What's A Ghoul To Do? Part 8

"Hey, it's not my fault, M.J. I think maybe one of them spooks got into your camera or something, because sometimes this thing works great and other times it don't. I've taken it apart and put it back together, and there ain't a thing wrong with it that I can see."

I scowled. "How often does it work right?"

"About every other time I turn it on," Joe said.

"In other words, it's only got a fifty-fifty chance of working?"

"I could sell you another one," he suggested.

"How much?" I asked, crossing my fingers that there was some kind of terrific sale on night-vision video cameras.

"For you? A grand."

"A grand? Are you crazy? I got this one on eBay for half that!"

"And it works half the time, so there you go."

I handed Joe a check for the repair and said, "Thanks, Joe, but I'll take my chances with this one for a little longer."

"We got payment plans, you know," he suggested.

I nodded and picked up my camera. "I'll keep that in mind."

Next I headed to the pet store to pick up some bird food for Doc, then made my way back to my place to see if Gilley had gotten back from the office, where he was doing the research on Steven and following up on a few business leads.

Gil had taken my car while I took the van, and as I pulled into my condo complex I noticed he'd parked it in my slot. Good, he was home. I stopped inside and found him just coming out of his condo with a folder in his hand and his backpack slung over one shoulder. "Hey," he said when he saw me. "I was just about to call you on your cell. You ready to hit the road?"

"We have to wait for Steven," I said, moving down the hall to my own door.

"Did you get the camera from Reese's?" he asked.

"Yes, and it's still not fixed," I groused.

"We really need a new one," Gilley said.

"Then start playing the lotto, Gil, because that's the only way we're going to be able to afford one."

"One of the trip wires is on the fritz too," he added.

"What?" I said, turning to him as we entered my condo.

"And two of the digital thermometers aren't reading accurately."

"How is it that all of our equipment is failing at the same time?" I asked.

"You know how it is with this electronic stuff, M.J.," Gilley said. "They're very sensitive, and when you use them the way we do ... well, they're not going to last."

Gilley was referring to the fact that many of the poltergeists we encountered screwed around with our equipment. Electricity is one thing that ghosts can control fairly easily, and that means that anything with a circuit board is fair game. "So, how do we operate if we can't even afford the basics?" I asked.

"You could do some readings..." Gilley suggested.

I groaned. "Gil, I am so burned out on that stuff. It's emotionally draining, and I don't have the patience for people who refuse to let guilt or anger or bitterness go." Many of the last readings I'd done had been with people who weren't interested in hearing from a specific deceased family member, and often that was the strongest energy coming through. I'd grown tired of trying to convince the living to please forgive the dead and move on. Dead people never hold on to resentment-only the living do that-and it p.i.s.sed me off that a spirit could work so hard to try to communicate with someone who was deaf to the message.

"I know, M.J., but it is a means to an end. Will you at least consider it?"

"Fine," I said, and handed him Doc's cage while I grabbed my suitcase. "Come on; let's wait for Steven in the van."

Steven arrived less than ten minutes later. He looked freshly showered, dressed in jeans and a white b.u.t.ton-down s.h.i.+rt with the cuffs rolled up to mid-wrist. In other words, he looked good enough to eat. "Good afternoon, M.J.," he said to me. "Gilley, good to see you again."

Gilley actually giggled before catching himself. "Steven, good to see you as well."

I cut Gilley a look and noticed that his face was bright red. The boy had a crush. How cute. "So where are we headed?" I asked Steven.

"We'll take the pike west to I-Ninety; then we'll want to take Route Twenty to Route Seven, and finally over to Route Forty-one. You got my directions this morning with the check?"

"I got them," I said, patting the folder under my arm.

"Good. It sounds more difficult than it is. Just pay attention to the signs once you get onto Route Seven toward Uphams.h.i.+re and you will find it."

"How long will it take us to get there?" I asked.

"Not long-three and a half hours unless you slow me down," he said with a wink, "Not to worry," I said, narrowing my eyes and turning the key in the ignition. "I've seen you drive. Gilley and I will wait for you at the lodge." And with that I stepped on the gas.

"That wasn't very nice, M J.," Gilley said.

"Hey, he started it," I snapped. "Besides, while he's off dragging his heels you can tell me what you dug up about his relations.h.i.+p with his father."

"It ain't pretty," Gilley said.

"How bad could it be?"

"Think disownment, and you'd be close," Gilley said as he opened his folder and began to read his notes. "Steven Andrew Jackson Sable-our Steven's father-was slapped with a paternity suit from an Argentinean woman named Rosa Sardonia in nineteen eighty-one. She claimed that she had been his mistress for ten years, and that he fathered her child. Senior denied the claim and fought the suit, refusing to give up his blood for a test, even going so far as to skip the country for a while when it looked like the judge was going to order him to give it up."

"I can't believe he would be such a jerk about it," I said.

"Did I happen to mention that Steven Senior has been married for thirty-five years to a Corrin Wharton?"

"The Corrin Wharton of Michael Wharton's Miracle Mile?" I was referring to a woman who was the daughter and sometime spokeswoman of a ma.s.sive collection of automotive dealers.h.i.+ps owned by Michael Wharton, who was himself a New England legend. Corrin Wharton of Michael Wharton's Miracle Mile?" I was referring to a woman who was the daughter and sometime spokeswoman of a ma.s.sive collection of automotive dealers.h.i.+ps owned by Michael Wharton, who was himself a New England legend.

"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 a.s.sets 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 very short leash." 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 h.e.l.l 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 p.r.o.nounce."

"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 a.s.suming that means our Steven is a brainiac," I said.

"And then some. He graduates summa c.u.m laude, wins a full scholars.h.i.+p to a top German college with another name I can't p.r.o.nounce, then goes on to medical school. Again, he's at the top of his cla.s.s. 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 bypa.s.s, 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 a.s.suming 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 succ.u.mb 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?"