What's a Ghoul to Do? (10 page)

"Yep. I found a reference that says she's worth about a half a billion dollars."

I whistled low. "The plot thickens."

"Indeed. And one of the gossip columns I read suggested that Mrs. Wharton-Sable had done a tidy little job of protecting her assets when she married, with a prenup. If Steven Senior divorces her, he gets only a million or so."

"Hence he fled to Europe when things got dicey. She never filed based on all the gossip?"

"No. The same gossip columnist suggested there was a short separation, after which Steven Senior has been kept on a
very
short leash."

"How did the paternity suit end?" I asked, anxious for Gil to finish.

"Ah, yes. I came across a small article which reported that Andrew Sable was not too pleased with his son's behavior and did something dramatic about it."

"What?"

"He offered up his own blood sample, knowing the results would at least show Steven and Andrew were related if Steven Senior was the father."

"You're kidding," I said, a little shocked that Andrew would go over his son's head like that.

"Nope. And soon afterward a settlement was reached with the mother, Rosa, but it was paid for by Andrew."

"Andrew must have been one hell of a guy," I said.

"Yep," Gilley agreed. "Anyhoo, Rosa wins a sizable chunk of money, and she does the smart thing: She sends Steven to boarding school in Germany, the name of which I couldn't possibly pronounce."

"Germany?"

"Yeah. I looked up the school's curriculum. It's amazing. It's like college for ten-year-olds, and only the smartest kids graduate."

"I'm assuming that means our Steven is a brainiac," I said.

"And then some. He graduates summa cum laude, wins a full scholarship to a top German college with another name I can't pronounce, then goes on to medical school. Again, he's at the top of his class. He interns at some hospital in Berlin and specializes in cardiology. A few years later he and two other doctors invent some sort of gadget that allows surgeons to operate on a beating heart."

My eyes widened. "If they can operate on a beating heart, then they wouldn't need bypass, would they?"

"Bingo. As far as I can tell this gadget hasn't been approved for use in the United States yet, but Boston University has been itching to get Steven here for the past year or so, so that when it is approved they can reap the rewards of having cardiologists from all over the globe come here to learn how to use it."

"The man will be set for life," I said with a little envy. "And how old is he?" I asked, not wanting to sound too interested.

"Thirty-four," Gilley said with a smirk.

"Two years older than me."

"A year and a half—your birthday's next month."

I rolled my eyes at Gilley for splitting hairs. "Thanks for the reminder. Please go on."

Gil continued, "I found some records that show that Steven spent his childhood summers here. Looks like the old man had both Steven and his mother as his personal guests every summer until Steven went to college."

"Where's his mother now?"

"She died two years ago. Cancer."

"And now he's just lost Andrew, the only other family he's known."

"Which is why it's so important for him to get to the bottom of what happened to Andrew," Gilley mused.

"Anything else you could dig up about the father?"

"Lots. For starters, when Steven Senior returned from ducking the paternity suit he tried to have his old man declared incompetent so that he could take over the family fortune."

"Nice," I said sarcastically. "This guy just oozes warm and fuzzy. I'm assuming Andrew was able to thwart that effort?"

"He did one better. He gave power of attorney over to his grandson, then left the bulk of his estate—worth about ten million—to Junior."

"Game over," I said with a smile. "That'll teach Senior."

"The father could still contest the will," Gilley said.

"Yeah, but he runs the risk of having to succumb to another DNA test, and I doubt if Corrin would like to know for sure that her husband fathered someone else's child. For the moment she can float in a world of denial. The press would have a field day with it. Plus she might have forgiven him thirty years ago for his indiscretions, but it could be a whole new ball game this go-around. I don't know that I'd want to risk a divorce if I were him."

"Which explains why he hasn't challenged the will yet. And he's got those nasty IRS agents after him right now, but he does have the best defense team in town going to bat for him. He just hired Lanford and Groman, so he'll probably pay a hefty fine and be on his merry way."

"Did you find out anything on the recent break-ins at Steven's?"

"According to the police blotter a call came in from the alarm company a little over two weeks ago. Someone had broken a bathroom window and was apparently scared off by the alarm. Nothing appeared to have been stolen, and the police were quick to chalk it up to probable teen vandalism."

"Could be," I said. "But what about last night?"

"No one suspicious was seen in the neighborhood, but the incident was referred to the police captain to put a small task force on getting a neighborhood watch program going."

"I am continually amazed at what you're able to dig up," I mused as I looked affectionately over at Gil. "Good job, honey," I added, and Gilley beamed.

Just then from the backseat came a squawk. "Doc's up," Gilley said, and reached into the backseat to undo the door on Doc's cage.

Lifting him out, Gilley gently brought him up front and placed him on my steering wheel. "Hey, doll," I said, giving him a peck on the beak. "Who's a pretty boy?" I sang. "Who's a pretty, pretty boy?"

"Dr. Delicious!" Doc chirped.

"You think so?" I asked as Gilley laughed.

"Dr. Delicious! Get off the friggin' phone!" Doc squawked.

Just then we heard a car horn, and Gil and I turned to our left to see a black Aston Martin zoom past.

"Looks like he's off the phone," Gilley said.

"Great." I scowled. "He'll beat us there." And just to add insult to injury, another car, a gray sedan, zoomed past us as well. I gripped the steering wheel and punched the accelerator, determined to keep up with the good doctor. We trailed three cars behind for a few hours, and I noticed that the gray sedan seemed to be headed in the exact same direction as Sable and us, even through the three highway changes we had to make, but I didn't dwell on it. Finally our gas guzzling van forced us to exit off the highway in search of fuel and I figured I'd lost the race, but as it happened we caught up to Sable about two hours later, with no sign of the gray sedan.

We were cruising on Route 41, per the map that Steven had given us, when we sailed by a diner with a mud-splattered sign advertising, HOT GRINDERS! and we noticed the Aston parked out front.

I looked to Gilley, who read my mind and said, "Yeah, I could eat." Doubling back we cruised into the parking lot and, after securing Doc in his cage, headed inside.

We spotted Steven's profile right away. He was sitting at a table with a plate full of grinder and a beautiful blonde perched on the arm of a chair right across from him as the two giggled and flirted with each other like old chums. I felt my lips tighten and my fists ball just as Gilley said, "Uh-oh."

Turning toward the front counter I snapped, "Let's get that to go."

Silently Gilley followed me to the counter and we waited for someone to help us. After a short wait the beautiful blonde at Steven's table sidled up behind the counter and said, "What can I get for you?"

I looked at her for a beat before saying, "That's okay. I'm not really hungry," and headed back out to the van. After wrenching open the door and sliding into the seat, I slammed it shut and jammed the key into the ignition. I was about to peel out of the parking lot when I noticed that Gilley wasn't in the van. Momentarily confused, I looked around the lot and saw no sign of him.

I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel for what felt like an eternity, irritated beyond belief that he had obviously stayed behind to order, leaving me to stew alone in the van. With a growl I leaned my head back on the seat and closed my eyes, trying to quell the attitude.

Just about the time I'd chilled, there was a tap on the window, and I opened one eye. Steven stood there with a bag up to the window and a big toothy grin. "Hungry?" he asked.

I rolled down the window and asked, "Where's Gilley?"

"I'm right here," Gilley said as the passenger-side door opened and he got in.

"It's good," Steven sang as he jiggled the to-go bag. "I used to come here as a boy with my grandfather. Best grinders in the world."

"It didn't look like you were eating much in there," I snapped before I could stop myself.

Steven raised an eyebrow. "Really?" he said. "When did you come inside?"

Gilley coughed loudly next to me. "What?" I asked.

"Gilley said you were out in the van. He said you didn't like to experiment with diner food, but I convinced him that this was an exception."

"Ah," I said with a nod. "Yes, that's right. I was waiting out in the van."

"But you said you saw me in there," Steven said, his eyebrow still arched curiously.

"Yes. I had to use the restroom."

"I see," Steven said, a grin on his face that I badly wanted to remove. "Here is your dinner, then. Maybe Gilley can drive while you eat."

"That's okay," I said, taking the bag. "I'll let Gil eat first."

There was another cough next to me and Gil said, "Uh … I ate in the diner."

I swiveled my head over to him and narrowed my eyes.
"Really?"

"I don't mind driving," Gilley said meekly. "Honest, you should eat, M.J. We've probably got a long night ahead of us."

I stuck out my tongue at him and turned back to see Steven looking at me expectantly. "Fine," I said, getting out of the van. As I was about to step down, two strong arms encircled my waist.

"Let me help you there," Steven said, lifting me out of the van.

"Thanks," I said quickly, and tried to move past him, though his arms lingered on my waist. "You gonna let me go?" I asked after a moment.

"I am concerned for you," Steven said, his eyes searching my face.

"Really?" I asked, rolling my eyes. "And why would you be concerned?"

"Your face is red," he said, arching a brow. "Perhaps you should ride in my car, where I can keep an eye on you."

"Perhaps I shouldn't," I said, and pushed out of his embrace. When I got back in, Gilley gave me a look. "What?" I asked as I fastened my seat belt.

"Sweetie," he said, shaking his head, "if someone that gorgeous ever wanted me to take a ride in his very cool car, I'd certainly waste no time yelling, 'Shotgun.'"

"Just drive, Gilley," I growled.

"It's amazing you're not still a virgin," he mumbled as he started the van and pulled out after Steven.

We continued down 41 for a while and I ate my turkey-and-cheese grinder, which was surprisingly good. After finishing the sandwich I watched the scenery glide by and tried to relax. The farther we drove on this stretch of highway, the less traffic we encountered. Houses were becoming sparse, and the woodland was thick on either side of us. The minutes ticked by as I noticed the afternoon sun giving way to dusk.

By the time Steven pulled off the road, the last threads of light were barely streaming across the sky. We saw Steven's car make a right and we followed, entering a long, winding driveway.

We were immediately enveloped by trees on either side of us, which formed a long, dark tunnel. The trees were huge maples, many of them thick, with knotty trunks and low-hanging branches that brushed our car. Finally the trees parted to reveal an enormous lawn. We traveled alongside it, the trees on one side, the lawn on the other, until we came upon the Sable hunting lodge.

As I took in the structure, I would have been the last to call it a "lodge." It looked far more like a castle to me. The house was huge—three full stories with light gray mason walls, a black slate roof, and an imposing wrought-iron gate. A circular driveway looped in front of the building.

Gilley pulled up right behind Steven, and as we got out our mouths hung open in awe. "You like?" Steven said as he came up beside us.

"It's magnificent," Gilley said.

"What's that?" I asked, pointing to a window on the third floor.

"Looks like a television's on," Gilley said, looking to where I was pointing.

"Uh-oh," Steven said.

"What's 'uh-oh'?" I asked.

"Watch for it," he answered cryptically.

We waited a few seconds until suddenly a light flashed in another window. Then another window lit up, then a few more all simultaneously. Despite my experience, I'd never seen anything like this, and I felt the hair on my arms stand up on end.

"Whoa," Gilley said, gulping as he gripped my arm. "That's spooky."

"When I first inherited this house, I hired a local woman to help … eh . .. inventory my grandfather's things. The day after she started she called and said she would not be returning because the televisions kept turning on by themselves."

"We've seen something similar in the past," Gilley said, and I knew he was referring to a house we did in Bellingham where a radio in the kitchen kept turning on by itself. "But never so many devices all at once."

I counted each flickering light and asked, "How many TVs are in the house?"

"If I remember correctly, there are twelve."

"I count eleven," I said, and just then, as if on cue, another light flickered on at the ground-floor level off to my right. "Okay, all twelve are working and accounted for. Come on, guys; let's go save some electricity."

I turned back to the van and pulled open the door. Grabbing my backpack and my duffel bag full of equipment, I marched up the steps. Gilley and Steven followed me, Gilley looking rather pale. After fiddling with his keys, Steven unlocked the door.

As the door swung open, the first thing to hit us was the sound of twelve televisions turned up full blast all throughout the house. The odd thing was, they all seemed to be on the same channel, something to do with bass fishing. I set the duffel and my backpack down and motioned with my head toward my right. Gilley and Steven followed me as I headed toward the nearest blaring set.