"Oh!" I said, feeling the tension leave my shoulders. "Sorry, honey! I was really thinking you'd found Gopher and were torturing us."

"Even I'm not that mean," he told me.

"I know, I know. Again, I'm sorry." And then I wanted to know more. "So where is this mysterious Alex?"

"Belize."

"I thought she was Russian?" Heath said.

"Oh, she is," Gilley a.s.sured him. "And sooooo much more."

"I feel a long-winded story coming," I muttered.

Gilley narrowed his eyes at me, but didn't let that stop him from telling us what he knew. "Alexandra Neverov was born in Novgorod thirty-two years ago. Her father was an archaeologist at the Novgorod Inst.i.tute of Technology until he and his family defected to the United States in nineteen eighty-five, where he then took up a post at New York University. Alex also went to NYU, graduating with top honors in the same field as her father-archaeology."

I put up my hand. "Hold on, Gil," I said. "How do you know all this stuff about her?" do you know all this stuff about her?"

"From her Web page," Gilley said with a smartypants smile.

"Ah. Okay, please continue."

"Oh, I'm just getting to the best part! See, according to Alex's Web page, it was about the time that she graduated from NYU that her intuitive abilities began to surface in earnest."

"Her intuitive intuitive abilities?" Heath repeated. abilities?" Heath repeated.

Gilley nodded his head vigorously. "Yep."

"She's psychic psychic?" I clarified.

"Yep."

"Is she also a medium?"

"No," Gilley told me. "Not per se. Her talent is much cooler than that."

I frowned. "Gee, thanks."

Gilley ignored the fact that he'd just insulted both Heath and me and rushed on. "She's a dowser," he said. "And apparently, she's a really good one."

"A dowser," I repeated flatly. "How exactly is walking around with a rod in the desert looking for water cooler than talking to dead people?"

"Oh, she doesn't hunt for water, M. J. She hunts for gold gold."

My eyebrows shot up and Heath looked equally surprised. "She's a psychic treasure hunter?" he asked. "For real?"

"Yep."

I sat back in my chair and laughed. "Well, now we know how she fits into this puzzle. If she's able to dowse for gold, then that's why Kincaid would have wanted her along to find Dunnyvale's treasure. She probably would have found it too if Kincaid hadn't died. And if they were as close a couple as Mary suggested, I can see why Alex would have left and never come back. Too many bad memories."

Gilley pointed his finger at me. "Bingo. The other point of interest on Alex's Web site is that she claims to have had a good deal of success finding treasure protected by curses, poltergeists, and various angry spooks."

"So she's also a ghostbuster," I said. Gilley nodded and I added, "That explains the backpack filled with spikes that she wore to get past the phantom."

Heath squirmed in his chair trying to find a more comfortable position again. "But how does she figure into this whole mystery with our missing producer?" he asked. "I mean, Dunnyvale keeps telling you we need to find her to bring Gopher back-so what's her connection?"

My good humor faded quickly. "I have no idea."

"And you guys didn't find a single trace of him at the castle?"

I shook my head. "Nope. Heath and I are convinced he made it off the rock, either by way of the causeway or the tunnel that runs underneath it."

"So where where is he?" Gil pressed. "I mean, if he made it off the rock, why hasn't he tried to contact us?" is he?" Gil pressed. "I mean, if he made it off the rock, why hasn't he tried to contact us?"

With a jolt I remembered the letter taped to the door that I'd shoved into my back pocket earlier. Pulling it out quickly, I told the boys where I'd found it, and tore it open to read it, but the moment my eyes rested on the top line, I sucked in a horrified breath. "Oh, no!" I whispered.

"What?" Gil asked.

I turned the paper around so that he and Heath could see it. "It's Gopher's handwriting."

Gilley s.n.a.t.c.hed the letter out of my hand and held it close to read it.

"Dear Ghoul Getters, I'm being held against my will. I am being ordered to write this letter to beg you to secure my safe return. To achieve this, my captor is insisting that you rid Castle Dunlow of its phantom. You have until Sunday to accomplish this task; otherwise, terrible things will happen to me. And I must warn you that if you go to the police again, I will be killed, and you will never find me. Please, guys, don't let me down. Please, help me."

We fell into a stunned silence and stared at one another with wide eyes. Finally, I broke the silence. "Sunday is in four days," I said, before turning to Gilley. "Honey, find me a phone number for Alex."

"She's in Belize," Gilley reminded me. "In the middle of the jungle. How am I supposed to find you a working phone number for her?"

"I don't know and I don't care, Gil!" I snapped, as the stress over Gopher's confirmed kidnapping got to me. I knew it would be a difficult task for Gil, but he had to try and I didn't want to hear his excuses.

"Why do you need to call her?" Heath asked me, his voice soft and soothing.

I sighed tiredly and folded Gopher's letter, working to rein in my horns. "Because I've got to convince her to come back to Dunlow and help me deal with this phantom. p.r.o.nto."

"Help you you?" Heath pressed. "Don't you mean us us?"

"No," I said, my hand moving to rest gently right above his wound. "I don't. You're going to sit the rest of this bust out, sweetheart. It's time for the girls' team to go in and kick some phantom a.s.s."

Chapter 12.

Gilley found a contact number for Alex, who was actually vacationing at a resort and not in the middle of the jungle excavating some old tomb. I had the much more difficult task of convincing her to come to Ireland.

"We desperately need your help," I explained, after introducing myself and telling her the basic reason for my call. "The person or persons who've taken our friend will not free him until we've gotten rid of the phantom at Castle Dunlow."

The other end of the line was silent for a bit, and I would have thought that we'd been disconnected if I hadn't heard music and lively chatter in the background. "M. J.," she said at last, "you have no idea how abhorrent the idea of returning to Dunlow is to me. I vowed four years ago that I would never return. I meant it then and I mean it now. I'm very sorry, but I cannot help you."

I swallowed hard and closed my eyes. I held in my hand a trump card that just might work, but it was also a terrible way to manipulate this total stranger into agreeing to help us. Still, I didn't see any other option. "What if I were to offer my services and help you in return?" I said. "Or should I say, what if I were to help someone you loved in return?"

"Someone I love?" she asked, the small hint of her Russian accent surfacing and a bit of humor mixed in. "M. J., my parents have no need of a ghostbuster. They live in a brand-new condo in Orlando. No ghosts there."

I squeezed the phone in my hand, regretting what I was about to say and wishing there were another way to convince her. "I'm not talking about your folks," I said carefully. "I'm talking about Jordan."

Through the phone line I heard her gasp. In a hoa.r.s.e whisper she said, "Jordan is dead."

"Yes," I said. "But his spirit is currently trapped at Dunlow. He's reliving the moments right up until his death over and over again, Alex."

"What are you even talking about?" she demanded, her tone harsh and accusing.

I shifted the phone to my other ear. "The first night we came here was really foggy, but we wanted to cross the causeway and get a look at what we were up against. About halfway across we heard a man desperately calling out the name Alex, but in the dense fog we couldn't pinpoint his location. The next day, as we were climbing up the stairs, we heard the same man crying out again for Alex to please help him. When we looked at the far side of the cliff, we saw the spirit of Jordan Kincaid dangling off the edge of the rock. My partner and I ran up the rest of the stairs and tried to save him, thinking he was a real person, but when we got to him, he slipped away and fell to the rocks below."

I couldn't imagine what my telling all this to Alex was doing to her, but still I continued ... because I had to. "His spirit is stuck in the ether, Alex, and the phantom is so terrifying that his ghost can't let go. It can only replay what happened to him that awful night over and over and over over again while he waits for you to come help him. He's begging you to come back and change the outcome." again while he waits for you to come help him. He's begging you to come back and change the outcome."

I listened hard for Alex's reaction, but I couldn't even hear her breathing on the other end. Finally, a small sob came through the line, followed by a sniffle. "Please, tell me you are lying," she cried. "Tell me that you just made that up so that I would agree to come help you!"

I looked down at the ground and wondered if I'd reached a new low. "I'm so sorry, Alex, but it's the truth. I want to help Jordan cross over so that he can finally be released from his nightmare and find some peace, but I can't get through to him while the phantom's on the prowl. If you want me to help the man you were going to marry, the man you loved, then you have to come here and help me deal with the phantom."

I listened to Alex cry softly for a bit, hoping someday she'd forgive me. At last, she sniffled loudly, took a breath, and said, "Fine. I will book the ticket and be there tomorrow." With that, the line went dead.

Gilley and I met Alex at the airport. She wasn't hard to spot. Tall, leggy, and almost unjustly pretty, Alex probably could even have turned Gilley straight if she'd wanted to. "Wowsa," he said when he first saw her.

"Her Web photo doesn't really do her justice, does it?" I said as we watched her cut through the throng at the baggage claim.

"Uh ... no."

Alex was roughly five nine, with small hips, broad shoulders, a thin athletic frame, and a heart-shaped face settled perfectly on an elegant neck. Her very long hair was flame red, which accentuated her porcelain white skin and emerald eyes. If I hadn't needed her help so badly, I likely would have turned and left her beautiful self at the airport.

"Wait till Heath gets a load of her," Gilley whispered with an elbow nudge to my side just as she spotted us and began to walk purposefully in our direction.

"Aw, c.r.a.p," I muttered. I'm not exactly a plain Jane, but this woman was supermodel gorgeous. How could you compete with that?

"h.e.l.lo," she said when she reached us. "I'm Alex Neverov."

Gilley giggled like a schoolgirl, blushed a deep shade of red, and actually curtsied.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and instead extended my hand. "You'll have to excuse him," I said. "I'm M. J. and this is my partner, Gilley."

But Alex was laughing. Taking my hand and giving it a firm pump, she said, "It's nice to meet you."

I motioned for her to follow me to the van, and Gilley sidled up next to her and said, "Can I take you for your luggage?"

I gave him an exasperated look and Alex giggled again. "Do you mean can you take my luggage for me?"

"Uh ... yeah," he said, blushing again. "That."

This was going to be a long drive back to the inn.

When we reached our hotel, we found Heath in the bar. He was working his way off the pain meds he'd been prescribed and was subst.i.tuting it for something a bit milder. Like beer. "Hey, buddy!" Gilley called when we entered with Alex after getting her checked in.

Heath swiveled around carefully and I swear he did the Wile E. Coyote BAROOGA! BAROOGA! eyes when he saw our Russian friend. Oh, yeah, and he also snorted beer out his nose. eyes when he saw our Russian friend. Oh, yeah, and he also snorted beer out his nose.

I sighed and sat down at the next table over. This was going to be a long day.

"Sorry about that," Heath said, working furiously to mop up the table with his dainty little c.o.c.ktail napkin. I didn't have the heart to tell him about the foam resting on his upper lip. "I'm Heath, and you are way way more gorgeous than your picture!" more gorgeous than your picture!"

"Gee, Heath," I said evenly. "Got beer?" (Huh. Look't that. I had the heart to tell him after all.) He looked confused until I made a motion across my upper lip. He quickly wiped his sleeve over his face and smiled sheepishly. "Sorry," he said again.

Alex laughed merrily and laid a hand on his shoulder. "It's all right, Heath, and it's very nice to meet you too."

"Can I get you something to drink?" Heath and Gilley said together in a rush.

"Oh!" Alex said, slightly taken aback by all the enthusiasm ... and nasal spray. "Uh ... I think I will have a sparkling water with lime if you all will join me for some refreshment."

"Coming right up!" Gilley said, dashing off to the bar.

"I'll get the lime!" Heath said, moving far faster than he had in the last two days to chase after Gilley.

"I'd love a vodka and cranberry," I muttered, glaring hard at their retreating backs.

"Oh, M. J.!" Alex said. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for your order to be left out."

"Don't sweat it," I told her. "I'm sure I can flag down a server."

And we actually were treated to some rather immediate table service from three separate waiters, all making goo-goo eyes at Alex. Reluctantly, one of them even took my order.

Gil and Heath returned with one bottle of sparkling water, one chilled gla.s.s, and one accompanying lime-each. They set their prizes down on the table in front of Alex like obedient golden retrievers looking for a cookie. "Why, thank you," Alex said politely as she considered the two sets of refreshments in front of her. "I'm quite thirsty, so this won't go to waste."

Heath and Gilley smiled huge, and that was when Heath caught me giving him the evil eye. He quickly lost his smile and moved back into his own chair, where I'm sure he started to consider spending every night in the near future bunking with Gilley.

An awkward and uncomfortable silence followed until my drink was brought. The waiter set down a vodka-grapefruit instead of a vodka-cranberry, but I decided it wasn't worth the effort to send it back.

After he left, Gilley asked, "When did you start drinking greyhounds?"

"When you two failed to ask me if I wanted a drink from the bar," I snapped, still irritated with both of them for making me feel like chopped liver.

Gilley's face softened a bit, and I think he finally started to feel sorry for me. I watched him get up and come around to give me a quick peck on the cheek before he said, "Let me fix it for you, okay, sugar?" He then took my gla.s.s and headed to the bar.

"What a charming man," Alex said.

"He has his moments," I told her. Heath slumped farther down in his seat.