Kristi kept on following the pale girl who was striding at record speed past the chapel. She nearly had to jog to keep her in sight and was worried that she was leaving All Saints, heading to a parking lot off campus.

“Damn,” she said, wondering what she’d say to the blonde, if and when she finally caught up with her. Are you feeling okay? Man, you sure look pale. Do you need a study partner for Dr. Grotto’s class? “Lame, lame, and lame,” she muttered under her breath as the girl reached the gate of Wagner House, walked inside, and hurried up the steps.

But the museum was closed.

Kristi hesitated. The blonde—what was her name, Maren or Marie? Something like that—had entered without a problem.

After a moment Kristi strode through the front gate as if she’d intended to head into Wagner House all along, and flew up the steps. Though a sign on the door said CLOSED and listed the hours of operation, she tried the latch and the glass-paned door swung open. Huh, she thought, crossing the threshold and stepping inside. The latch clicked softly behind her and she was alone. In the supposedly haunted house. With no sign of the blonde.

The foyer, decorated with an antique table and a plaque giving a short history of the house, was empty. A single Tiffany lamp glowing in shades of amber and blue threw a bit of illumination into the deepest shadows of the room.

From the entrance, stairs led to the upper floors, and a parlor room was to the right. It, too, was lit by a single lamp, the rest of the room in shadow. Antiques and period pieces were placed around a patterned rug and a marble-inlayed fireplace, and mullioned windows flanked a floor-to-ceiling bookcase stuffed with leather-bound, ancient-looking volumes.

This house, she knew, had belonged to Ludwig Wagner, the first settler of the area, a rice or cotton baron who had left his estate and part of his fortune not only to his children, but also to the Catholic church for the purpose of building All Saints College. Several of his descendants were still on the board and played active politics with the school. But the house had been preserved, used for formal parties and opened on some afternoons as a museum. The velvet ropes, which forced people who viewed the house to file through the rooms without disturbing anything, were still in place.

Marcia or Marcy, or whatever, wasn’t anywhere to be seen as Kristi crossed to the foot of the stairs. The house was silent. She heard nothing. But the slight scent of perfume still lingered. Kristi thought about calling out, but dismissed it.

A few days ago Ariel and her friends had walked into this grand old manor. Kristi hadn’t thought much of it at the time; the museum had been open. But now…