through the vent. You should have heard that laugh.”
Desi’s cheeks warmed. She still had goose bumps from listening to the childish laughter on the recording. “The jury is still out. We didn’t get anything else?”
Ringo made a disgusted noise. “Dallas and I heard footsteps, but none of the recorders picked it up. We’ve got nothing else.”
“Something drained the batteries,” Dallas said. “Something used the K2 to communicate. Alec is coming down this week. We’re going to do a blessing and help the Moores take back their house.”
Desi could have groaned. Alejandro Viho, whom everybody called Alec, was a Cheyenne shaman from Wyoming. He didn’t make any claims about psychic powers, but he had enough woo-woo weirdness that Desi always felt uneasy around him. House blessings and casting out spirits were Alec’s specialty. Rampart never charged clients for investigations or interventions. The group had genuinely helped people who were disturbed by what they believed was happening in their homes or businesses. Even so, Alec’s chanting, drumming and burning sage gave Desi the willies. It seemed to her that clearing rituals crossed the line from scientific research into the occult and superstitious.
“It sure freaked out Buck,” Ringo said.
Desi went rigid. Nobody chewed her out and got away with it. Nobody . Dallas could pick somebody else to train that jackass in investigation techniques.
“The problem with the Moore house isn’t paranormal,” Desi said. “They’re being poisoned by all the mold and chemicals. The high EMFs could be messing with their heads, too. The house is toxic.”
“Can’t argue there. I already recommended they move out until the place is cleaned up.” Dallas pursed his lips as if to whistle. “That’s a great EVP, though. One of the best I’ve ever heard. Tara is still plugging away with the research. We’re hoping it corroborates the K2 session.”
Pippin looked at her wristwatch. “I have to scoot. I’ll see you guys on Thursday. Great job, Desi. That’s an incredible EVP.” She reached for the door and paused. “Hey, Desi, walk out with me. I want to ask you something.”
Desi picked up her coat and purse. Even though Pippin had been married and widowed, and had had a child, while Desi was single, they’d connected the first time they met. Desi considered the redhead one of her best friends. Something about Pippin’s somber expression now made Desi wary.
She followed Pippin outside. “What’s up?”
Pippin stopped on the sidewalk and shoved her hands in her coat pockets. “What happened between you and Buck at the Moore house?”
Desi slung her purse over her shoulder. Her cheeks ached with the cold. “What are you talking about?”
Pippin rolled her eyes and sighed. “Look, it’s one thing to thoughtfully examine evidence and look for logical explanations. Have to say, you’re the best when it comes to debunking. But now you’re angry. Why?”
“I’m not angry.”
“Bull. You haven’t said a word in the chat room or responded to any of the group e-mails all week.” She pointed at the duplex Dallas owned. He lived in one apartment, and the other served as the Rocky Mountain Paranormal Research Team’s headquarters. “Every time Buck’s name came up you looked ready to hit somebody. I know how you feel about psychics. Everybody knows how you feel. But it doesn’t explain why you’re so pissed off.”
“He just…rubs me the wrong way.” She blew a plume of white breath. “I can’t believe how everybody is acting like he’s the Second Coming! Just because he says he can see ghosts doesn’t mean he can.” She wanted to tell Pippin about Buck yelling at her and calling her stupid, but that would sound whiney and she was not a whiner. Far more important was the damage he could do to Rampart.
Pippin lowered her voice as if someone might overhear. “I’ve seen what he can do. Dallas checked him out. I can’t explain what I saw, but I know it’s real.”
It stung that Pippin knew something she didn’t. “What did he do?”
Pippin shook her head. “You’ll have to ask Dallas. It’s kind of personal.” She laid a hand on Desi’s shoulder and looked her straight in the eye. “Give Buck a chance, okay? He’s a really nice man.” She grinned and her green eyes sparkled impishly. “Pretty easy on the eyes, too. He’s single, and I don’t think he has a girlfriend.”
Desi groaned, but she smiled, too.
“If Buck is a fake, Dallas will figure it out.”
“I know,” Desi said.
“So stop being angry.” She tapped Desi’s forehead. “It gives you wrinkles.”
“Fine. I’ll be nice.” She gave her a friend a quick hug. “But if we find out Buck is running a scam on us, he won’t have to worry about Dallas. He’ll have to worry about me.”
“I WISH YOU’D LET ME go to the meeting,” Gwen Hollyhock said wistfully.
Desi looked up from the computer screen in the back room of Hollyhock Antiques and Oddities. Clutching a stack of vintage magazines, her younger sister smiled hopefully. Bangles and charm bracelets jingled with her every movement. While Desi worked on the bookkeeping, Gwen was organizing merchandise, which for her consisted of shifting piles of stuff around. It took a few seconds for Desi’s mind to switch from reconciling accounts to realizing Gwen was talking about Rampart’s monthly team meeting.
Desi had refused to tell Gwen anything about the Moore house investigation. Dallas hadn’t yet published their findings on the public section of the Rampart Web site, so Gwen hadn’t been able to hear the EVP of the child’s laughter.
“I want to hear what you found in that old house. Every time I drive past it, I get a chill,” Gwen said. “I know you found something. You wouldn’t avoid me if it turned out to be creaky timbers or squirrels in the walls.”
Desi silently cursed Dallas, knowing he’d told Gwen about the Moore house. Desi had asked him countless times to not indulge Gwen’s morbid fascination with the paranormal. She had pleaded with him to keep his mouth shut. Gwen was the reason Desi had begun researching the paranormal in the first place. A man, however, would have to be deaf, blind and in a coma to resist Gwen’s charms. Dallas Stone was none of those.
“The meetings are members only,” she said.
She thought again of her “conversation” via the K2 meter and the EVP of child’s laughter. A chill crept from the small of her back, up her spine and to her skull. Nobody knew what caused electronic voice phenomena. There were great recordings collected by researchers all over the world, but thus far only hard-core believers and nuts claimed they were actually the voices of the dead.
“Besides, we didn’t find anything. The homeowners are sick. Physically sick. They’ve torn out walls, exposing mold, and there’s dust everywhere. The electrical is a mess. They’re stripping woodwork with toxic chemicals. Dallas told them to move out until they finish the renovations. Otherwise, they could end up with permanent health problems.”
She wondered how the blessing and casting-out ceremony went today. The Moores would be impressed, no doubt.
Gwen rolled her eyes. “I bet it is haunted.”
“You think everything is haunted.”
Gwen said, “Pfft. I’m looking forward to the day when you run across something you can’t explain.”
She wandered out of the back room.
Desi returned to the spreadsheet on the computer screen. January had been a slow month, and sales barely covered the store rent. Gwen made most of her money selling “haunted” objects on her Web site. It always appalled Desi how willing people were to plunk down money to own a piece of antique jewelry or a tattered old book reputed to harbor a ghost. What bothered