensed arm. “Come on.” He opened the door and thrust Perry outside.

“You’ll be back in time for the seance, right?” Jane threw after them. “You’ve got to be here, Perry. David says we need your presence.”

“Don’t wait up for us,” Nick told her and closed the door on her indignant face.

“Everyone in that fucking house has gone insane,” Perry cried as they ran across the flooded scraggy lawn. “Why doesn’t anybody see what’s really going on here?”

They reached Nick’s pickup. Nick unlocked the passenger door and ran around to his side. Perry was still fuming as Nick started the engine.

“Just cool down,” Nick said, a little amused. “Nobody can make you do anything you don’t want to.”

Perry stared at him in open astonishment. “Do you really believe that?”