“How was the exhibit?” Jackson asked.

“Interesting,” Angela said.

The waiter reappeared with their beignets and drinks, and took drinks orders from Angela and Whitney.

“Did you gain anything from the museum this time—anything we hadn’t known?” Jenna asked, blowing at some of the sweet powdery sugar from the beignet that had fallen on her skirt.

“Well, we gained a really creepy look at a picture of Newton’s hanging,” Whitney said.

“And we learned that no one knows what happened to his body,” Angela said. “It was left hanging for days.”

“Very much like the pirate days. Hang the fellow, and gibbet him!” Jake said.

“I’m glad that’s outlawed,” Whitney said emphatically.

Angela seemed thoughtful and pensive. “Anything else?” he asked.

“They have an interesting model of the house as it was in the 1860s. And some photographs from the time or newspaper reprints of the photographs,” Angela said. He looked at her, hoping there was more. “I think it will help us, when we’re working in the house in the future. How was your day?”

“Productive,” he told her. “We have an alibi for the chauffeur.”

“Can we really have an alibi for anyone?”

“Unless he was in on it with the senator, and the senator did throw his wife over the balcony,” Jackson said.

“I still don’t understand why David Holloway would call us in to investigate what happened if he had been guilty in any way,” Jenna said. She dusted her skirt again. “My Lord, these things are delicious, but that sugar is everywhere.”

“Blow on it,” Will teased. “It’s just an illusion. It will vanish in the air.”

“Sugar doesn’t really vanish,” Jenna argued.

“And dust motes are in the air whether we see them or not,” Will told her.

“Oh, good God, you’re not going to pull a rabbit out of my ear now or anything, are you?” Jenna asked.

“No, no rabbit. I can produce a few other things if you like,” Will told her. “I’ve worked many a horrible magic show with lights and projectors. It’s far easier than you might imagine to create the illusion of magic.” To prove his point, he reached into the air, and suddenly, there was a handkerchief in his hands.

He was good, Jackson thought.

Angela jerked forward suddenly in her chair, staring at Will.

“It’s just a handkerchief. Clean, even,” Will said.

She grimaced, shaking her head. “What if…what if Regina Holloway didn’t commit suicide—exactly. What if she saw something that got into her mind, that made her run out on the balcony?”

“You’re saying that the ghosts did kill her?” Whitney asked, confused.

“No…I’m saying, what if…well, we’ve been talking about the Church of Christ Arisen. They use brainwashing techniques, really. So…oh, God, I’m not even really sure of what I’m saying. What if she was told over and over again about the ghosts, made to think that they weren’t only real, but that they were vindictive. And what if some kind of illusion was used on her?”

“It’s a good theory, but she didn’t go over that balcony of her own accord—unless she managed to hurtle her own weight backwards,” Jackson said. “But…”

“Maybe,” Jake suggested, “she was lured out to the balcony by that kind of trickery, except she was starting to catch on, or she saw something…and then she had to be helped.”

The waiter arrived with the two cups of café au lait for Angela and Whitney.

They all fell silent until Jackson had paid, and the waiter went away.

“That adds another element of the possible to the scenario,” Jackson said. “I’ve seen people do amazing things to others by the power of suggestion. Let’s face it, the house is big and old, and has an unbelievable history, and…maybe Regina even had a touch of the sixth sense herself.”

“The ghosts in the bedroom never harmed Regina,” she said with absolute certainty.

“I didn’t say that,” Jackson assured her. “Here’s the thing, though. Perhaps she was inundated with tales about the house—true tales, actually. It would take a staunch soul not to be a little afraid that there might be ghosts lurking there. And someone would know about the children who were murdered, and that Regina had just lost a child. It would have been easy to prey on her mind with subtle suggestion.”

“And then something was done to convince her that there was the ghost of a child in the room. And that ghost lured her to the balcony,” Angela said. “But how could someone have created an entire image in her mind that would do what they wanted it to?”

“Illusion,” Will said. “Smoke and mirrors—and projectors.”

“But there’s nothing in the house. The police haven’t found anything, and we haven’t found anything at all,” Jake said.

“We’ve actually found a lot in the house,” Whitney corrected.

Jake stared at her. “There’s something else in the basement,” she said. “We’ve seen it. We’ve all seen it on the screens. And it’s real. It’s something,” she said with determination.

“Back to the basement then,” Jackson said, rising. “Everyone finished?”

Three hours later, filthy and exhausted, they stood together in the basement. They’d tried digging.

They’d all expected Angela to be some kind of a divining rod, but she just didn’t have a sense of where another body could be. They had found nothing, though they had broken up a great deal of concrete.

The basement wasn’t giving away any of its secrets.

Now resting on shovels or picks, they continued to watch her movements. Except for Jackson, who was sitting on the stairs at a slight remove.

“This isn’t working,” he noted.

“Angela, nothing?” Whitney asked.

She had to laugh. “Whitney, I wouldn’t stand here as everyone dug and destroyed the flooring if I had something to say!”

“I know that there is something down here!” Whitney said.

No one argued with her.

“Maybe we need to give it a rest,” Jake said. “We’ll all be going to bed with Bengay on our shoulders and backs if we don’t quit for a while.”

“I guess,” Whitney said, defeated for the time. “All right, well, I’m going to take a shower and go to bed.”

“Sounds like a remarkable plan,” Will agreed.

“I’m in on that one,” Jenna said. “Maybe I’ll dream up a solution.” She smiled at Angela. “Or maybe you will.”

Angela lifted her hands. “I’ll try, guys. But…”

“But it doesn’t work that way,” Will said softly, putting a hand on her shoulder. “It’s all right, the answers will come.”

Jackson stood suddenly. “Well, I’m for the shower, a night’s sleep, and then I think I’ll try a different angle.”

“What’s that?” Jenna asked him.

“The attic,” he told her. “Jake, I’m going to put you on the computer, following links for me. There’s something fishy about Gabby Taylor, the Church of Christ Arisen and, of course, Martin DuPre. Check out social networking sites, too—they probably have some social networking going, particularly since they’re targeting kids—Twitter or Facebook, or something. Andy Devereaux should have sent me some info by now, and following it up on a few of the federal sites can give us some more information that might be pertinent. For tonight, let’s call it quits.”

He started up the stairs for the kitchen. The others began to follow him, but Angela suddenly found herself unwilling to go. “Wait!” she said.

They all looked back. “I think—I think that Whitney is right.”

“Okay?” Jackson said.

“The shadow…the shadow that everyone sees…it’s not like…well, it’s not like a ghost or an image or remnant, revenant…that we usually see or feel. It is something evil,” Angela said. “Yes, we’ve all said that it’s different, but I mean really evil!”

“All right,” Jackson said. “Agreed. I saw the film and I trust you all. But where does that lead us right now?”

“I think we’re looking for Madden C. Newton,” she said.

“But he was hanged,” Will said. “I thought we were looking for more victims.”

“Hanged, but no one knows what happened to his body,” Angela said. “I think that his body is here. It makes sense. When did we see it coming after me? When it appeared that other souls were finally able to leave. The victims might have been waiting for one another, and Newton tried to keep them here, but the power of that kind of light is too strong. He couldn’t. But maybe he’s still trapped here, and that’s the shadow of evil?”

“It makes perfect sense,” Whitney said.

“Where?” Jackson asked. “We’ve been digging for hours.”

“I don’t know,” she said, frustrated.

Jackson walked back down the stairs and came over to her. He smiled, setting his hands on her shoulders, then wiping at a smudge on her cheek. “Why don’t we sleep on it and get back to it tomorrow. Right now, I think we should just all clean up and order pizza. We’ll see what we can find in the meantime on the film.”

She nodded. Frustration filled her; she felt as if they were so close. But when she looked into his eyes, she knew that he was right. And she also knew that she wouldn’t go through the night alone, worrying about that shadow of evil. She would be with him.

“Come on,” he said gently.

He took her hand and they headed up the stairs to the kitchen. The others followed. “Shower,” Will said.