He firmly redirected his attention as the fireworks display began, brilliant streams of glittering green and gold shooting across the night sky. His fellow guests, dressed like exiled kings and queens, stared out, oohing and ahhing.
Ellery moved to the edge of the balcony to see better.
The show was nearly over when a warm hand on his shoulder made him jump.
“Miss me?” Julian said softly.
Ellery turned and smiled. Yes, he was definitely enjoying the flirtation. Julian’s admiration and flattery, while a bit much, were balm to his bruised ego. But he wasn’t taking any of this seriously. He and Julian were from different worlds.
“Sure,” he replied, and as Julian leaned in for a kiss, Ellery held up his champagne glass to his lips. “Is it true Captain Blood used to smuggle French champagne and Napoleon brandy along this coast?”
Julian blinked, gulped a mouthful of champagne, and laughed. “It’s true. Better drink up. The ghost hunt is about to begin.”
As he spoke, the great clock down in the main hall began to chime.
The crowd seemed to quiet as the slow, solemn strikes of the pendulum tolled the hour.
Midnight.
Chapter Eight
There was no sign of either Brett or Klementina when Ellery and Julian joined the crowd gathered around Marguerite on the main floor.
Marguerite was speaking in that satiny contralto that seemed to carry without her ever having to raise her voice. “Those of you who’ve joined us in years past know the Marauder’s Masquerade ball culminates with the annual ghost hunt at Seal Point. The old cemetery is within walking distance; however, depending on your choice of footwear, the going can be treacherous.”
Ellery’s feet twinged in anticipation. His toes felt pulverized, but no way was he going to miss the ghost hunt.
Marguerite smiled as though she could read the thought bubbles above all the bewigged heads. “For the adventurous among us, Julian will lead the way to Seal Point. For those of you who prefer to end the evening in comfort, I invite you to share midnight supper with me in the dining room.”
There was a little round of applause.
It was instantly clear that the winner between the competing events was midnight supper with Marguerite—although Ellery noticed that a good portion of the fairly elderly crowd were skipping all further entertainments and lining up to wait their turn being chauffeured home in Sam Cuddlefish’s limo.
Only a handful of the youngest guests followed Julian and Ellery out the Palladian doors and across the flagstone terrace, where the Fish and Chippies were packing up their instruments and sound system. The lights from the windows and doors of the mansion turned the lawns into a glowing checkerboard, and the costumed guests looked like shades of days gone by as they faded into the shadows of the garden.
Ellery couldn’t resist glancing around to see what happened to Jack. He didn’t spot him anywhere, so perhaps he was opting for schmoozing the local dignitaries over Cornish game hens and Napoleon brandy. Or maybe he’d already departed for home.
Though Ellery and Julian were in theory leading the way, they were quickly outdistanced by the more enthusiastic ghost hunters, most of them Julian’s age or younger. Were these Julian’s friends? If so, he seemed indifferent, even oblivious to them. And likewise.
“It’s actually faster if we follow the drive and then cut through the old apple orchard to Seal Point,” Julian was saying.
“That’s fine with me. Should we—”
“They’re fine.” Julian was dismissive. “They’ll find it.”
They walked around the side of the house and started down the paved drive that Ellery and Dylan had hiked only a few hours earlier. Ellery looked around for Dylan, but it seemed he too had given a hard pass to the delights of stumbling around a graveyard at midnight.
Julian said, “Personally, I think the tradition of the ghost hunt began as a way to get people to go home after the ball.”
Ellery made a sound of amusement. “So we’re not going to see a ghost?”
“Do you believe in ghosts?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Probably.”
Sam Cuddlefish’s limo glided silently past, followed by several other cars honking cheerful good-nights. Julian raised a hand in automatic farewell.
“Do you believe in ghosts?” Ellery asked Julian when he showed no sign of breaking the silence that had fallen between them.
“Oh yes,” Julian said quietly. “I believe in ghosts.”
“Have you ever seen a ghost?”
Julian didn’t answer as they moved farther to the side of the drive, making way as more guests found their cars and golf carts and began the precarious maneuver of backing up and turning around on such a narrow road.
They picked their way over stones and uneven ground, the beam of Julian’s flashlight bobbing over the old rock wall and scattered wildflowers. As they strolled past Ellery’s VW, he ignored the plea of his feet to call it a night.
In a matter of minutes, they had reached the end of the drive, and headed through what was left of the old apple orchard. The crooked smile of moon, the billowing sails of clouds, the gnarled and twisted trees created a fantasy landscape. Distant voices and laughter floated over the meadow behind the manor house. Flashlights flickered across the moonlit landscape like moths.
“Have you ever been here before?” Julian asked, holding the iron gate open for Ellery.
“No. It’s not still in use, is it?”
Hinges screeched as the gate clanged shut.
Julian laughed. “It’s still in use, but there are currently no vacancies.”
“Right. That’s what I meant.”
“My mother will be buried here, of course. And in time I will be too. And my husband, I suppose. We’ll go into the family crypt, though. Not the ground.”
“This is getting depressing,” Ellery said. He was teasing, but the conversation did seem a little macabre.
“Do you think so?” Julian sounded surprised.
By that point their fellow ghost hunters had caught up. Nervous giggles and low whispers drifted through the stone crosses and headstones as the others scattered around graves in the quest to find Tom Blood—or any other ghost hanging around on a Saturday night. Flashlight beams bounced off mossy statuary and cut swaths through the misty air like misdirected signal lights.
“Is there a prize for the person who spots Tom Blood’s ghost first?” Ellery asked.
Julian chuckled. “No. Having your wits scared out of you should be reward enough.”
No kidding.
The old cemetery with its stained monuments and overgrown gravestones was pretty creepy. An eerie energy seemed to hang in the damp air. The scent of wet earth, cold marble, and mold vied with the distant breeze. Every rustle of bushes or crack of twigs sent a prickle of unease down Ellery’s spine.
“BOO!” someone shouted in the dark, and a couple of girls screamed and then burst into laughter.
Ellery wondered sadly if he was actually too old for ghost hunting.
From the other side of the cemetery, someone called, “Hey! Hey, guys, I think I found his grave! Over here, guys!”
Several shadows peeled off and went stumbling over gravestones and clumps of sea grass to see.
“Where? Where are you?”