Cuff Master by Frances Stockton

grinned. He was a handsome devil, that was for sure. Too bad
her heart already belonged to Ethan. And that was what scared her the most.
    Remy stood and assisted Morgan into her seat. “Everything
okay?” he asked after returning to his chair.
    “It’s fine. Alex has agreed to let your team do an
investigation here. You’ll have to work out the schedule and explain what it’ll
involve.”
    “I’ll talk to him after we eat. I ordered vegetable lasagna
for both of us.”
    “Great. I’m starving.” It wasn’t a lie. She was hungry
enough to eat. Whether she’d taste it was another thing. Her mind was
constantly on her small purse where her phone resided.
    The server came over to place a basket of warm breadsticks
on the table and refill their goblets with sparkling ice water. Thoughts of
phone calls were put on hold as she and Remy thanked the waiter and began
talking about the television show.
    Conversation centered on how lockdowns worked, the equipment
Remy’s team would use and Morgan’s role. Remy already knew that some antiques
and items in so-called haunted buildings or homes were contaminated or
replacements of the originals and getting an accurate reading could be
difficult.
    The more people who’d owned an object, the more complicated
its past. But some things—bullets, bricks, stones, weapons, clothing, photos,
shoes and diaries—had stories to tell. They became as vivid to Morgan as
reading a book from start to finish. Those were the reasons psychometry was a
gift.
    Dinner arrived piping hot, the aromas of tomatoes, cheese,
zucchini, spinach, mushrooms and noodles were wonderful. Morgan and Remy were
halfway through their meal when she realized she couldn’t stomach another bite
if she didn’t reach out to Ethan.
    “Remy? Do you mind if I make a dash to the ladies room? I
need to make a phone call.”
    “No problem.” Remy took his phone from his pocket and
checked it. “Except the reception I’m getting on my cell sucks. The battery is
low too. I just charged it on my way to your place.” He showed her the
touchscreen.
    Morgan leaned forward. “The energy I’m getting in this place
is weird tonight. Here in the dining room, all’s fine. But I feel drawn to the
basement. I can try to get some EVPs after talking to Ethan.”
    “Between the party and the bar, there’s a lot going on down
there, Morgan,” Remy said. “The noise will interfere with your findings.”
    “The ladies room is huge and might be soundproof enough to
muffle conversations. I’ll tag the digital recording for any explainable sounds.”
    “I’ve got a spirit box in my car,” Remy replied. “Want to
take it with you?”
    “No, my recorder will do for now. The constant radio
frequency scanning of a spirit box tends to grate on my nerves after a little
while. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
    Leaving her purse on her chair, she stood, grabbed her
cellphone and small recorder, tucked them into the pocket of her skirt and
headed to the stairway that led downstairs. The elaborate restrooms were
located on the lower levels, with handicapped equipped bathrooms off the main
dining room.
    This past Friday, Morgan and the bridesmaids had taken over
the ladies room in order to fix their makeup or hair or check their gowns.
Tonight, she rushed down the stairs and entered the bathroom expecting the
eight-stall facility to be crowded.
    Only one of the stalls was occupied. The customer finished
up her business and rushed out to wash her hands. Coupled with restlessness,
the woman was surrounded by an aura of sadness. She was dressed in a navy blue
pinstripe skirt, white blouse and coat that screamed practical and sedate.
    The hum of conversations from the bar reached the restroom,
setting off low-level vibrations that would make gathering EVPs difficult.
Despite that, Morgan felt very strongly that she was supposed to be in this
bathroom with this woman right now.
    “Hello,” the woman greeted.
    Come to think of it,