"h.e.l.l, I'll take a Heiney if there's some extras in there," said Angie, sauntering over to where the guys stood guarding their treasure chest.

Like a pair of tin soldiers from Candy Land, they stepped aside to make way for her, so obviously intimidated by the pretty girl's moxy. Sure enough, once she fully opened the cooler's lid, a dozen green bottles peered out through crushed ice. She grabbed a handful and began her strut to the picnic table.

"Throw me that can of cow pee and I'll bring you a real beer, Cracker Jack," she taunted, playfully, to which I immediately tossed the can without thinking first.

More gasps-this time from nearly everyone including me. But Angie smiled naughtily, balancing the bottles between one arm and her bosom while she effortlessly caught the can and flipped it back toward the open cooler. The can careened off the lid and into the ice. No harm, no foul-unless Tom's labored breathing counts for anything.

While the rest of us marveled at Angie's party trick, she moved over to the table. Tom hurriedly motioned for Tony to help him carry a platter filled with burgers and weenies to the table. Justin picked up the condiments from a small table next to the built-in grill on Tom's deck, while Jackie grabbed a bowl of potato salad to go along with another one filled to the brim with baked beans.

That left Fiona, who paused by the cooler until she fished out a bottled c.o.ke, since a sinus headache's onset was upon her. She joined me near the end of the table, and everyone else found an open spot. Jackie and Tom joined us on the side closest to the grill, while Tony and Justin hesitated for a moment on the other side, as if silently debating between them who'd get the frightful pleasure of sitting next to Angie. Justin won the honor, as Tony found an excuse to revisit the grill.

"So, where'd you learn the over-the-shoulder bank shot, Muscle Mutt?"

Hoping to further lighten the mood, I voiced the first thought that popped in my head. Angie really hates my pet name for her, since it brings to mind some muscle-bound body builder-which she's not. 'Body sculpting' is the way she likes to refer to it, and recently Fiona and Jackie have been letting her teach them the basic initial exercises to help firm their thighs and legs, though I can't really see where Fiona needs the help. Maybe she's just trying to help Jackie not feel like the ugly duckling in our group. But Jackie's not bad looking at all. The way the other guys' eyes linger on her from time to time tells me they'd readily second that notion.

"I grew up with three brothers-all older than me," she replied, pausing to pa.s.s the potato salad to Justin, who then handed off to Tony at the table's end. "The oldest was all-city basketball in Hartford, and my other brothers lettered in high school. So, along the way, I guess they showed me a thing or two on how to shoot deceptively, since I'm the 'shorty' in my family."

They must be frigging giants. h.e.l.l, Angie stands at least an inch taller than Fiona, who is considered pretty tall at five-nine. Since she grew up in Connecticut, Angie's the second friend of Fiona from the east coast. Candi was the first, hailing from Trenton, New Jersey.

"You must be pretty good, then," said Jackie, nodding approvingly. "And here I thought your favorite sport was Taekwondo."

"It is, although Taekwondo is more a philosophy and way of life for me, and not really a sport. Tennis is a sport."

She glanced at me, as if this was some private joke...some secret dig brought on by my recent taunt? Maybe it goes along with her favorite moniker for me, 'Cracker Jack'. I have no idea at all as to why she chose it. I mean, a smiling cartoon sailor on a box of sweetened popcorn with a cheap, meaningless toy inside every box.... Okay, maybe it ain't so vague, since who in the h.e.l.l wants to be compared to that?

"This is excellent!" Fiona enthused, pointing to her burger. "Really good, Tom!

Everyone else chimed in, and I have to say the burger and hotdog I ate seemed unusually good. I hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, as my appet.i.te at lunch was obliterated by the details surrounding d.i.c.key Rollins' exit from this world.

By the time eight o'clock rolled around, everyone had indulged in seconds and a generous slice from the dessert pizza. Fading sunlight peered through mature maples surrounding Tom's property, creating an almost exotic feel, enhanced by the burning torches encircling the deck. Thirty minutes left before I needed to leave, rehearsal was set to start at nine o'clock sharp.

An emphatic tap on my watch got everyone moving, and we cleared the table in a matter of minutes. The dishwasher in Tom's custom kitchen whirring in the background, he motioned for us all to follow him back outside.

Across the yard sat a revitalized small stone and log structure, built not long after the main house was erected. The 'NVP studio', as Tom called it. Fresh blue paint upon the door and window frames, the building seemed to glow under the backyard's security lamps, nestled beneath tall pines and maples that were probably small saplings when it was built.

Like a little playhouse from some urban fantasy, the studio seemed to beckon us. Ready for its first 'official' test drive, perhaps?

I could hardly wait to put it in gear.

Chapter Seven.

"You should all watch your step, since the sidewalk has a few ridges that have popped up due to the ground shifting over the years," Tom advised, as we neared the end of the cement path to his studio. Additional security lights set up in a pair of tall maples turned on just before we reached the building.

A crude miniature version of the main house, the three-room structure contained smaller stained-gla.s.s windows on each side of the doorway. Definitely not designed with a broken-down riding mower and rusted handsaws in mind-which is what Tom said it sheltered when he first visited the property. The floor had rotted through in several places, too, and the roof hung low in one corner. But that's no longer the case. Everything old and busted has been replaced with brand new materials, starting with a new cedar-chip roof.

"Before we step inside, and I should've mentioned this to Jackie, Tony, and Angie earlier, take a look at the long cement slab below the window," he said, pointing a small flashlight at a narrow flowerbed located beneath the window sill.

We followed him over to it. Most of the slab lay hidden behind a row of rose bushes, just beyond the reach of the security lights' soft glow.

"Jackie, would you mind holding this for a moment?"

Tom motioned for her to take the flashlight. Then he carefully pulled the plants away from the slab. Fiona was the first one to gasp this time, and only because she immediately understood what the words and numbers meant, illuminated clearly by the flashlight's bright beam.

Nathaniel Smith...born January 24th, 1893...died July 7th, 1945.

"Now that's jacked up!" said Justin, while the rest of us...well let's just say the rest of us were murmuring. Unfinished, nonsensical thoughts, like a Sunday Pentecostal service. "You mean to tell me some dead guy is buried here, in your yard?"

"So it would seem," said Tom, chuckling. "When I first noticed it a couple of months ago, it gave me a start, too. I should've told everyone then.... But, as it turns out, no one is actually buried here. At least according to the state archives. Mr. Smith is buried in Chattanooga. Apparently, this is just an extra marker."

He turned toward us, smiling. It must've been a sweet moment for him...all of us with mouths hung open until we realized there really wasn't a body there.

"I might add that Nathaniel was the second to last owner of this property, right on up to his death in 1945," added Tom.

Well, maybe the sucker's buried here after all. I shuddered for a moment, and Fiona did too. Not a good omen.

"Come on in, everyone," he said, ushering us inside. "Let me show the best evidence to Jimmy, and if anyone else wants to hang out afterward, we can look over some of the other pictures and audio recordings I haven't had time to examine yet...."

I'm not sure if Fiona and I fully heard what he said after that, since our eyes were drawn to the opulence inside. Very little expense had been spared in outfitting the room with state-of-the-art recording equipment and a large monitor for close examination of visual images and deeper a.n.a.lysis of electronic voice phenomena, or EVPs. Even the long control board and furniture in the room looked expensive. Not to mention the hardwood floors, a second furnished 'office' complete with another computer system, and a small bathroom. That'd definitely be a necessity, as it seemed quite possible to never want to leave this place for days at a time, if one had enough paranormal data to review. A small fridge next to the main console would answer the remaining needs a serious investigator might require.

h.e.l.l, if Tom had added a sound booth, I might be tempted to commandeer the studio to record my band for a week or two.

"Is this place booyakasha or what?!" Justin enthused, laughing while laying a d.a.m.ned good Ali-G on us.

"It's just so sweet, man!" added Tony, sliding down into one of the high-back leather chairs in front of the console. "You've definitely outdone yourself, Tom. This will take our ghost investigations to a whole new level, y'all."

"Yes, it really is something special," said Fiona, admiringly. "I can't wait to see what everything looks like using this new equipment, Tom."

"Better than my old system," he said, moving over to the other chair. "Much better." He sat down and turned on the main board, which quietly came to life. Green, orange, and blue lights began to flicker across the console's face. "Okay, Fiona...Jimmy. Gather round a little closer and get ready to see something special."

She and I moved over to where we stood directly behind him and Tony, with Angie and Jackie on Fiona's right side, and Justin leaning in next to me. All of us waited expectantly for what would soon appear on the 60 inch LCD screen before us.

"Okay...first off is the image in the window upstairs," Tom advised. "For Fiona's benefit, this happened when we were moving around the front of the house, and I pointed the infrared camera toward the upstairs window-the one above the main entrance."

"That's where the younger kids sleep," said Fiona. "Charlain told me during my initial visit to the house that her children hear voices up there."

"Well, that makes a lot of sense in light of what we've got here," Tony advised, and then looked over at Tom, whose expression made it clear he wanted to completely handle the findings from last night's investigation. "Oops, sorry, Tom.... I just got a little carried away."

"It's all right," he replied, somewhat tersely. "Anyway, here we go."

At first, only an intense yellow glare from the security flood lamps in the Thompson's front yard filled the screen, amid a greenish glow from the infrared video. That, and Tom and Tony's voices commenting on how it sucked to not be able to get any closer to the house without incurring additional problems-like worse camera angles due to the overhanging eves upstairs. Whoever built the place never considered the inconveniences presented for future ghost hunters.

Roughly a minute later, the upstairs window came into clear view. As we noted last night, the curtains were slightly open-most likely the kids' request to have more than a nightlight illuminating their scary bedroom. A pair of wispy sheers blocked most of our voyeur access inside the bedroom, but still a gap existed in the middle of the window. For our purposes, that's all we needed to capture the image.

At first, we could only see the green-hazed outline of the house and the reddish outlines from the security lamps' casings, emitting heat from the powerful halogens. Then a dark red form appeared in the window. Fiona let out another slight gasp.

It rarely happens with this type of technology, as often the forms caught by infrared cameras appear shadowy, undefined as to s.e.x, though clothing such as hats and coats can be determined. Not this time. Facial details of a woman were clearly viewable, and the woman's face was framed by ringlets. Only the eyes remained shadowed, hidden. The portals to the soul...even though her expression was blank, who could say for sure there was no menace implied?

"Go ahead and run the video forward, Tom," said Fiona, shifting to the mode the group has come to expect of her. From sweet-natured to the 'take charge' individual who has spearheaded NVP's rise to the top shelf of Tennessee's plethora of paranormal investigators vying for the more prestigious locations to explore.

He looked back in surprise, maybe under the delusion that last night's trauma and this morning's second helping would promote him into the lead role...at least for now. Still, no one questions her direction when she gets into her zone-not even me, her closest confidante.

"Okay," he agreed, and the video resumed.

Almost instantly the image dissipated.

"Good." She sounded relieved. "Very good, actually. If the image had lingered too long, we would have to consider the possibility of someone playing a prank on us. It doesn't seem like something Charlain would do, but we've had it happen before. Remember the Miller investigation a few years back?"

"Yeah, I do," I confessed. "I'd just as soon forget about that one forever."

Thought I had, truthfully. So thanks a bunch, sweetie, for resuscitating such an embarra.s.sing memory. We're probably still the brunt of some jokes about it.

"I'm still p.i.s.sed off at those frigging b.a.s.t.a.r.ds!" fumed Jackie, looking over at Tony for his response, since he was also present for that red-faced moment. But he gave no indication he remembered what had happened.

Wish I could be like that, or have Fiona's ability to shrug it off even though it remained fresh enough for her to recall with ease.

"Well, if the image hadn't faded away like it did, it would be easy to disprove," continued Fiona. "From what I've researched in the c.u.mberland branch of the main library, the face we just saw looks a lot like Lizzy Robertson. I feel so much sadness with this haunting...felt it strong in the house, especially upstairs when Charlain showed me around."

"Did any of the other pictures we took turn up anything cool, or mean-like?" asked Justin, still in his Ali-G mode with arms raised and fingers pointed down, like he was casting a gangsta spell.

"Well, there are some anomalies in a few of your pictures I had developed this morning, Justin," Tom advised. "Along with a few orbs from Jimmy's digital memory card."

He moved over to a desk in the room's corner, where a pack of photographs sat. He brought them over to Fiona, who opened the pack while the rest of us gathered around her.

"There could be evidence, at least in these pictures," she said, pointing out the white, yellow, and red streaks that showed up in several of Justin's pics. "But the orbs...I'm not sure about them since the house overlooks the river. They could be caused by moisture."

"What about this one?" asked Tony, pointing to an enormous...o...b.. solid in its consistency, with yellow and red highlights along its edges.

"I'm still not sure," she confessed. "It could represent something, but I'd hesitate to claim it's a spirit's essence. Remember, gang, everything we review has to pa.s.s the most rigorous skepticism-"

"And orbs can be caused by anything that refracts light," I added, inadvertently interrupting her. Not a good habit of mine, and a sure invitation for an admonishment in private. "Water, dust, flying insects-you name it-can be a problem."

I'm sure my face turned bright red, because I felt fiery warmth spread across my cheeks. All three women, and Ali-G, were looking at me in a way that let me know my transgression hadn't gone unnoticed. At least by them. Tom and Tony, both boorish in nature, seemed oblivious.

Great. Just lump me in with the two Neanderthals in the group. Nothing like a slip of the tongue to hasten de-evolution. I resolved right then to do a better job of keeping my mouth shut until safe to open it again. At least in the presence of said company.

"We could review the images from Jimmy's photographs, but I'm afraid they are less conclusive than what Justin captured," said Tom. "Tony's results proved inconclusive as well."

"So, I guess that's it for the preliminary run-through," concluded Fiona, placing Justin's photographs back inside the pack and returning it to Tom. "At least I'll have something to offer Charlain when we chat this weekend."

She complimented Tom again about his nice set up, and turned to leave the studio. But, so soon? Maybe she and the girls really did have some clubbing plans. As for me, I needed to leave in the next few minutes, as eight-thirty rapidly approached.

"Wait a second," said Tony, whirling around in his chair. "What about the shadow person we caught just before we left last night?"

"Yes, I almost forgot!" Tom's excitement was revived. I'm sure he'd kick himself later for the near-oversight. "It should only take a moment to get there, since we caught the figure using the infrared camera. It's near the end of the video clip currently queued up."

He was right. It took less than a minute, and since no one had previously viewed this video segment on Tom's big screen, our collective amazement proved to be the most profound.

"The figure looks so real...guys, I don't think that's a shadow person," observed Jackie, squinting as if that'd help her see it more clearly.

"I have to agree," said Fiona, her suspicion evident in her tone. "Cla.s.sic phantoms of this sort are featureless, completely. I can see the silver clip on the belt...and it looks like the figure is wearing a complete mask, like what I told Jimmy about earlier today."

They all looked at her and then me. She held me in her gaze as well, probably wondering how much detail I left out from last night's investigation. Perhaps some of her irritation with me was because this information might've helped her define the images she psychically picked up from d.i.c.key's office earlier that day.

"It does look like some ninja dude," I observed, feeling the growing weight of everyone's stares. "Or-"

"It could be a female," offered Angie, drawing some of the attention away from me, thank G.o.d. She shrugged her shoulders indifferently. "Look at the figure...svelte in build. Granted, the person's crouched in the bushes, and maybe it's other shadows across the chest, but...."

"She's got b.o.o.bs," said Jackie, picking up where Angie left off.

"I'm not so sure," Fiona advised, shaking her head. "If that's an actual phantom and not physically tangible, then maybe it is female. But if it is somebody among the living...someone who followed you guys to the investigation, then I'm still convinced a male is involved here. Whoever killed my friends-our friends, since y'all have gotten to know them too-is a male. A bitterly angry guy."

Just as she finished talking, a loud noise resounded from the house. At least that's where I thought it came from, since it sounded like something heavy crashed onto the kitchen floor. Hearing anything outside the studio would've been impossible, given the main room's thick insulation, if Tom hadn't left the main door open ajar.

The color drained from his face, and I wasn't sure he'd escape a real heart attack this time. Nor could I believe how quickly he clambered out of his chair and raced back to the house, with the rest of us running behind him "No-o-o!!"

By the time we caught up with him, Tom was on his hands and knees cleaning up the broken plates and gla.s.ses thrown in a pile on the floor. Open flour and sugar sacks lay nearby, and a full drawer of silverware had been tossed upside down on top. Poking out of the mess beneath the drawer were the handles of several large cooking pots and pans from the kitchen island nearby.

"Who in the h.e.l.l did this?"

Even before I voiced the question, I took a precautionary gaze around the kitchen, peering into the living room and down the hall to the bedrooms. Hard to say without a full search, but it didn't feel like anyone else was there. Just a deeper coolness than when we loaded the dishwasher earlier, and its heat should've warmed the air around us. Not so.

"Tom, I sense anger and protectiveness near us...in here," said Fiona, who had joined him on the floor in his efforts to pick up the bigger porcelain and gla.s.s shards from the pile.

Meanwhile, Justin and Angie headed down the hall, while Tony moved through the dining room on his way to the living room. Jackie went to look outside. That left me to find a broom and dustpan, which Tom told me would be in the pantry.

"You haven't told us everything about the house, or what attracted you to buy this one over the others you considered in Green Hills," continued Fiona, to which he jerked his head around to face her. "I've felt this for awhile, but out of respect for your privacy I've never mentioned it."

"How'd you know?" he asked, his tone subdued, like a dirty little secret had just been revealed. For a moment he seemed to forget about the mess around him.

Now I was confused. And no doubt the others would be, too, in a moment.

"Whoever did this must've split, man!" Justin announced, once he and Angie returned to the kitchen. She shrugged her shoulders again, her confirmation the place was empty.

"It's getting too dark to know for sure, but we didn't see anyone outside," added Jackie, as she and Tony returned to the kitchen right after the others. "You don't think this has anything to do with what happened last night and this morning, do you?"

She looked at Fiona, who continued to clean the floor while everyone else awaited her response.

"No...I don't," she said, standing up and carrying a handful of gla.s.s shards to the open trash container I'd brought over to the pile a moment ago. She dropped the pieces and brushed her hands over the container to rid them of flour and sugar grains, and no doubt a few small gla.s.s chips. "Tom doesn't believe that either."

Now we all looked at him, eyebrows raised in puzzlement for most of us.

"Okay," he sighed. "She's mostly right....but I think it could still be related to what's going on elsewhere, or at least related to what we described tonight."