“Didn’t the police have crime tape around the Tarleton-Dandridge House? When the tragedy was announced on the news, the reporter said the place was going to be closed for a few weeks,” Dr. Blount said.

“Yes, they’ve closed the house. But the police—or the directors or someone—brought in a federal team that’s investigating the house.”

“I see. That’s why you were with an agent. A federal agent.”

“Yes.”

“Ah!” Dr. Blount said.

“Ah?”

“Do you have something against the federal government investigation? It doesn’t sound as if you approve.”

“I don’t approve.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want anyone making a mockery of the Tarleton-Dandridge House—with people running around and filmmakers making everyone’s eyes look like those of a deer caught in the headlights. And going ‘What’s that? Did you hear that?’ whenever a floorboard creaks. Please! Have you seen those shows? I think one of the educational channels used to do them with actors re-creating what happened in the past, and using lights to make a place seem spooky. Then they’ll have people walk through the building screaming now and then. It’s not fair to the historical integrity of the house!”

“FBI agents film their investigations with special lights?” He seemed puzzled.

“No.”

“They publicize what they’re doing?”

“No, no, it’s just that I’ve read up on these particular agents. They’re called in when there’s something unusual. Unusual to them, from what I’ve read, means paranormal. And we’re dealing with history here. Sacred ground. Old Philadelphia is the site of some of the most momentous events in our nation’s past.”

“I agree. But filming—for the public. Do you think these people are going to do that?”

“I know they’re bringing in equipment to monitor the house during the night. And maybe during the day, too. I know that everything about this government agency is kept as quiet as possible, but information leaks out and other units of the FBI consider them ‘special.’”

Dr. Blount smiled. “Maybe you believe you know all this but it’s not quite what’s going on. And maybe you resent these people so much because you’re afraid of seeing something you don’t want to see—like Julian Mitchell.”

“Is that what you think? That it’s stress over Julian’s death and the fact that I don’t really trust these people?”

“Is that what you think?” he asked.

“I don’t know what I think! That’s why I’m here.”

“There’s an old joke that a patient talks and a psychiatrist listens and asks over and over again if that’s what he or she thinks. But the human mind is complex, and in the absence of actual mental illness, we rule our own thoughts. I can give you a medication—a mild one—that’ll help you sleep until this is over. You probably need to come to terms with what’s happening in your life.”

“A friend died,” she said softly.

He nodded. “That’s hard enough to accept. You know the stages of grief, I’m sure—denial, anger, bargaining, depression and, finally, acceptance. We all go through these feelings. You found the young man and you were horrified and perhaps tried to deny that what you saw could be true. You’re angry he’s dead, and that may be manifesting in the way you feel about a government group coming into the Tarleton-Dandridge House. Seeing this young man in your house may be your way of bargaining—he’s not really dead if you can see him. And we’re all depressed when we hear about the loss of someone young, someone who shouldn’t have died. I think, once you accept what’s happened, you’ll begin to heal. But no one can really rush the stages of grief. We all go through them.”

“So, I’m seeing Julian in my mind?”

“Is that what you believe?”

She burst out laughing. “Honestly, I want you to tell me that I am seeing him in my own mind.”

“If you believe that, will it help you?”

“Immeasurably!”

Dr. Blount grinned. “Do you want to go it alone? Or would like a sleep medication?”

“I hate taking pills unless I have to.”

“So you don’t want a prescription?”

“No, I definitely want one!”

Allison wasn’t sure what she felt when she left Dr. Blount’s office; she knew he’d rearranged his schedule to see her, and she was grateful, but their visit hadn’t really helped her.

She wished he’d just said, “Don’t be ridiculous. Ghosts don’t exist. It’s all in your head.”

And now, of course, the problem was that, once again, she didn’t want to go home.

Julian had told her he’d be waiting.

* * *

Ethan Oxford lived in another historic house. His was on Walnut Street.

The board was ready to meet in Ethan’s dining room. Originally, Tyler thought, the place had been designed so that it could also function as a ballroom. A large period table was in the center of the room, and the walls were covered with portraits of historic figures.

Dolley Madison held pride of place against the far wall.

Oxford was a dignified man. His white hair, beard and mustache were perfectly groomed. He was gracious as he answered the door himself, setting an arm around Tyler’s shoulders as he led him toward the dining room. “I’ll admit, young man, I’m the one who insisted we call Adam Harrison. He and I go way back. We’ve served on the boards of many fine charities together and I’ve known many people Adam has helped. Discreetly, of course. Now, I’m not saying the young man’s death wasn’t completely accidental, but what with that fellow being in the hospital, as well…I think the house needs investigation.”

“Sir, it’s usually worth some research when there’ve been a number of…accidents,” Tyler agreed.

Oxford stood back, grinning at Tyler. “You’re not what I was expecting. You actually look like a real lawman.”

“Thank you,” Tyler said.

“Well, come on in. The others are waiting.”

He’d met Cherry the night before, of course. This morning she gushed over him as if they were long lost friends. Nathan Pierson seemed intrigued to meet him. Sarah Vining gave him a limp hand. He had the feeling that she wasn’t one to create waves. He remembered that Allison had told him Sarah reminded her of an abused pup at a shelter.

“Coffee?” Oxford asked him. It was already set out in a silver carafe.

“Thank you,” Tyler said.

He accepted a cup and the seat that was offered to him. The others joined him at one end of the massive table.

“What have you discovered so far?” Oxford asked anxiously.

“So far, I’m studying the house and delving into what happened to bring me here,” Tyler said. “I made a point of removing the reproduction bedding from the room I’m using, which we’ll be careful to do everywhere. I understand how many objects in the house are priceless, and we will take extreme care.”

“The house is haunted. You found that out, right?” Cherry said.

He smiled. “Remnants of the past always remain in a place where the passions of history ran high, Mrs. Addison. I don’t believe that a ghost rummaged through the office in the attic or caused Mr. Mitchell to die. But we will find out what did, whether it was accidental or manufactured.”

“Manufactured. What does that mean?” Pierson asked, frowning.

“Caused by a person or persons unknown.”

“Oh, dear! He couldn’t have been…murdered!” Sarah Vining cried.

“There, there, Sarah,” Oxford said in a comforting voice.

“It’s pretty unusual for someone to set his chin on a bayonet,” Tyler explained. “And a few of the events that have occurred in the past definitely pose a unique challenge. Here’s the thing,” he said. “No one wants the public to start believing that the house is dangerously haunted. We all know that a good ghost story draws people, but they don’t want to think there’s something really evil about a house.”

“There’s nothing evil about the Tarleton-Dandridge House,” Cherry protested. “We have a poignant love story, and a beautiful woman who haunts the house. Why, the ghost tours would go out of business if the house were to blow away!”

Tyler doubted that; Cherry seemed to think the house was the most important building in the historic city. But he lowered his head.

“You don’t need to worry,” he said quietly. “My team can go through the house quickly.”

“I hope so! The newspapers have gotten wind of that man in the hospital—and his son swears the portrait of Beast Bradley put him there!” Sarah spoke tremulously. “I hate this! If there’s anything you can do to restore our wonderful piece of the past to total respectability, we’ll greatly appreciate it!”

“I’ll remind you, Agent Montague, I’m here to help if you need me,” Cherry said.

“We’re all here. We’ve asked these people in because of the gossip that was already going around the city. And now this,” Ethan said, shaking his head.

“Gossip?” Tyler asked.

“I called Adam the second I heard what happened because of the other deaths in the house.” Oxford shook his head again. “People are saying one event could be an accident, but…a docent? A college student? And now…a docent again. Or a guide, what have you. And on top of that, someone rummaging through the attic. Why, we were all there right before young Mr. Mitchell died—and right before that attic was raided. Will you be able to tell if Mr. Mitchell was distressed in some way…if there was a reason he might have torn the attic apart?”

“We’ll certainly be looking into that. What I need to know from all of you is whether you have any idea why someone would be searching for something in that attic. And what that might be.”