Laurel sighed. At this point she’d prefer the company of a poltergeist.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
When Laurel got back up to the tiny servants’ kitchen, Brendan was awake, at least marginally, pouring coffee, still drowsy and slow-moving. He looked haggard, as if he hadn’t slept.
Katrina, of course, was already firmly planted at the table, her gaze fixed on Brendan. She stiffened as Laurel stepped into the doorway.
Three weeks living with this girl’s hatred, Laurel thought, bleakly. I can’t wait.
“Where’s Tyler?” Brendan asked. “I want to get started.”
“He’s been up for hours,” Laurel answered, with more edge than she’d intended. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
They convened downstairs in the great room. Brendan and Tyler had moved a couch, a low table, and several chairs in from the garden room, and now the central screen of the bank of monitors reflected them in the same room in which they now sat. Seeing their every move captured on screen, reality mirrored back at them, Laurel had a flash of feeling trapped in a performance art piece.
“How did everyone sleep?” Brendan asked.
“Not a single visitor,” Tyler drawled. “How about you, Professor Cody?”
“I slept fine, Tyler,” Brendan said coldly, ignoring the double entendre. “Thanks for asking. Did anyone have any dreams?”
Tyler lifted his hands. “Probably nothing present company would care to hear.” His eyes slid insinuatingly toward Laurel and she reflected again that if nothing else, they had the requisite free-floating sexual energy going for them.
“Katrina?” Brendan asked, and Laurel thought that there was a hint of unprofessional eagerness in his voice.
“Not that I remember,” Katrina said reluctantly.
Brendan’s face clouded with obvious disappointment. He forced an upbeat tone. “Both of you should fill out your dream journals, anyway. If you don’t remember any dreams, write down how long it took you to fall asleep, any thoughts you were having before you fell asleep, what time you woke up, anything about the night you can remember—”
Katrina had been fixed on him. Now she interrupted. “Well, there was something … I just don’t know if it was a dream.”
Laurel could see Brendan tense. “What do you mean?”
“It was more like—someone pulling the bedcovers down. Tugging at them.”
Brendan glanced at Laurel. Katrina was describing a common poltergeist occurrence, often described in the literature. Laurel felt a flash of anger. How convenient—the very first night we’re here Katrina gets a nice classic visitation.
Brendan didn’t seem to have the same suspicion—in fact, he was wide awake now. “Can you tell us more about it?” He kept his voice neutral, but his excitement was clear in his posture, in his eyes, and Katrina knew it, too; Laurel could see it.
The girl straightened her back, warming to her story. “It felt like someone was standing at the foot of the bed and tugging at the blankets. When I sat up there was no one there, but the top cover was off the bed, all crumpled up. It happened three times,” she added helpfully.
“Why didn’t you tell me this out on the veranda, Katrina?” Laurel asked sharply—not because she believed the girl, but to call attention to the distinct likelihood that Katrina was making the story up on the spot. No more real than anything I saw.
“I didn’t know if I should say,” Katrina said coldly.
“The protocol is that you report any ‘occurrence’ right away,” Laurel said. She could hear her own voice rising, the skepticism underscoring the word “occurrence.” The girl stared daggers at her.
Brendan quickly intervened. “That’s all right, Dr. MacDonald, Katrina knows now, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes,” Katrina said breathily. “Do you think it was important?”
Behind Katrina, Tyler rolled his eyes, and Laurel felt a surge of affection for him.
“It’s interesting,” Brendan said. “The point is that nothing is too small. We’re here to observe and record everything. You should fill out an incident report now, and write down everything that happened. If anything like that happens again, use your pager.”
“Yes, Dr. Cody,” Katrina said, practically preening.
Tyler smacked the heel of his hand against his head. “I just remembered. I was abducted by aliens last night. Little gray men carried me out to this big silver ship and … well, I passed out, but I think they implanted something in my head. And … maybe other places. Was I supposed to page someone about that, too?”
Laurel was struggling not to laugh out loud and Katrina turned a furious look on her.
“All right, Mr. Mountford,” Brendan turned on him. “Both of you, fill out your morning reports and mood questionnaires.”