False Pretenses Read Online Free PDF Page B

them.”
    “We should have taken Carter seriously,” Ethan said. “We just thought the upheaval of moving here had caused him to create a fantasy world. But Vanessa and I never buy lemon drops, and there’s no other explanation for our finding one on the floor right after Carter told us about the man giving him some. I suppose he could have sneaked in here while we were in another part of the house. It wouldn’t be that hard to do.”
    “There is a possibility we haven’t addressed.” Mike folded his arms on the table, his gaze moving from Vanessa to Ethan and back to Vanessa. “I assume you’re aware of the reports of paranormal activity at Langley Manor over the years?”
    “Who isn’t?” Vanessa said. “But since there’s no such thing as ghosts, those stories are all hype. Even Carter knows that.”
    Carter nodded. “Ghosts are just made-up stories. Mommy and Daddy and me looked everywhere in this whooole house, and we didn’t find any ghosts.”
    “You’re absolutely right, but some people believe they’re real. In fact”—Mike’s gaze seemed probing—“I just saw a TV program about haunted houses being big business. If a place can practically guarantee that their guests will bump into a ghost, it’ll stay booked all the time.”
    Vanessa tapped her fingers on the table and tried to hide her indignation for Carter’s sake. “Deputy Doucet, do you think we’re making this up as some sort of stunt to rouse curiosity and drum up business?”
    Mike sat back in his chair, his arms folded across his chest. “A harmless ghost story on the record certainly couldn’t hurt future business.”
    “That’s ridiculous,” Ethan said. “But if we were going to make up a ghost story, we could’ve come up with someone a lot more convincing than an unshaven African-American man who told a four-year-old he was made of chocolate and gave him lemon drops. Give me a break. There’re plenty of ghost stories about Josiah Langley wandering the halls. That would’ve made a lot more sense if we were trying to draw curiosity seekers.”
    Stone put down his pencil. “Mr. and Mrs. Langley have a good point.”
    “Actually what we have ,” Ethan said, “is an unwanted intruder and no explanation for how he got in or what he wanted. Our four-year-old might understand the difference between what’s real and what’s pretend, but he’s not so discerning between who’s dangerous and who isn’t. We want to make sure this man doesn’t get back in here. What do you suggest we do?”
    “You might consider having security lights installed,” Stone said. “Motion detectors would be even better. An alarm system would be better yet.”
    Ethan sighed. “We’d be throwing away money if we sank it into security measures when we know the renovation crew is going to be in here, knocking out walls.”
    “How soon do you anticipate the work starting?”
    “We still have to approve the blueprints,” Vanessa said. “But sometime in the next few weeks.”
    Stone put his reading glasses back in his pocket. “Since this plantation house has historic significance, I doubt we’d have trouble convincing Sheriff Prejean that a temporary patrol check a couple times a day would be in order. Once the renovation starts, the constant flow of trucks and workers will be all the deterrent you’ll need.”

    Zoe walked up the stairs from Zoe B’s, went in the apartment, and closed the door. She picked up the mail on the breakfast bar and went through the arched doorway into the living room. She set the mail on an end table and went out on the gallery, one of many that extended out over the sidewalk on either side of rue Madeline .
    The evening air was thick with humidity and the faint scent of mesquite smoke coming from the Texas Cajun Grill on the corner. Swirls of blazing orange and purple painted the western sky. She stood at the wrought-iron filigree railing, savoring the evening breeze just beginning to stir, and watched the