"Actually, those are wines from Argentina and Germany. My grandfather liked me to feel at home when I visited."

"Ah," I said, and set the bottle down, looked off to my right, and noticed three steps down leading to a closed door. "Where does that go?" I asked.

Steven came over to my side. "I don't know," he mused. "I think it leads to more storage."

"Oh, my aching back," Gilley whined behind us. "How many more of these things are there?"

"Three," Steven said, turning away from the door and heading up the stairs. "And only two are as heavy as that one."

"Remind me next time to stay home and do paperwork," Gilley grumbled, and followed after Steven.

I stayed behind for a moment, gazing at the door. I suddenly felt as if I were missing something.

"M.J.?" Gilley called from the kitchen.

"Coming!" I said, and turned away from the door. I'd worry about it after the baseline.

It took us the rest of the day to get the baseline test done. We broke for a quick lunch of canned soup, then went back to work, mapping out each room and taking measurements. For all my protests at having Steven along, I was actually grateful for a distraction from my constantly complaining partner. Gilley definitely wasn't cut out for this kind of job. He was used to sitting in his van and jotting down the measurements I called out to him over the walkie-talkie. Our baselines usually took an hour or two, due to the normal-sized houses we worked on.

By contrast, the Sable lodge, or "the Manse," as Gil had come to call it, held thirty-seven rooms not including the cellar. Dusk was beginning to settle as we finished up on the third floor. Wanting to concentrate solely on the baseline, I had avoided opening my energy to any tugs, pushes, pulls, or thumps, though I'd certainly been jerked around in several rooms. Andrew's bedroom was the strongest, along with one of the guest bedrooms, but I'd also felt a few tickles in the solarium and the library.

"That's everything," Gilley said, finishing the last measurement. "Can we go eat now?"

"I think we must," Steven said to him. "By the number of times you've asked about food, you may need a shot of insulin if we don't feed you soon."

"I happen to be hypoglycemic," Gilley said defensively.

"Should we eat here?" I asked.

"No, we should not. There is a wonderful place in town that I'm quite fond of. Is it all right to leave the equipment here, or should we pack it?"

"Let's leave it. I can haul in two of the monitors from the van to record any weird activity while we're at dinner." As if on cue, the lights in the room flickered on.

"Whoa," Gil said, as we all looked at the light fixture over our heads. "Come on," he said, tucking a pencil behind his ear. "Let's get the monitors hooked up before we miss anything."

We had the monitors moved inside and the DVR set to record about twenty minutes later, just as the last threads of dusk were coating the sky with shades of purple. Gilley and I got in the van, and Steven came to my window before getting in his Aston. "Will you need to check on your bird before we go to the restaurant?"

I smiled at his thoughtfulness. "No, thank you. Doc's got plenty of food and water, and I put him in front of a window, so he should have plenty to look at. He's fast asleep by now, anyway."

"Okay, then, just follow me."

We drove behind him back through town to the west side, opposite Helen's B and B, and pulled into a driveway at Annie's Steakhouse. Gilley parked, and we got out to catch up with Steven. On the way we pa.s.sed a gray sedan that looked very familiar, and I paused briefly in front of it. "What's up?" Gil said, looking back at me.

"I could have sworn this was the car that pa.s.sed us on the way up here today."

"The one you thought was trailing Steven?" Gilley said, coming back to take a look.

"Yeah," I said.

"Well, that makes sense," Gil said. "See the rim of the license plate? Uphamshire Motors. It's a local car."

"Ah," I said with a nod. "That explains it. Come on, then; let's get some grub." We met Steven at the front door, and I was surprised that there was a line waiting to get in. "Wait here," Steven said, and slipped inside. He returned a moment later and gave us each a wink. "Shouldn't be long," he said confidently.

Sure enough, not five minutes later Sable, party of three, was called to the front, and we were escorted to our table. "How'd you manage to cut in front of all those people?" I asked.

Steven smiled as he opened his menu. "The owner has a heart condition. A year ago he flew to Berlin and my team operated on him. I might have let him know on the drive from the lodge that I was in town, and very hungry."

I shook my head with a grin and began perusing when I felt a cold p.r.i.c.kle on the back of my neck. I shivered, but the feeling wouldn't leave. Finally I looked up and spotted a very handsome gentleman across the restaurant, with gray hair, fine features, and piercing blue eyes that were currently shooting daggers at our table. Alarmed, I put my hand on Steven's arm.

"Yes?" Steven asked me.

I didn't take my eyes off the man across the way as I asked, "Who's that?"

Steven turned to look, and there was a pause before he made a hissing noise and said something that sounded an awful lot like a German swear word.

Alarmed, Gilley and I both looked at him. "What?" I asked.

"OhmiG.o.d!" Gilley squeaked. "That's Dr. Steven Sable Senior!" Senior!"

My head snapped back to the man at the table. "You're kidding!"

"No. It's him," Steven said with venom in his voice.

Sable Senior was seated at a booth with another gentleman. As we watched them watch us, I saw Senior say something to his companion, then reach for his wallet. After slapping some bills down on the table he stood, along with the other gentleman, and left the restaurant.

"Wow," I said as they exited. "I guess he's heading home to polish his father-of-the-year trophies."

Steven snorted. "More like a.s.shole-of-the-year."

"And we can see there's no love lost on this side of the fence, either," Gil stated.

"d.a.m.n trumpet," Steven replied.

Gilley's face curled up as he attempted to hold in a laugh at Steven's' continued attempts at American colloquialisms. "Uh ... I think you mean, 'd.a.m.n tootin'.'"

"This means something different?"

"Can I ask a relevant question?" I said, wanting to bring them back to the subject. "What's your father doing here?" We were nearly four hours outside of Boston. Somehow I doubted Senior was the kind of guy who liked to take a drive in the country.

"I have no idea," Steven said as he stood up. "But I'll be d.a.m.ned tooting if I'm not going to find out. Can you order me a steak, medium-rare, with a bakery potato?"

I nodded. "Definitely."

"You two get whatever you like," Steven said over his shoulder as he walked away. "I'll be back soon."

We ordered dinner for the three of us and ate most of the appetizer, saving some, since we thought Steven would be back at any moment. Our food arrived without any sign of him, and I asked the waitress to take his steak back and keep it warm. Looking around the restaurant, I began to worry and said, "Where could he be?"

"Should we go look for him?" Gil suggested.

I sighed and turned back to my food. "None of our business. We're on a need-to-know basis."

Gil dove happily into his steak, untroubled by the appearance of the senior Sable. I wasn't so easily distracted, and cut up my steak while stealing glances around the restaurant, hoping Steven would reappear.

Gilley had finished his steak and was polishing off his baked potato when Steven came back to the table. "Sorry about that," he said as he scooted into his seat.

"I sent your food back under the heat lamp," I told him. "It's probably dried out by now."

He smiled gratefully at me and motioned to our waitress. "No worry; they'll cook me another."

Gilley asked, "Did you find out anything?"

"Yes, and no," Steven said as he pulled his salad forward and raised his fork. "Many of the locals and employees here have seen my father in town since my grandfather's death."

"What's he doing up this way?" I asked.

"No one knows. He's always with the same gentleman, and they speak in ... how you say, quiet speaking?"

"Hushed tones," I offered.

"Yes, that, and whenever one of the waitresses goes to the table, my father and his a.s.sociate stop talking. People think he is up to no good things."

"Do you think it has to do with the Manse?" I asked, using Gilley's nickname.

"If you are asking if I think he wants to take it from me, no."

"Why not? The place is huge; it's got to be worth a bundle."

Steven stopped chewing to look at me thoughtfully. After swallowing he said, "M.J., out here that house is worth about two million dollars and is the most expensive property for fifty miles. My father's estate on the water in Boston is worth about twenty million alone. I can't see him bothering with my grandfather's lodge because it would be away from his friends and his work, and it would be very hard to sell."

"Maybe for the fond memories, then," Gilley remarked.

Steven scoffed and pushed his salad away as our waitress reappeared with a freshly cooked steak. After she'd gone he said, "I doubt it. My grandfather and my father didn't get on so good. Especially after my father tried to get my grandfather declared mentally incompetent."

"Sounds like they had a pretty contentious relationship," I said.

"To say the least. In fact, if it weren't for my grandfather, the courts might not have granted the paternal suit my mother filed."

"Your grandfather intervened in a paternity paternity suit?" Gil said, trying not to give away that we already knew the whole history behind the Sables. suit?" Gil said, trying not to give away that we already knew the whole history behind the Sables.

"Yes. My father had fled to Europe when he was summoned to court with a blood sample to determine paternity for me. My grandfather heard of the case, met my mother and me, and decided I was his grandson. He submitted his own blood and settled the suit himself. He was very generous to my mother and me."

"Are there any kids between your father and his wife?" I asked.

"No. My grandfather would not talk very much about my father and his wife, but one day he did say that Mrs. Sable did not like children."

"And your father never wanted children either?"

"I don't know," Steven said as he cleaned his plate. "We've never spoken."

"You're kidding," I said. "Never? Not even once?"

"No," he said, shaking his head.

"And the fact that you've inherited most of your grandfather's holdings probably isn't helping you two grow closer," I said, as I felt Gilley give me a little kick under the table.

"How did you know I'd inherited most of my grandfather's holdings?"

I smiled sweetly at him. "Lucky guess?"

Steven gave me an even look, then swiveled his gaze to Gilley. "Didn't you tell me at your office that you do this ... how you say," he asked as he made a chopping motion, "on the computer?"

"It's called hacking. I'm a computer hacker, and if the information exists, there's no reason why I shouldn't at least attempt to learn about it," Gil explained. Steven's look grew dark. "What can I say? We're thorough about checking out our clients."

"I see. Well, in the future, please feel free to ask me instead of doing this hacking thing, okay?"

Gilley saluted. "Noted."

Turning back to me, Steven asked, "Now that your baseball test is complete, what will you do tomorrow?"

I held in a giggle. "Baseline test, and the thing that we'll do is your ghost," I said simply.

Steven looked exasperated. Turning to Gilley he asked, "How do I make her tell me with the details?"

Gil turned to me. "I think he wants to know specifically specifically how you will go about that." how you will go about that."

I gave both of them a smile. "When we were recording the baseline, I felt a few twinges in some of the rooms. My first step will be to go back to those rooms, place some trigger objects, and set up some laser movement detectors. Gil can monitor those remotely, and when we get something I can head to that location and try to make contact."

"I know about these trigger things, but what are these moving detectors for?"

"Ghosts love things that make noise. Think of the televisions that kept turning on. Once we've isolated through the trigger objects where the highest levels of activity are, we'll place motion detectors in those rooms and see if our ghost likes to set off the alarms. Ghosts tend to be habitual. They repeat behaviors over and over. My thinking is, there are one or two rooms this spirit thinks of as home base, and it's in those rooms where I need to identify and try to make contact with it."

"What will you do once you find the ghost?" he wanted to know.

"I'll attempt to confirm that it's your grandfather, and if it is, the reason why he's stuck between worlds. If we get lucky, and he's willing to talk to me, he'll be able to give us some good information."

Steven nodded as he sat back in the booth and considered the game plan. "Should we go back to the lodge now?"

Gilley gave a tremendous yawn and patted his tummy. "M.J., I'm exhausted. Can't we let the monitors do their thing and get some recordings, then go back tomorrow?"

I considered the idea, and had to concede that with all the walking around the huge mansion and carrying televisions, I was pretty whipped myself. "You know, Gil, that's not a bad idea."

Gilley seemed to perk up as he beamed his thanks at me. "That's fantastic. We can get started first thing in the morning."

I nodded, then thought of something and said, "It might be better to wait until afternoon. Do you remember listening to the weather report on our ride here? It said afternoon thunderstorms are expected."

Steven gave me a confused look. "Why does that affect the plan?" he asked.

"Ghosts like it damp," Gilley said.