Chapter 14: Who Ya Gonna Call — Part 2
Sunlight made everything better.
The Victorian mansion in morning light was still imposing, still gothic, still the kind of architecture that made you wonder about the mental state of the original builder. But it was harder to be terrified of a house when the sun was streaming through its windows and the birds were singing in the surrounding trees.
[CONDITION UPDATED: MILD UNEASE][EFFECTS: CT: 1. PT: -1. REDUCED PENALTIES.]
The debuff was still there, but manageable. My heart rate stayed mostly normal as Gus and I approached the front door. Mrs. Worthington was waiting, looking considerably more rested than she had the night before.
"I slept at a hotel," she admitted. "I couldn't stay here another night alone."
"Understandable." I touched my temple and performed a quick scan of the entrance hall. "I'm receiving impressions. The spirits are... quieter during the day. Less active. This would be a good time to explore."
[SHAWN VISION ACTIVATING — MANUAL TRIGGER]
Three highlights appeared, clearer than they'd been in the darkness. The library doorway, where a subtle wear pattern on the carpet suggested heavy traffic that didn't match the room's stated disuse. A section of bookshelf along the far wall where the dust distribution was uneven. And the ceiling — specifically, a portion of crown molding that was slightly newer than the surrounding woodwork.
I'd watched this episode. I knew the projector room was behind the bookshelf, accessed through a hidden door mechanism. But finding it through Shawn Vision felt different than just remembering — it felt like I was actually discovering something, piecing together clues instead of recalling a plot summary.
"The library," I said. "The spirits want us to start there."
Gus stayed close as we entered the library. His fear wasn't debuffed by daylight the way mine was — he was operating on pure adrenaline and loyalty, which was honestly more impressive.
The bookshelf mechanism took me ten minutes to find, even knowing approximately where it was. The trigger was a specific book — a leather-bound copy of "Great Expectations" that had been installed as a lever disguised as decoration.
"Gus. Pull that book."
"Why do I have to pull it?"
"Because I'm receiving psychic impressions and can't interrupt the flow."
"That's not a real—" He pulled the book. The shelf swung open on hidden hinges.
Behind it was exactly what I'd expected: a small room filled with projection equipment, sound systems, and timer mechanisms. Everything needed to fake a haunting on a schedule.
"Someone's been staging the 'supernatural' activity," I announced, touching my temple for Mrs. Worthington's benefit. "The spirits I'm sensing aren't ghosts — they're technological manifestations created to deceive you."
Mrs. Worthington's face cycled through shock, relief, and anger in rapid succession. "Who would do this?"
I examined the equipment. Fingerprints on the projector. Shoe scuffs on the floor. The particular brand of projection lamp that required special orders from theatrical supply companies.
[SHAWN VISION ACTIVATING — MANUAL TRIGGER]
New highlight. A receipt tucked behind the sound system — someone had been careless. I pulled it out and recognized the name: Jonathan Ashworth, nephew of the previous owner, purchaser of theatrical equipment, and — if the canon held — the man who'd expected to inherit this property before Mrs. Worthington outbid him at the estate sale.
"Jonathan Ashworth," I said. "Your husband's nephew?"
Mrs. Worthington's expression darkened. "My late husband had a nephew who contested the will. The court ruled against him, but he made threats about getting the house 'one way or another.'"
"I think this qualifies as 'another.'"
Lassiter arrived forty minutes later with a forensics team. Jonathan Ashworth was arrested at his apartment across town, still in possession of the spare projection equipment he'd planned to install for the next phase of his haunting campaign.
I stood on the mansion's front porch — sunlit, safe, and mercifully debuff-free — while Gus handled the client relations inside.
"Neat case." Juliet had accompanied Lassiter, and was now reviewing the forensics documentation with her characteristic efficiency. "The projection system was quite sophisticated. Ashworth clearly put a lot of planning into this."
"Too much planning." I shrugged. "If he'd kept it simple — just strange noises, maybe some moved objects — it might have worked. But the full ghost projections? That's the kind of thing that makes people call psychic detectives instead of real estate agents."
"Lucky for Mrs. Worthington."
"Lucky for everyone except Jonathan Ashworth."
Juliet closed her notebook. "I cross-referenced the Baxter appraisal connection you mentioned. The one from Buzz's records."
My stomach tightened. "And?"
"Standard estate evaluation. Baxter Development handles dozens of property appraisals in the Santa Barbara area. The connection to this case appears coincidental."
"Appears."
"Appears." She met my eyes with that particular analytical expression I was learning to recognize. "But I'll keep tracking the name. It's shown up twice now in cases you've worked. That might be coincidence, or it might be a pattern that hasn't revealed itself yet."
[WARNING: JULIET O'HARA — PATTERN RECOGNITION ACTIVE]
I didn't need the system to tell me that. Juliet was smart, observant, and apparently keeping records of connections I'd hoped no one would notice.
"Let me know if you find anything," I said, keeping my voice casual. "I'm always interested in patterns."
"I know." She walked away toward Lassiter's car. "That's what your file says."
"File. She has a file on me. Of course she has a file on me."
Gus found me in the Psych office that evening, staring at the corkboard where "Baxter Development LLC" was circled in red marker.
"You're obsessing."
"I'm thinking."
"Same thing, with you." He sat on the edge of the desk. "The haunted house case is solved. Mrs. Worthington is happy. Jonathan Ashworth is in custody. Why are you staring at real estate records?"
"Because Baxter's name keeps appearing." I pointed at the corkboard. "The art dealer's storage unit. The mansion appraisal. Two cases, two connections to the same development company."
"In Santa Barbara. Where Baxter apparently does a lot of business."
"Which is what everyone keeps telling me." I turned to face him. "But my gut says there's something there. And my psychic instincts—"
"Your psychic instincts." Gus's eyebrow rose. "The same ones that told you the mansion was definitely haunted?"
"The mansion was staged to look haunted. My body had an involuntary fear response. That's different."
"Is it?"
I didn't have a good answer. The truth was that my "psychic instincts" were actually system prompts and meta-knowledge, neither of which were applicable to Garrett Baxter because Garrett Baxter didn't exist in any episode I remembered.
[CT STAT UPDATE: 1 → 2][GROWTH TRIGGER: PERFORMED PSYCHIC THEATER WHILE UNDER FEAR DEBUFF][SYSTEM NOTE: NICE WORK. KEEP TRAUMATIZING YOURSELF FOR XP.]
The notification almost made me laugh. The system was rewarding me for being scared and working through it anyway.
"You're smiling at nothing again," Gus observed.
"Just thinking about character growth."
"Yours?"
"Something like that." I drew a question mark next to Baxter's name on the corkboard. "Let's let it sit for now. Something will come up that connects the dots."
Gus stood. "Or nothing will come up and you'll have been paranoid about a normal real estate company."
"Also possible."
I walked him to the door. The high-five in the doorway felt natural now — two weeks of partnership building into something that resembled genuine friendship.
[BCM UPDATE: 37/100. APPROACHING BROS THRESHOLD.]
The number was just a number. But the feeling underneath it was real.
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