But someone had pulled the shutters – you know, the ones that go on the outside of the house and are mostly just decorative – closed. Tightly closed. Not a ray of sunshine could have penetrated those things.

"It must be terribly exciting," Mr. Beaumont was saying behind me as I stared at the shutters, wondering if they'd open if I kicked them hard enough. But then who was to say what kind of drop lay below them? I could be fifty feet up for all I knew. I've made some serious leaps in my life, but I usually like to know what I'm leaping into before I go for it.

"Being psychic, I mean," Tad's dad went on. "I wonder if you would mind getting in touch with other deceased individuals I might know. There are a few people I've been longing to talk to."

"It doesn't" – I let go of those curtains and moved to the next window – "work that way."

Same thing. The window was completely shuttered up. Not even a chink where sunlight might spill through. In fact, they looked almost nailed shut.

But that was ridiculous. Who would nail shutters over their windows? Especially with the kind of sea view I was sure Mr. Beaumont's house afforded.

"Oh, but surely, if you really concentrated" – Mr. Beaumont's pleasant voice followed me as I moved to the next window – "you could communicate with just a few others. I mean, you've already succeeded with one. What's a few more? I'd pay you, of course."

I couldn't believe it. Every single one of the windows was shuttered.

"Um," I said as I got to the last window and found it similarly shuttered. "Agoraphobic much?"

Mr. Beaumont must have finally noticed what I was doing since he said, casually, "Oh, that. Yes. I'm sensitive to sunlight. So bad for the skin."

Oh, okay. This guy was certifiable.

There was only one other door in the room, and that one was behind Mr. Beaumont, next to the

aquarium. I didn't exactly relish the idea of going anywhere near that guy, so I headed back for the door to the elevator.

"Look, can you please unlock this so I can go home?" I tugged on the knob, trying not to let my fear show. "My mom is really strict, and if I miss my curfew, she … she might beat me."

I know this was shoveling it on a bit thick – especially if he ever happened to watch the local news and saw my mother doing one of her reports. She is so not the abusive type. But the thing was, there was something so creepy about him, I really just wanted to get out, and I didn't care how. I'd have said

anything to get out of there.

"Do you think," Mr. Beaumont wanted to know, "that if I were very quiet, you might be able to summon this woman's spirit again so that I could have a word with her?"

"No," I said. "Could you please open this door?"

"Don't you wonder what she could have meant?" Mr. Beaumont asked me. "I mean, she told you to tell me not to blame myself for her death. As if I, in some way, were responsible for killing her. Didn't that make you wonder a little, Miss Simon? I mean, about whether or not I might be a – "

Right then, to my utter relief, the knob to the elevator door turned in my hand. But not, it turned out, because Mr. Beaumont had released it. No, it turned out somebody was getting off the elevator.

"Hello," said a blond man, much younger than Mr. Beaumont, and dressed in a suit and tie. "What have we here?"

"This is Miss Simon, Marcus," Mr. Beaumont said, happily. "She's a psychic."

Marcus, for some reason, kept looking at my necklace, too. Not just my necklace, either, but my whole throat area.

"Psychic, eh?" he said, his gaze sweeping the neckline of my sweater. "Is that what you two were

discussing down here? Yoshi told me something about a newspaper article...."

"Oh, no." Mr. Beaumont waved a hand as if to dismiss the whole newspaper thing. "That was just something she made up to get me to see her so she could tell me about the dream. Really quite an

extraordinary dream, Marcus. She says she had a dream that a woman told her I didn't kill her. Didn't kill her, Marcus. Isn't that interesting?"

"It certainly is," Marcus said. He took hold of my arm. "Well, I'm glad you two had a nice little visit. Now I'm afraid Miss Simon has to go."

"Oh, no." Mr Beaumont, for the first time, stood up behind his desk. He was very tall, I noticed. He also had on green corduroy pants. Green!

Really, if you ask me, that was the weirdest thing of all.

"We were just getting to know one another," Mr. Beaumont said, mournfully.

"I told my mom I'd be home by nine," I told Marcus really fast.

Marcus was no dummy. He steered me right into that elevator, saying, to Mr. Beaumont, "We'll have Miss Simon back sometime soon."

"Wait." Mr. Beaumont started to come around from behind his desk. "I haven't had a chance to – "

But Marcus jumped into the elevator with me and, letting go of me, slammed the door behind him.

CHAPTER

8

A second later we were moving. Whether we were going up or down, I still couldn't tell. But it didn't really matter. The fact was, we were moving, and away from Mr. Beaumont, which was all I cared about.

"Jeez," I couldn't help bursting out as soon as I knew I was safe. "What is with that guy?"

Marcus looked down at me.

"Did Mr. Beaumont hurt you in any way, Miss Simon?"

I blinked at him. "No."

"I'm very glad to hear that." Marcus looked a little relieved, but he tried to cover it up by being

businesslike. "Mr. Beaumont," he said, "is a little tired this evening. He is a very important, very busy man."

"I hate to be the one to tell you this, but that guy's more than just tired."

"Be that as it may," Marcus said, "Mr. Beaumont does not have time for little girls who enjoy playing pranks."

"Prank?" I echoed, mightily offended. "Listen, mister, I really did . . ." What was I saying? "I really did, um, have that dream, and I resent – "

Marcus looked down at me tiredly. "Miss Simon," he said, in a bored voice. "I really don't want to have to call your parents. And if you promise me you won't bother Mr. Beaumont ever again with any more of this psychic dream business, I won't."