fidget. “I just joined the faculty at Duke. The psychology department. The legacy of the parapsychology lab is so much a part of the department’s history that I—”
He interrupted her. “What’s your field?” he demanded—yes, it was a demand, even though his voice never rose.
“Personality psychology,” she replied, looking him straight in the face. “I’m particularly interested in how various personality types bring their own agenda to social situations.”
His eyes narrowed, and she thought she had gone too far. Needling this man was no way to get the information she was here for.
“And you have an interest in parapsychology?” Anton’s voice was barbed with sarcasm.
Laurel surprised herself with her smooth reply. “I’m always interested in every aspect of human potential. I believe human beings are infinite. Don’t you? We’re not even half aware of everything we’re capable of.”
Those black, black eyes were fixed on her … she could almost feel the air between them vibrating with the intensity of the connection. Finally, he spoke softly. “Indeed, Dr. MacDonald. Indeed.”
Winning that admission from him made her reckless. “Actually, there is something you could help me with. I was looking for information on the Folger House.”
It was his sudden stillness that made her think she’d hit home. His eyes contracted to black pinpoints and he simply stared at her.
Sensing her advantage, she pushed it even further. “Folger,” she repeated helpfully. “Like the coffee. I understand it was an important part of the Duke lab’s research.”
“You’re mistaken,” Anton said flatly.
“I don’t think I am,” Laurel said. “Folger. I’m sure that was it. I’m very interested in what happened in that house.”
They locked eyes, and his face was like stone. “I’m sorry. It’s not something I’m familiar with.”
Laurel could sense a deep animosity coming from him, and she was suddenly acutely aware that she was alone with the man in a deserted building, and no one knew where she was. And yet with a boldness that shocked her, she persisted. “Then I wonder if you could tell me a bit about Dr. Alaistair Leish.”
Anton raised an eyebrow. “Dr. Leish. What about him?”
Laurel took a wild stab in the dark “I understand he was on staff at the Paranormal Research Center before he died.”
Anton smiled thinly. “Again, your information is faulty. Dr. Leish was never on staff at the Center.”
“But you do know of him.”
“It would be unusual to work in my field and not have heard of Dr. Leish. But the Paranormal Research Center is dedicated to scientifically quantifiable results. Leish was exclusively interested in field work, and was notorious for not gaining permissions for his unconventional studies. Since the founding of the Center, our board and researchers have been dedicated to carrying out its research under the most rigorous conditions.”
Laurel had the clear impression that Anton was reciting a policy he might not completely believe in himself. She felt her way carefully.
“I don’t know much about it, but as a researcher I have to wonder … how can you study a phenomenon like a poltergeist in a laboratory setting?”
Anton smiled at her strangely. “You can’t.” As she stared at him, trying to interpret this, he half-turned. “And now, Dr. MacDonald, I’ll see you out.”
There was no option of refusal; the interview was over.
She followed Anton back out into the spotless corridor and he opened the front door for her.
Just before she stepped out, she suddenly turned to him. “How did Dr. Leish die, do you know?”
Another beat of stillness. Then Anton said, “It was a heart attack, I believe.”
They looked at each other, and Laurel was sure he was lying. “At forty-one,” she said. “What a shame.”
“I agree. Good night, Dr. MacDonald.” He shut the door on her.
As she drove home on the nearly deserted highway through the dark tunnel of trees, her unease grew.
He’s lying.
Partially or even totally, but he was lying. Laurel struggled to regain her bearings. Had she completely given away her game by asking Anton about the house? On the other hand, she’d gotten exactly the information she’d come for: the Folger House was not only a real thing, but something significant, if not top secret—that was clear from the mysterious and arrogant man’s reaction.
And the confluence of dates—Leish at the Duke lab just before it closed—if Uncle Morgan was right and Folger closed the lab, then whatever the Folger House was, she was sure Leish had something to do with it.
She turned onto her block and parked her Volvo by the curb outside her house on the quiet,