Camden Place: The Haunted Book Three

  To My Parents, Don & Virginia

  For all your love and support and for being my biggest fans!

  Thank you. I love you.

  Thank you Rachel, for your expertise.

  Thank you Danica, for all your help and wisdom.

  Prologue

  Clare Newman closed her eyes and leaned back in her seat. She’d had to race to make the connection for this flight. The heel of her shoe broke. Her knee was skinned. Her ankle twisted. She’d been up since four a.m. Now, fifteen minutes into the flight on her last leg to reaching Charleston, she could relax.

  “First time flying?” the man beside her asked.

  “No,” she answered simply.

  The man was good looking, with wide, inviting, blue eyes, and although she was tired, she didn’t mind engaging in conversation with him. Her only problem was the headache. It was the headache from hell; it hit her that morning and nothing she took quelled it. She chalked it up to stress. If it wasn’t better in a few days, she’d get it checked out. She supposed she’d have to hunt down a doctor, or she could just make a trip to an urgent care clinic.

  “First time in Charleston?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Business or pleasure?”

  She turned from the window and looked at him. “I inherited some property.” Looking beyond him, she saw a man with dark hair and an overly large, pointed nose. He watched her intently. There was something familiar about him. She couldn’t seem to place him, and she didn’t like how he stared at her. Had she seen him in the airport, or had he been on her previous flight? She’d been in such a hurry to get to her connecting flight, she couldn’t remember the faces of people as they blurred past. She intentionally held that man’s gaze until he looked away.

  “Downtown or in the country?” The man beside her drew her attention again.

  She actually liked talking about her newly acquired property. “It’s a quaint, historic two-story house downtown. My uncle always called it Camden Place. It’s not far from the Old Exchange Building.”

  “You are so lucky. I love Charleston. I love the history. What I wouldn’t give to own a chunk of dirt in such a beautiful city. And I know Camden Place. I’ve heard some stories about it…” his voice drifted off, and his expression darkened before a lopsided smile brightened it again.

  As her thoughts turned to Camden Place, her fatigue ebbed away. Just thinking about it, knowing it was hers and was waiting for her, sent her heart soaring. “I love the history, too. How I’d love to live some of it. I’ve heard the stories. I think they add to the historical richness of the house.” She shifted in her seat to turn toward the man. “Camden Place was built by a man named Liam Camden. I understand he died young, and only lived there a few months before he went mad, became ill. There was also a story that he’d been murdered. There was a great deal of conflicting information about how he died. Not that it matters now. He’s been dead for a hundred and seventy years. But I kind of hope he haunts it. Then I could meet him. Wouldn’t that be something, if I could ask him questions about the house?” She smiled at the ridiculous thought despite the way the idea settled.

  What if…

  “Went mad, huh, then murdered?”

  “According to the legend, he was even seen arguing with himself on the street, calling out to someone no one else could see. Then he was found dead in his foyer.”

  “Sounds tragic.”

  “It is. There was also speculation he was poisoned and that’s what made him crazy, suicidal. He was different after his illness, not himself. But no one knew of anyone who wanted him dead.”

  “Sounds horrible either way.”

  “Yes, it does. Even though I’ve been through Charleston, I’ve never been to the house before. I’m determined to find out everything I can about the house and Liam Camden, even if I have to conjure up his ghost,” she tried laughing off the idea. “I read so much about it. I’ve seen pictures. I can’t wait to get there. I have plans for the house. I might even open a tea shop or a chocolate shop or a donut shop on the first floor. I can live on the upper level.”

  “That would be quite the marketing tactic. You could invite people to have tea and cookies with the ghosts. I know I’d buy into it. I’m Forrest, by the way. Forrest Lensbrook.”

  “Clare.”

  He shook her hand, but daintily.

  The flight attendant stopped beside them. “Hi, I’m Emily.” The name tag pinned on her lapel read: Emily Foster. “Can I get either of you a drink?”

  Forrest ordered a lemon-lime soda.

  Clare ordered a bottle of water.

  Emily smiled, revealing a dimple in her left cheek. “I’ll be right back with drinks. My colleague, Steve, will be coming around shortly with snacks. ”

  “Thank you,” they both replied.

  Once she moved on to get the next order, Forrest continued the conversation. “How’d you inherit the house? That seems so lucky.”

  “My uncle Thad, my father’s estranged brother, joined the Navy and left Michigan forty years ago, never to return. Somehow, he acquired Camden Place. I have no idea how. I also have no idea why he made me his sole heir when I have two brothers and a few cousins.”

  “Ah, the infamous rich, mysterious uncle.” Beyond him, the man in the dark suit watched her again. Clare ignored him.

  The plane rolled and dipped.

  The FASTEN SEATBELTS sign blinked on.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain. We are experiencing some turbulence. At this time, I ask that everyone remain in their seat, fasten your seatbelt, and return your trays to their upright-locked positions. Thank you.”

  Clare looked down; she was already buckled in, even though she didn’t remember fastening it, not that it mattered. She tugged on it to make sure it was snug. It was.

  The plane shuddered again, and Clare’s entire body followed suit.

  Chapter One

  Clare stepped into the foyer of Camden Place. The hardwood floor squeaked beneath her weight, and the sound seemed eerie in the silence. Shadowed paintings graced the walls. A few small tables and three chairs were placed around the room in a perfect array of balance as if they were needed to hold up the walls. Clare looked around and hesitantly took a breath as if uncertain the air quality was fit to breathe. But it was perfectly fine. In fact, as she took in another breath, she thought she smelled cinnamon and apples. Her mouth watered, reminding her she needed to eat. Apple pie seemed like a perfect solution to her hunger, but she didn’t want to venture out in search of a restaurant that served pie after her busy day. The thought of travelling more made her heart sink. And after her hours of travel, the last thing she wanted to do was venture out in the dark to find anything. Her late supper would consist of a granola bar from her backpack.

  Pie sure sounded good, though. Maybe she’d open a pie pantry along with her tea shop. She could call it: Sip & Spoon. It seemed a fitting name.

  Clare moved toward the wall nearest the door, reached for the light switch, and flipped it. Nothing happened. She had been promised the power would be turned on before she got here. She sighed and pushed her frustration to the back of her mind. After all, there was just enough late-afternoon light filtering through the windows that, with a little squinting, she could see. And she was too excited to let a little thing like broken promises and no electricity ruin her mood.

  She was here. Finally. And somehow, though she’d never been here before, it felt like she was home. She took in the large foyer, with its rich portraits and brass sconces on the walls, large area rugs, and finials and arched doorways, and already started to fall in love.

  With tall front windows on each sid
e of the front door, high ceilings, antique furniture, and chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, the house was inviting. Again, she was uncertain what she might do with the place, but she was giddy with the excitement. It was hers. She owned it. In reality, she didn’t have to do anything with it. She could simply live in it. She had a bit of money saved. She didn’t need to find work right away if she didn’t want to. She laughed, the sound moved through the rooms as if to say, Welcome home, darling.

  The idea it even felt like home made her laugh again.

  She dropped her backpack and left it and her rolling suitcase just inside the front door as she moved around the foyer. She’d expected the foyer to be large, after all, it was the entrance for a stately manor, but what she hadn’t expected was to find it, or the rest of the house, fully furnished. Her uncle’s probate lawyer told her he’d sold a few pieces of furniture to help settle outstanding fees. If he’d taken any furniture, she couldn’t tell.

  She looked around at the house, her house, and saw Southern charm at its finest. A charm and a house that couldn’t have come at a better time. When the probate lawyer contacted her two months prior, she’d been drowning in nightmares. Now, she was the proud owner of a fresh start…away from Michigan and those damn nightmares.

  Although her headache still lingered, the heartache was fading. She didn’t know if she could heal here, near the South Carolina coast, but she hoped to gain the ability to move on, start living again.

  This was exactly what she needed to do. Start a new life in South Carolina. In Camden Place. Liam Camden. Clare’s thoughts fluttered through her current situation and settled on what she knew of Liam Camden. Had the man designed the house himself? Had he hoped to start a new life in a new home, just as she hoped to do?

  The man had died less than a year after his home was completed. An ache began in Clare’s chest, sorrow welling for a man who didn’t get to truly enjoy what he’d worked so hard for.

  A shudder shook her. It wasn’t exactly cold in South Carolina for this time of year, just a bit chilly after the sun went down. Of course it wasn’t even close to being as cold as what she’d left in Michigan. The papers she got from the lawyer said everything in Camden Place was in working order, despite there being no power. While it was the middle of fall and the sun hung low in the sky and the house had been empty for sometime, it held no empty, cold feel to it. Still, after her long day of travel and her lingering headache, she hoped the fireplaces and the hot water heaters were in working order. She hoped to soon soak in a fancy vintage bathtub of hot, soothing water. A much needed bath to wash away the travel dust and her weariness, if only for a moment.

  Determined to make the best of the daylight she had left, she moved further into the foyer, her footsteps echoing…almost like a soft voice, whispering in staccato. “What became of this place after you died, Liam?” she asked out loud. When the walls remained silent, she went on, “I promise to make Camden Place a home as beautiful and welcoming as you’d hoped it would be.”

  It was a promise she’d suddenly felt compelled to make, and one she was determined to keep. As if the very spirit of Liam Camden reached into her and filled her with his hopes and dreams.

  She shook off the ridiculous thought and moved to the first room. The dining room. Outside the wind blew against the windows. The dwindling light of the orange and purple sunset flowed into the room, casting a strange spotlight on the table. Shadows danced in the spotlight from the trees in the front of the house. Though she couldn’t see much detail, she did notice the room lacked electric lighting. No wall switches or lamps. There was a large chandelier, hanging like a giant crown from the center of the ceiling that boasted a large circle of candles. There had to be at least a hundred candles, though Clare didn’t stand there, counting them all.

  Why are there still candles? Shouldn’t Uncle Thad have replaced them with lights? It didn’t make sense.

  The table was big enough to seat at least a dozen people. Did her uncle entertain here? Did Liam Camden?

  She chuckled. It couldn’t possibly be the same table at which Liam Camden sat and entertained his guests.

  She reached out and slid her fingertips across the table top, the finish was smooth beneath her touch. No dust. Strange considering the house had been left alone for two months.

  The only thing on the table was a seven-candle candelabra. Clare reached into her purse, still slung over her shoulder, and fished for the lighter she’d stolen from her brother weeks ago. She’d taken it in a last-ditch effort to get him to stop smoking. It hadn’t worked, but at least she got a lighter out of it. It took several seconds of digging before she found it. She held it up and studied it, wondering if her brother ever questioned where it went or if he just went out and bought a new one. Hell, he probably had a collection.

  “I don’t even remember anyone at the airport giving me a hard time for having this in my purse. Well, that’s good because if they had confiscated it, I wouldn’t be able to do this.” She flicked open the lid and pushed the lever to ignite it. The tiny flame seemed to light up the room. It took her a minute to light each wick, but once she was done, the candelabra flickered brightly on the beautiful table.

  Now she could see but suddenly she couldn’t breathe. Long moments passed as she took in the room. It was complete with crown molding at the ceiling and two windows that looked out onto the street. Between the two windows was a breakfast bar that matched the table.

  “Lovely.” Her whispered word carried to the walls, bouncing back at her softly, like the low murmurs of all the conversations once held around that table.

  Clare glanced again at the candelabra with its dancing flames. Now she understood why her uncle left the room as it was. It didn’t need modern lighting. Candlelight fit it. Though, she didn’t plan to stand on a ladder or kill her back lowering the chandelier to light all those other candles. At least not any time soon.

  A shift of movement caught her eye. She looked back into the foyer, toward a door on the other side. A cloaked figure stood there. Clare let out a startled scream, then noticed he didn’t respond to the noise. In fact, he didn’t react to her at all or look in her direction as she ducked behind the doorway. She peeked in at him and blinked. Then blinked again as she worked to breathe as she stared, disbelieving. His attention was focused in the foyer as if he could see something she couldn’t.

  He isn’t real. This can’t be real.

  His face was nothing more than a shadow, like misty haze hiding his features. His odd clothes; his vest, high-collared coat, and his boots all spoke of a previous time. His top hat made him seem overly tall, and his cape swirled in a breeze she couldn’t feel.

  “What the hell?” Her heart raced. She had half a thought of running out of the house, but he stood between her and the front door. Besides, she couldn’t seem to form a coherent command to get her feet to move as she stared at him. He had to hear her whispered question in the silence. Damn, he could probably hear her heart pounding. But he still didn’t pay her any attention.

  She swallowed past the lump in her throat and forced herself to calm.

  There was no doubt she was staring at a ghost. Frozen in shock rather than fear, she wanted to step closer but couldn’t. “Who are you?” Her voice was not much louder than her whispered question of before. She did her best to sound strong and unafraid, and she was too disappointed in her accomplishment.

  Either he didn’t hear her question or didn’t feel it worthy of a response. He only stood there, face obscured, cape moving in a phantom breeze. Silent as a…well, as a ghost.

  “My house is really haunted. Holy shit.” Clare meant to whisper but the words came out in an awed bellow.

  While he appeared faceless, his presence couldn’t be ignored. A chill passed through her, as if the man in the foyer had opened the door. Though she managed to push back the fear, her heart still hammered against her ribs.

  So, ghosts did exist. So, there was a ghost in her house. He couldn’t h
urt her, could he?

  There was a faint sound of laughter, a woman’s laughter, like the distant tinkle of wind chimes. It seemed to come from the room behind him. He turned to acknowledge the sound and Clare caught the fluttering bottom of a deep red skirt swishing about the floor.

  “Oh, there’s two of them…”

  Clare saw a flash of metal in his hand before he ducked back into the room and vanished. It had been a knife. A knife with blood on it. Another ring of the woman’s laughter followed him.

  Then all was silent.

  Clare sucked in a loud breath, realizing she’d been holding it, before she rushed to the doorway into which the man disappeared. A ghost…a real ghost. Wait until her brothers heard that!

  The room was a living room of sorts. It was too big for the few pieces of furniture inside it. One wall was lined with bookshelves. What did they call it down here? The drawing room? The sitting room? The library? Whatever it was called, it didn’t have a ghost in it.

  Her heart still raced in her chest, but she took in a deep breath and forced herself to calm. “Holy shit,” she repeated. “Not only do I have ghosts, but one of my ghosts is a killer. Just my luck.”

  She stared into the room for several moments and waited, half expecting him to reappear, or perhaps have the female being show herself. “Are you still here? Can you talk to me? Tell me who you are?” There was no reply, and he didn’t reappear. There was no sign of anyone or anything else, just books and chairs and sofas. She finally let out another long sigh, feeling almost disappointed the ghosts had vanished. She wanted to know more about them, even though they did scare her.

  “Wow. A guy with a bloody knife… I’ll have to find out about him. Wouldn’t want him popping up when I have guests here.”

  Again, she breathed deeply, forcing herself to calm.

  He’s just a ghost. After all, deep down, she had expected a ghost. Perhaps that’s why he hadn’t scared her bad enough to send her scampering out the back door and down the street screaming. She had the feeling every house in the neighborhood had a ghost or two. After all, there wasn’t a house around that wasn’t more than a century old. But did the ghosts in the other houses carry bloody knives? She figured she could share the house with him as long as she could find out his story and she didn’t wake up to find him standing over her. That might have her wetting her pants. Hell, if he stayed in the library doorway all the time, where she could expect him, he might not send her heart into overdrive.