The Dead Room

by Heather Graham Narrated by Joyce Bean

Overview

A year ago, archaeologist Leslie MacIntyre barely survived the explosion that took the life of her fiancé, Matt Connolly. In the long months since, she's slowly come to terms not only with her loss but with her unsettling new ability to communicate with ghosts, a dubious "gift" received in the wake of her own brush with death.

Now she's returned to lower Manhattan's historic Hastings House, site of the explosion, to conquer her fears and investigate a newly discovered burial ground. In this place restless spirits hold the secrets not only of past injustice but of a very real and very contemporary conspiracy with deadly designs on the city's women-including Leslie herself.

By night Matt visits her in dreams, warning her and offering clues to the truth, while by day she finds herself helped by-and attracted to-his flesh-and-blood cousin Joe. Torn by her feelings for both men, caught between the worlds of the living and the dead, Leslie struggles against the encroaching danger that threatens to overcome her. As she is drawn closer to the darkness at the heart of Hastings House, she must ultimately face the power of an evil mind, alone in a place where not even the men she love can save her.

Editorial Reviews

The Barnes & Noble Review
Bestselling author Heather Graham weaves danger, dreams, and ghosts into an unusually gripping romantic thriller set in a historic house in Lower Manhattan. Archeologist Leslie MacIntyre returns to Hastings House, the same site where a mysterious explosion killed her fiancé, Matt Connolly, one year ago. Leslie, too, was almost killed; but as she recovered, she discovered a new and puzzling gift -- the ability to commune with ghosts. As Leslie resumes her life again, she begins work on a newly discovered pauper's burial ground beneath the house. But putting aside the past is far from easy. Matt's ghost greets her, communicating that they should work together to find his murderer; he also pays her some exciting nocturnal visits…or are they dreams? Then Leslie meets his first cousin, Joe, a private investigator, for whom she feels some stirring of attraction. Their search for a missing social worker who had helped prostitutes leads to a string of unsolved murders and puts them all in grave danger. Graham outdoes herself here: The Dead Room works well as a mystery and a ghost story, and she caps it all off with an exciting and unexpected ending. Ginger Curwen

Publishers Weekly

At the start of this chilling paranormal thriller from bestseller Graham (Kiss of Darkness), anthropologist Leslie MacIntyre eagerly accepts an invitation to work on an archeological dig near New York City's Hastings House, a historic building that survived the explosion which a year earlier seriously injured her and killed her fiancé, Matt Connolly. As a temporary resident of Hastings House, Leslie, who has developed the ability to communicate with ghosts, sees Matt in her dreams, complete with convincing erotic love scenes. A secondary plot adds to the intrigue as Matt's cousin, PI Joe Connolly, searches for a missing social worker, whose disappearance may be linked to that of local prostitutes. Leslie's paranormal powers lead her to not only important archeological discoveries but also grave personal danger. The intense, unexpected conclusion will leave readers well satisfied. (Apr.)

Copyright 2007 Reed Business Information

AUG/SEP 07 - AudioFile

Urban archaeologist Leslie MacIntyre is "adjusting to life with the dead popping up now and then" after her near-death experience in an explosion that killed her fiancé. Ghosts lead her to major discoveries, boosting her career and enabling her to assist a private detective in the investigation of a serial killer. Wishing desperately to connect with her fiancé, she experiences dreamy scenes of passion, which seem to be his sole means of communication. As delivered by Joyce Bean, MacIntyre's Southern accent becomes credibly more pronounced when she’s under stress, which is frequent as the murders escalate. While Bean’s male voices are far too hoarse, her quiet ghosts are delightful. D.P.D. © AudioFile 2007, Portland, Maine

Product Details

BN ID:	2940169935325
Publisher:	Brilliance Audio
Publication date:	03/21/2007
Edition description:	Unabridged

Read an Excerpt

One year later

Leslie paused for a minute, looking skyward. What a beauti-ful evening it was. The sky couldn't have been a lovelier shade of violet. But then, the countryside in northern Virginia was some of the most beautiful in the world.

More so than ever before, at least to her.

In the past year, she had come to appreciate such simple thing as the colors of life. It had been such a strange year, filled with vividly conf licting emotions. The touch of the sun, the color of a dawn, seemed more intense than ever. The anguish of learning to live alone still interrupted the newfound beauty. Life had become doubly precious, except that she felt it was such an incredible gift that it should be shared, yet she was alive and Matt was dead.

The setting sun was beautiful, and the night breeze sweet and soft. With that thought in mind, she closed her eyes and felt the waning brush of day against her cheeks. The warmth was wonderful.

She sighed, then returned to work. She needed to hurry. The light would be gone soon.

Painstakingly, bit by bit, she brushed away the dust covering the recently revealed area. She removed the last few specks, and then,

Yes!

She continued to brush away the dirt from the skull fragment in the crevice, feeling a sense of jubilation. She couldn't be certain, of course, not absolutely, but it looked like they had discovered the old St. Mathias graveyard that Profes-sor David Laymon had been certain was here. She eyed the skull for size and shape. Bones weren't her specialty. She knew objects, fabrics, even architecture, all the things that made up life, backward and forward. She knew bones only because she had come across them in her work so often.

The fragments of calico by the skull hinted at a type of hair decoration that fit perfectly with Laymon's belief that this section of the graveyard had been reserved for indentured servants, slaves and those who were simply too poor to pay for anything better.

"Brad!"

"Yeah?"

Brad Verdun, her good friend and colleague, was busy working a few yards away. As she waited for his attention, she took her tweezers and carefully collected the bits of fabric she had discovered; a lab analysis would verify her thoughts, she was certain, but every little shred needed to be preserved.

"Brad!"

"Yeah, yeah." At last he dusted his hands and rose, then walked to where she was working. He swore softly, shaking his head. "You were right. Again." He stared at her a little skeptically. "If I didn't know you so well, I just might agree with everyone else that you're psychic."

She smiled a little uneasily. "You would have chosen the same spot yourself," she assured him.

"Yeah, eventually." He looked across the work site, staring at the professor, who was down on his hands and knees about fifty yards away. "Well, princess of the past, announce your dis-covery. Give the old boy his thrill for the night."

"You tell him."

"You found the bones."

"We work together," she said modestly. "You were just a few feet away."

"You made the discovery."

"We came as a team, a package deal," she reminded him stubbornly.

"I won't take your credit."

"I want you to take the credit! Please?"

He sighed deeply. "All right, all right. I'll bring him over. But I won't lie."

"You're not lying if you say we found it as a team," she insisted.

He stared at her for a moment, then touched the top of her head with gentle affection. "Okay. You want to stay out of the limelight, kiddo, I'll do my best to help you. For a while, anyway." Like a brother, he stroked her cheek, giving her an encouraging smile.

"Thanks," she murmured softly.

"You're going to be okay. You're coming along just great," he said.

She nodded, looking down.

Was she? A year had gone by. She functioned, yes, but she continued to hurt every day. Work was good. Friends were good.

Nights were torture.

And life itself,

Was definitely different. That difference had become clear while she'd still been in the hospital after the explosion. If she hadn't happened to pick up a magazine and seen the article on Adam Harrison and Harrison Investigations,

Well, she would probably either be dead now—having scared herself into an early grave—or in a mental hospital. Adam Harrison and his team, especially Nikki Blackhawk, had undoubtedly saved both her life and her sanity. But that was information she shared with no one. Not Brad, and certainly not Professor Laymon.

She watched as Brad walked over to talk to Laymon. Brad was definitely a good guy, the best. If she'd had a brother, he couldn't have been better to her. Years ago, when they had first started working together, she'd known that he wanted more of a relationship, but no one was ever going to stand a chance against Matt. And in fact, he'd liked Matt so much himself that they'd all fallen into a great friendship. She hesi-tated, watching Brad, glad that nothing had changed, that he had kept a brotherly distance from her and given his full support without any indication that his affections could turn sexual. She knew she would never feel any differently about him; there came a point in life where someone was a friend and that would never change. Brad was tall, well muscled, patient, intelligent and fun. The perfect guy—for someone else. The great thing about their friendship was that they shared their love of what they did. Some of the first enjoy-ment she had felt since the explosion that had killed Matt had been because of Brad, because of the excitement in his dark and arresting eyes when they made a discovery.

In large part thanks to him, sometimes, she could even have fun these days, going for drinks or dinner after work. His presence kept other guys away, but if he wanted to start some-thing up with someone else, she didn't get in the way.

They had worked well together before the accident. Now she relied on him more than ever—even if she was the one who usually "saw" the past more clearly and homed in on a location with eerily perfect accuracy. Sometimes he eyed her almost warily, but when she shrugged, he let it alone.

She watched as Laymon listened to Brad. His face lit up as if the sun had risen again purely to shine down on him. He was up in a f lash, hurrying to Leslie's side, shouting excitedly and bringing the rest of the team—teachers, students and vol-unteers—in his wake. "Watch where you walk," he cautioned. "We don't want all this work trampled." Hopping over one of the plastic lines set out to protect the dig and provide the grid that allowed them to map their finds, he seemed like a little kid, he was so happy.

He stared at Leslie, eyebrows raised questioningly, then looked down at the skull she'd uncovered before turning back to her again. A broad smile lit his worn features. He pushed his Ben Franklin bifocals up the bridge of his nose and scratched his white-bearded chin. If anyone had ever looked the part of a professor, it was David Laymon. "You've done it," he said.

"We've done it," she murmured.

"We'll uncover the rest of the skeleton in the morning, then get it to the folks at the Smithsonian, right away, right away. It's too late to work anymore tonight, but we need to secure this area before we go, then get back to work first thing in the morning. From now on we'll need speed—and real care. Leslie, I could hug you. I will hug you!" He drew her to her feet, hugged her, then kissed her on the cheek. She was suffused with color, a blush staining her cheeks, as a burst of applause sounded from all around them.

"Hey, please," she protested. "We're all in on this, and Brad was the one to cordon off this particular area."

"Still, what a find," Professor Laymon murmured. "You'll need to speak to the press. This is big excitement for this area, for historians everywhere."

"Please," she said softly, firmly, "let Brad speak to the press. Better yet, the two of you can speak as a team."

Laymon frowned, looking mildly annoyed. "Please," Leslie repeated firmly.

Laymon sighed deeply, looking at her with sorrow in his gray eyes. "You never used to be so shy," he said. "Okay, sorry, I understand. It's just that, " He shook his head. "I under-stand. Whatever you want. All right, I'll get the ball rolling for the press conference, and you stay here—grab some students to give you a hand—and make sure that the site is pro-tected until we get back to it in the morning. I'm going to see to it that we get some police out here to keep an eye on things, too."

Leslie wasn't sure why anyone would want to disturb a paupers' cemetery, but she knew that plenty of digs had been compromised, even ruined, by intruders in the past. She assured Laymon that she would stand guard until they were battened down for the night.

He stared at her, letting out a sigh and shaking his head again as he walked away. Brad walked behind him. One of the grad students, a shapely redhead, hurried up alongside Brad, slipping an arm through his. Leslie decided that she would have to tease him about her later.

For a moment, she wondered what Brad said about her when he decided to get close to a woman. Oh,my friend Leslie? Completely platonic.She was engaged,but there was a terrible accident. She almost died, And her fiancé was killed. Since then she's been having kind of a hard time, so I try to be there for her. But it wasn't that long ago, just a year, .

Just a year.

She wondered if she would ever again feel that there was a perfect guy out there for. Right now, all she felt was,

Cold.

Just a year. A year since she had buried Matt. Buried her life,

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