Bloodless (Aloysius Pendergast #20)(15)

The research was basically done. However, Wellstone had found himself stumped as to the best way to lead the reader into his book. He’d considered using the first chapter to expose a “spirit communicator” employing phony equipment to contact the dead, and of course Gerhard Moller came to mind. And then he’d heard that Barclay Betts, his old nemesis, was planning to shoot a docu-series on Savannah’s haunted houses, featuring Moller. At that, Wellstone knew he not only had an intro—he had found the perfect bookend for his work, at the same time settling an old and bitter score with Betts.

“So tell me, Daisy,” he said as she refilled his lemonade. “How did you become Savannah’s preeminent, ah, ghostly historian?”

“Well…” She paused. “My great-great-grandfather fought in the War of Northern…that is, the War between the States. One could say I was raised surrounded by ghost stories. You know, we had servants, and they loved to tell my brother and me scary bedtime stories.” She giggled, as if just speaking about it was misbehaving. “And my grandfather, was he ever one for old legends! Bless my heart.”

“And those old legends found their way into your books, didn’t they?” He was careful to call them “books” instead of “pamphlets.”

“Oh, indeed. But then, almost every old family here in Savannah could tell you stories.”

“But not with the depth of knowledge you can bring to them.” Wellstone shifted in his chair. “Daisy, I feel very lucky—to have met you, and to have secured your remarkable fund of knowledge all for myself.”

At this, Daisy’s smile faded. “Well…” she said, the pink rising in her cheeks again, “that’s not quite the case. You see, there’s a documentary being filmed, right here in town.”

This was exactly what Wellstone had come for, but he pretended to be surprised. “A documentary?”

“Yes. It’s called The Most Haunted Towns in America or something like that.”

“Oh, dear,” Wellstone began.

“What is it?” Daisy asked quickly.

“This documentary—who’s making it?”

“That network…” Daisy glanced upward, searching for a name on the ceiling. “The big one. Netflix.”

“And the director?”

“Barclay Betts.”

“Barclay Betts. I think I’ve heard of him.” Wellstone certainly had: Betts had been behind the most difficult defamation lawsuit Wellstone ever had to endure. “And I suppose he’s snapped up your services. I mean, with your reputation, your knowledge, he’d be foolish not to.”

“Well, he did approach me,” Daisy said.

“I feared as much. I mean, I’m very happy for you—but what a shame for my own project,” Wellstone said, giving the impression that his interest in her was now waning. He even reached for his briefcase, as if to leave.

“He came by two days ago, saying the nicest things and inviting me to the set. But when I went there, first thing this morning, they just wanted me to read some lines from one of my books to use as a voice-over.”

“Is that all?” Wellstone said in mock surprise.

Daisy nodded.

“I can’t understand why Betts wouldn’t want you in front of the camera. I mean, with your credentials…” He shook his head in disapproval. Naturally, Betts wouldn’t want this elderly, powdered creature sitting in front of his lens.

“Exactly what I wondered,” Daisy said, a nettled tone rising in her voice.

Wellstone was still slowly shaking his head. “You’ll need to be careful. It sounds to me like he wants to use your research without giving you proper credit.”

Daisy froze as this unexpected possibility was introduced. “Could he do that?”

“I’m afraid these documentary filmmakers are notorious for that.” Wellstone finished the sentence with a shrug. Then he brightened, as if the problematic thought had been replaced with a more attractive one, and he removed his hand from the briefcase. “But—do you know what? This could be the very thing we need.”

“What do you mean?” Daisy asked. She hadn’t noticed the “we”—it had come out so naturally.

“I assume you’ll be spending time on the set.”

Daisy nodded in assent.

“That means you’ll get access behind the scenes. Now, that would be a huge benefit to our book. Together we’ll be able to take the reader behind the curtain, show the making of a documentary. Show them trying to detect ghostly presences.”

Daisy nodded—first slowly, then enthusiastically. “Yes. Yes!” Suddenly, she paused. “But they said something about me signing a nondisclosure agreement.”

Wellstone raised a finger. “Not a problem at all. You would be my secret source. No one would ever know.”

He watched as the wheels revolved in Daisy’s head. Then she smiled—a cleverer, even pricklier smile than he’d believed her capable of. God bless southern belles, he thought.

“All right,” she said, blushing as if embarking on a liaison with a gentleman not her husband. “I might learn more about this Savannah Vampire case.”

At this Wellstone started. Vampire case? This was something new. But he quickly covered up his reaction and asked smoothly, “Savannah Vampire?”