Page 71 of The Legend of Lovers Hollow

“Not quite.” Jules chuckles. “It’s an EVP recorder. It picks up sounds we can’t hear, and I’ve just been going over the recordings from the séance. You can definitely hear voices on it.”

“What does it say? Let me guess, you’re gonna die?” Warren rolls his eyes. “It’s the cliched plot line of every paranormal movie ever.”

“Actually, it did pick up the word die, plus a whole bunch of numbers. Bez is going through them to see if they correlate to any important dates.”

“Oh my god.” Warren sighs. “Did it pick up the word gullible, by any chance?”

Jules laughs, and he has that same easy way about him that Thad does. “There’s nothing you can say that we haven’t heard a million times.”

“Maybe that should tell you something,” Warren replies.

“Or maybe you should join us for a week on one of our investigations,” Thad’s voice interrupts. Warren spins around to find the object of his dislike right behind him and stepping up into his personal space.

“What do you say?” Thad’s mouth curves and his blue eyes sweep over Warren. “Ditch the suits and board meetings for a week and come rough it with us.”

Warren’s brow quirks. “Why on earth would I do that?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe I can make a believer of you.” His eyes drop to my brother’s lips.

“No, thanks,” he says dryly. “I have no urge to play Scully to your Mulder.”

I glance over to Jules, who rolls his eyes and throws me a look that says he knows as well as I do that these two need to get a room. They really should be careful; the ghosts around here might just decide to take care of that, especially Roger, who fancies himself as a bit of a matchmaker.

A sudden quiet clanking noise interrupts Thad and Warren’s smoulder-off, and we turn to see Victor Clutterbuck, accompanied by my grandfather, shuffling along with his Zimmer frame.

Warren’s mouth falls open and his eyes widen as he clutches his chest. “Oh, Pops,” he gasps. “Not you too! Et tu, Bruté?”

I snort and cover it with my hand as Jules tries valiantly to bite back a smile.

Victor and my grandfather are both wearing white Ghost Hunter T-shirts. Grandfather is once more in a sarong, this one a vibrant turquoise with swirling patterns and sequins, but what really has me choking back a chuckle is that Victor, hunched over his walking frame, is also wearing a sarong, this one bright green with orange flowers on it. Both of them have on smart dress shoes with black socks and sock suspenders.

“I see my grandfather has converted you,” I say diplomatically.

Victor looks down. “I must admit, I wasn’t sure at first, but Ced has a point. It does let everything air out nicely.” He grips his frame and does a little squat, revealing one bony white leg. His knees crack loudly and he winces. “It’s all very roomy down there. Not sure about the colour though, or the flounces. Might try a kilt like that Kem person wandering around with the camera.”

Warren and I look at each other and grimace.

“Is this what we have to look forward to when we get older?” Warren whispers.

“You don’t need to worry.” I chuckle. “That’s technically my DNA over there.”

“Yeah, but I get the feeling I might end up absorbing the insanity by osmosis.”

I grin. “I’ll help you shave your legs if you help with mine.”

“I wouldn’t worry, boys,” Pops says. “As you get older, you get bald in places you wouldn’t believe.”

“Great,” Warren mutters, and I realise I’m starting to think of my grandfather as Pops, a moniker courtesy of my brother that he seems inordinately pleased with.

The phone rings on the desk behind me, and I turn to pick it up.

“Good morning. This is the Ashton-Drake Manor House Hotel, how may I help?”

“Hi,” a woman’s voice answers at the other end. “My name is Victoria Schipple. I believe you may be harbouring a fugitive at your hotel?”

“Excuse me?” My brows rise in confusion.

“A grouchy eighty-year-old who clatters about with his walking frame, forgets to put his top set of dentures in, and answers to the name of Victor Clutterbuck?”