“Is he a nice person?”
“I don’t know him well. Some people say he’s haughty and antisocial. I’m more inclined to think he struggles with anxiety and possibly a persecution complex because of what his grandfather did.” Mason pulled a face. “Some people in this town go to great lengths to make sure he doesn’t forget it.”
“Why doesn’t he move?”
“I’m not sure. It might be from family loyalty, fear of the unknown, or it’s possible he even likes the attention. Like I said, I don’t know him—the only time I see him is during the town meetings.”
“Oy!” Zoe turned so that she was walking backward and waved her arms. “If you’re going to natter away like a pair of old women, at least have the decency to talk about the interesting stuff. I heard Ol’ Crispy planted a tree in the place where his grandpa tried to bury Carthage. Like some sort of twisted monument.”
“That’s a rumor that has been floating around for years.” Mason put his hands in his jacket pockets and shrugged. “I’d be surprised if it were true.”
They were leaving the town’s center and passing through the residential areas. The farther they walked, the more rural the properties appeared. The houses closest to the main street had tidy suburban lawns, but farther out, they morphed into hobby farms and sprawling properties.
“The Crispin House is just through here.” Mason indicated what looked like the edge of the forest. “It used to be more open, but the Crispins planted the trees shortly after the scandal to help preserve their privacy.”
“Not that it helped much,” Zoe called over her shoulder. “They got dragged through the mud big time. Can you imagine? George Crispin, the guy who thought his family was so much better than the dirty peasants in town, murdered a local girl in a fit of rage. The newspapers had a field day.”
“And they’re certain George was the killer?”
Mason quirked his head to the side. “I suppose so. Who else would it be?”
“Yeah, of course.” Keira could feel him watching her. She ran her fingers through her hair so that some of it shifted forward to obscure her face.
She hadn’t meant to voice her pet theory so openly, but it was striking her as increasingly strange that George Crispin, a cultured, respected man, would murder a girl from a poor family, then do such a poor job of hiding his crime.
But if it wasn’t George, who did it? Surely not Frank. But perhaps one of George’s other sons was motivated by jealousy, or even one of the staff—though I can’t imagine George would take the fall for a staff member.
“Here we are.” Mason had stopped in front of a fence that was dense with ivy. He pulled back a swath of the vine to expose a wrought-iron gate, then gestured for Keira to step up.
She did and peered through two metal bars. The aging, dilapidated building at the end of the driveway was everything she’d been promised and more.
Zoe had called it a mansion, and it was very close to being one. The three-story stone building crouched like a sleeping monster on the overgrown lawn. The windows were black and lifeless, and patches of the roof were collapsing.
“It’s beautiful,” Keira murmured.
“Figures you’d say that.”
Keira glanced to her right and saw Zoe’s face poking through the gate. “You think Blighty is cute too. No offense, but whatever lost your memories probably also screwed up your judgment skills.”
Keira laughed and turned back to the manor. “No, it really is beautiful…in a melancholic sort of way. It must be too big for one person to clean and manage, but Dane doesn’t have any staff, does he?”
“None,” Mason said. “It wasn’t exactly tipped to win home of the year when I was a child, but at least the roof was intact. He’s not repairing it himself, though, and hasn’t hired anyone. The rain must have ruined the rooms on that side of the building by now.” He made a frustrated little noise. “Mold won’t do his lungs any favors.”
Longing filled Zoe’s voice. “Think about all the awful secrets he could be hiding in there. What I wouldn’t give to spend a night in Crispin House.”
A neglected garden surrounded the house’s front, and its unruly bushes pushed against the stone foundation. Keira licked her lips and hoped her question wasn’t too morbid. “Is this where Emma was killed?”
“Nah,” Zoe said. “He got her behind the house. She’d walked through the forest, probably by way of the mill, and met him in the backyard. This fence only surrounds three sides of the house, y’see? They used the woods to create a natural fourth wall.”
Keira knew it was ridiculous to feel frustrated, but she’d hoped to see the scene of Emma’s murder. What she expected to find there, she didn’t know, but it was hard not to picture a half-dug grave in the middle of the vegetable garden, even though it certainly no longer existed.
“Imagine if he’d succeeded,” Zoe breathed. “In hiding her body, I mean. If the groundskeeper hadn’t seen Emma coming out of the woods and run to the police, George could have buried her without anyone knowing. No one heard from Emma’s parents, even though the police requested they come forward. She would have just…disappeared off the face of the planet. No one would have known what happened to her except for George. And he’d have grown a squash plant over her grave, probably, so that the roots would absorb her body’s nutrients, and every summer, Frank Crispin would have eaten a tiny bit of his beloved in the squash soup.”
Mason sighed. “You’re terrible, Zo.”
Keira was only half listening. Something moved through the topiary off to one side of the house. A figure emerged from between two trees. She tugged on Zoe’s sleeve and lowered her voice to a whisper, even though the figure was too far away to hear them. “Is that Dane?”
“Sure is,” Zoe said. “Wanna call him over?”
“No.” Keira and Mason spoke in unison.
Mason continued. “It’s hard enough for him with the way some people in the town gossip. I don’t want him to think his house is part of an unofficial tour or anything.”
“Jeez, relax. This is a public road. There aren’t any rules against looking at a house.”
Keira knew she should move back from the fence but found it impossible to look away from the strange man. He was tall and spindly but hunched in a way that significantly disguised it. His clothes were well worn, and long, greasy hair hung around his neck. Stubble covered sunken cheeks, and creases around his mouth and eyes framed a permanent scowl. He looked almost like a reflection of his house: uncared for and grimly resentful.
Dane’s head suddenly snapped in their direction. Keira jumped back from the fence, letting the vines fall back into place and tugging Zoe back alongside her.
“Aw, c’mon,” Zoe protested. “I wanted to see what he’d do.”
“Mason’s right. We shouldn’t gawk.” Embarrassment was creeping over Keira. She could only hope Dane hadn’t seen them. Mercy knows I don’t like people staring at me, and I’m not even trying to hide from my family’s history. “Sorry,” she said to Mason. “I shouldn’t have asked you to bring me here.”
He still wore his characteristically cheerful smile. “Don’t feel too bad. Plenty of people come to look at the house—it’s just not very common to also see Dane.”
Zoe planted her hands on her hips and gave a mischievous grin. “Seeing as we’re already so close, what say we take a look at the mill? I haven’t been up this way in a while, and I want to see if it’s collapsed yet.”
“Don’t you need to get back to the store?” Keira looked down the road that led toward the town.
“Pshaw. Lucas will watch it. It’s about time he got a real job anyway.”
Keira looked at Mason, who smiled. “I’m game if you are.”
“All right. Let’s go.”
Chapter Sixteen
Once again, Zoe led the way, maintaining a blistering pace and occasionally stopping to wait for her companions to catch up. Keira and Mason followed at a slower speed. Keira couldn’t stop her
self from glancing at the ivy-coated fence that ran parallel to the path, but she didn’t catch any other glimpses of the house. At one point, she heard the faint rustle of vegetation and turned just in time to see the vines fall still. It was hard not to imagine Dane on the other side of the fence, watching them in the same way they’d watched him.
The dirt path took a sharp turn to the right as they passed the edge of the Crispin property, and the trees thinned to reveal untended pastures and infrequent farmhouses. A huge, dark building dominated one of the fields.
“Is that—”
“Yep,” Zoe said, glee evident in her voice. “Old Crispin Mill. No one wants to spend the money to pull it down—especially as the land isn’t worth much—so they’re just letting it sit there until it falls apart on its own.”
That might take a while. The brick building was certainly old, and time had eroded some parts, but the structure had clearly been designed to last. Even if the roof collapsed, Keira imagined the walls could easily stand for another hundred years.
They left the dirt road to approach the building. The grass grew past Keira’s thighs, but dozens of footsteps, likely from equally curious visitors, had created a winding pathway through the tall weeds.
The structure was vast. Its windows were small and infrequent, and the roof blotted out a great swath of sky. In its day, it would have been large enough to hold several hundred workers.
As she neared the building, a prickly sensation touched Keira’s back. She shifted her shoulder blades to rub it away, but it didn’t leave. It was a soft force—almost undetectable—but made her uneasy. She’d felt it before, while standing in her graveyard as the mist rolled over the tombstones.
Death has tainted this ground, her subconscious whispered. Blood was spilled here.
She slowed. Peering through the web-crusted windows no longer seemed like a good idea.
“Keira?” Mason came to a halt a step ahead of her. “Are you okay?”
Her mouth was dry. “Yeah. It’s just…uh…”
She tilted her head back to see up the height of the building. Its roof towered high above her, and the bricks were stained by streaks of sooty discoloration marking where decades of water had flowed. The building was hostile. Bitter. Dangerous.
This was a cruel place to work. Trapped inside, with so few windows, the high roof making you feel like you could be crushed any second. And the deaths…so many of them…accidents…machinery malfunctions…suicides…
“Keira.” Mason’s hand came to rest on her back, bracing her. “You’re white as a sheet. Did something happen? Do you feel sick?”
She shook herself. A high-pitched ringing noise filled her head and made her dizzy. “Huh?”
“C’mon. Let’s get you away from here.” He tried to guide her back from the building, but she held her ground. Her head was clearing. The looming, prickling sense of unease had retreated into the background of her awareness. Mason stood close, his hand still on her back, his sharp green eyes skipping over her face. Zoe stood next to one of the windows, watching. Neither seemed affected by the building the way Keira had been.
She managed a laugh, but it felt dead in her ears. “Sorry, I kinda spaced out for a moment there. I’m fine.”
The worried creases around Mason’s eyes told her he didn’t believe it. “You don’t look well. Let’s go back to the road.”
Keira opened her mouth to object, but before she could, Zoe skipped forward and looped an arm through Keira’s. Unlike Mason’s worried frown, Zoe’s expression was cheerful and easy. “It’s an ugly building anyway. I doubt even you could say something complimentary about it. Let’s go back to town; I want an ice cream.”
With Zoe refusing to let go of her left arm and Mason’s gentle, guiding hand on her right shoulder, Keira let herself be led back toward the dirt road. It only took a dozen steps for the prickling sensation to slip away from her, and she began to feel that she could lower her guard again.
Zoe maintained an animated, one-sided conversation the entire walk back to the road. Before long, Keira realized the subjects—which ranged from JFK’s assassination to local sightings of an albino panther—were intended to distract her from the building behind them. She squeezed Zoe’s arm to let the other woman know she was okay. “Thanks, Zo. You can stop talking now.”
Zoe stuck her tongue out. “Who says I want to?”
They’d reached the road. The town’s rooftops silhouetted against the afternoon horizon seemed farther away than Keira had thought they’d walked.
Mason rubbed at the back of his neck. “Would you like to sit down for a moment? There’s a fallen tree—”
“Jeez, no. I’m fine. Honestly.” This time, her laugh was genuine. She unthreaded her arm from Zoe’s and began striding toward town. “I just…got a bit dazed.”
“You looked frightened.” Mason allowed her to duck out from under his hand but stayed near her. “Did the mill remind you of something?”
She fought the temptation to glance over her shoulder at the building. “Maybe. I’m not sure. It wasn’t a memory. More like…the memory of an emotion.” Other people’s emotions. Pain, misery, suffering…death. She pushed her hands into her jeans pockets to disguise a shudder.
Zoe swung her arms as she stepped around a patch of potholes. “Like I said, it’s an ass-ugly building. Not really interesting either, just a bunch of abandoned junk. Rebellious kids sometimes visit it at night and tell ghost stories.”
“Ha, yes, my friends and I used to do that. First to leave was branded a chicken.” Mason snorted. “Looking back on it, it’s a miracle none of us stepped on any of the rusty metal and got tetanus.”
“Huh,” Zoe said. “I thought it would be impossible to paint an abandoned mill in a boring light, but look at you go.”
His face scrunched up with the smile he beamed back at her. “Believe me, there’s nothing boring about tetanus or any of the other endospores. They can remain dormant for centuries—”
“Okay, now I have to know. Are you naturally this awful, or do you put in special effort?”
Keira had to chuckle. The farther they walked from the mill, the more human she felt, and Zoe and Mason’s bickering faded into the background as Keira examined what had happened.
Apparently, my abilities aren’t limited to seeing ghosts. I seem to pick up on…I don’t know what to call them. Emotional imprints? The ghosts of memories? It’s like death stained the mill, and I can see it.
She suspected there would have been a lot more to see if she’d looked through the window.
They reentered the main street and turned toward the center fountain. They hadn’t quite reached it when the general store’s door was thrown open and a miserable, disheveled teen poked his head out and wailed, “Zo-e!”
Zoe exhaled a long-suffering sigh. “Looks like I won’t be getting that ice cream. Take care of yourself, Keira. Later, nerd.”
They waved as Zoe jogged toward Lucas, who was nearly in tears.
“Poor kid,” Keira muttered, and Mason laughed.
“I don’t feel too sorry for him. He egged Zoe’s house a few months back, so now his mother makes him do Zoe favors or else he’s grounded.”
“Ha! Gossip really does spread in this town.” Keira could feel Mason watching her, so she made a show of stretching as though they’d done nothing more than go on a relaxing walk. “I should probably head home. Or, uh, back to the cottage at least.”
“I’ll walk with you,” Mason offered.
She snorted. “I’m fine. Really. You can go home.”
He folded his arms and bent over so they were at the same eye level, and a hint of amusement twitched at the corners of his mouth. “I never thought I’d quote Zoe, but who says I want to? It’s a lovely day. I wouldn’t mind enjoying a bit more of it before the sun sets.”
“You call this lovely? It’s been overcast the entire time.”
“A day doesn’t have to be sunny to be nice.”
She r
aised an eyebrow. He grinned back.
“All right, you win.” Keira stepped up beside him, and together they turned down the road that led toward the cemetery.
Mason seemed happy to walk in silence. He set a leisurely pace, and his eyes roved over the trees and the shrubs lining the path.
Keira found it hard not to watch him. “This must have been a weird day for you. All you wanted was lunch, but you ended up wandering all over the countryside.”
“I don’t get out as often as I should, so I enjoyed this.”
“Good.” She didn’t know how well her next question would be received, so she phrased it carefully. “Zoe said you’re taking a break from med school.”
“Normally, I’d advise against taking Zoe’s word on anything. But in this case, she’s absolutely right.”
He still seemed happy, so Keira risked pushing a little more. “Will you be going back?”
“Maybe.” He shrugged. “We’ll see.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, what made you leave?”
He glanced at her, and something dark clouded his eyes. Then he blinked, and the expression was replaced with the warm smile she was growing so fond of. “I lost my way. I chose to study medicine for a very specific reason, but one day, I realized that the original motivation was no longer driving me. Instead, I was making sacrifices for goals I’d never wanted—never should have wanted—and…I decided I needed to get out. Center myself. Figure out who I am.” He laughed again, and it almost sounded natural. “I sound like a motivational poster right now, don’t I?”
“One of the extra-cheesy ones,” she replied, agreeing. “One with dolphins jumping over a sunset.”
The Whispering Dead: Gravekeeper Book 1 Page 11