They were passing the parsonage. Adage was home; the lights were on and a disco track was floating through the open windows. “Thanks for walking me back.”
“Anytime.” Mason stopped and tilted his head to the side. He looked relaxed, but his expression held something strange. “Keira?”
“Yeah?”
He hesitated, then said, “Be safe, okay?”
“Of course I will.”
He opened his mouth, closed it again, cleared his throat, and took a step back. “You have my number if you need anything. I’ll see you soon.”
“Good night.”
She watched him start down the driveway, then turned toward her cottage. The sun was edging toward the horizon, and Keira tried not to shiver as she wove between the tombstones.
I didn’t say anything to upset him, did I? She exhaled heavily and turned in to the cottage’s dead garden. Zoe might be misguided about many topics, but Keira thought she’d identified something in Mason. He was discontent, and trying very hard to hide it. She just wished she understood why.
A piece of paper had been taped to the front door. Keira slowed as she neared it and recognized Adage’s scrawl.
Keira,
I cooked a pie that I have no hope of finishing on my own. Would you care to join me for dinner?
Adage
Keira snorted and shook her head as she entered the cottage. People around here are too nice.
Daisy’s large, amber eyes glowed from the kitchen. Keira turned on the cottage’s light and found the scrawny, black cat sitting in the sink.
“What’re you doing there?” She grinned as she carefully lifted the cat and moved her to the rug in front of the cooling fireplace. Daisy pushed her head against Keira’s hand, so she gave the fuzzy ears a scratch. “You’ll need to have dinner by yourself. I’m sorry. I hope you’re not getting too lonely.”
Daisy flopped onto her back and stretched out, paws poking toward the ceiling. Keira returned to the kitchen and served up a fresh can of cat food. She left it beside her companion, who ignored it except for a twitch of the nose. Keira gave the cat’s head a final scratch before turning toward the door.
Visiting the Crispin properties didn’t lend much to help me solve my ghost’s problem, but I’m not out of options yet. Every town has its gossips, and I have a feeling Adage might be one of Blighty’s.
Chapter Seventeen
“Come in, child!” Adage’s voice echoed from inside.
Keira let herself through the open door and went in search of him. The house smelled like garlic and parsley, and Keira found the pastor surrounded by dirty pots in the kitchen. She grinned. “You’ve been busy.”
“It always seems a waste to cook just for myself,” Adage said as he pried the pie out of its tin. “But I really do love food, so I tend to go all out when I have a guest. If the Lord hadn’t called me to his ministry, I think I should have liked to be a chef.”
Keira took the empty pie tin from Adage and began stacking the mess by the sink so it didn’t take up so much counter space. “Why not do both? Become a TV chef who recites sermons while preparing food. Call it the Cooking Church.”
“I could see that working. ‘Add a pinch of salt, just as you are to be the salt of the earth.’ And then I could recommend accompanying communion wines.”
“You’re onto something now.”
They laughed as they carried the food into the little dining alcove. Pots of herbs lined the ledge above the corner. Adage had already set out cutlery, so Keira sat at the wooden table while he served her.
“You’ve been busy today,” he said, dropping a gigantic slice of pie onto her plate. “I came by twice, but you were out both times. I was afraid you might have moved on without saying goodbye.”
“Never,” she promised. “I met up with Zoe and Mason in town. They offered to show me around.” It was the perfect segue, so she continued, “They took me to Dane Crispin’s home and the old mill. I had no idea the town had such a rich history.”
Adage poured them both water before he sat and steepled his fingers. “I think you’ll find this area is full of little dramas and secrets. Do you mind if we say grace?”
Keira bowed her head while Adage said a few words. Once he finished, she straightened, trying to come up with a natural way to bring the conversation back to the mystery, but Adage spared her the trouble.
“I suppose they told you about poor Emma Carthage and Frank Crispin?”
“Yes. It must have been a shock for the town.”
Adage speared a piece of broccoli as he shook his head. “It was terrible. I had only taken over the parsonage a year before their deaths, and I was so clueless. I’d given them counseling, you see, and it was hard not to think that perhaps I could have saved them if I’d known what was coming. It took a long time to learn how to forgive myself.”
Keira froze with a piece of pie held near her mouth. “I didn’t realize you knew them.”
“Oh, yes. I wasn’t much older than them, but they had asked me to officiate their secret wedding. It was to be a very quiet affair, held in the church after dark, with only the two of them and a couple of close friends in attendance. Emma and I waited at the church for hours, but Frank never showed. I didn’t learn until the following morning that his father had locked him in his room. And, of course, while Emma was with me at the church, George Crispin went to her parents to negotiate the lovers’ separation. The next time I saw Emma after that night was when she lay in her coffin.” He shook his head. “It was a dark time, my dear. I confess I doubted the Lord’s mercy that he would allow two such kind people to perish when they had been so close to happiness.”
Keira had lost her appetite. She put her fork back on the plate. “I’m so sorry.”
Adage shrugged. “I have grown since that time. I still regret what happened to Emma and Frank, but I have no doubt they met in the afterlife, where there can be no petty judgment or selfishness or suffering to separate them.”
Keira glanced toward the window. Night had fallen, and the mist was already rolling in. She had to clench her hands to keep them from trembling. Emma has not moved on. Is it possible that Frank lingers too? Does she live on this earth because she doesn’t want to step into the next life without him? “It sounds like they were deeply in love.”
“Oh, yes, in the way two young, willful people tend to be.” Adage had cheered a little and ate his meal with enthusiasm. “It was a very Romeo-and-Juliet situation, complete with warring families and a tragic ending. Don’t you like the pie, my dear?”
“Ah, it’s delicious!” Keira picked her fork up again, but her stomach was still too unsettled to let her eat, so she poked at her food while she chose her next question. “I suppose you must have known George Crispin as well?”
“Not closely. He had attended my predecessor’s sermons but seemed to think I was too young to be at the pulpit, so only came at Christmas and Easter.”
“It must have been a surprise to learn he was capable of murder, though.” Keira was trying to prod around her theory that George hadn’t been the killer, but it was impossible to say so outright without it sounding as though Zoe’s conspiracy mania had rubbed off on her.
“Yes and no. He was an important member of our society, of course, and no one expects their neighbor to take a life. But during the trial, many witnesses came forward to speak of his violent nature. Business partners claimed to have been threatened. Staff reported physical violence. Many were of the opinion that he was a bomb waiting to go off and that Emma’s reappearance pushed him an inch too far.”
Damn. Keira tried another tack. “But Emma was well liked in the town?”
“Yes, certainly. She was a sweet thing. Thoughtful, but knew her mind. Not that different from you, in fact. A lot of boys in town fancied her but were dissuaded because her family was barely half a step from poverty. She had plenty of friends, though. Have you met dear Polly Kennard yet? She was Emma’s chief confidant and one of the few inv
ited to the secret wedding.”
Keira nearly blurted What? The bank robber? but caught herself in time. Instead, she said, “The florist? She gave me a bunch of flowers yesterday. She seems lovely.”
“Oh, she is. She was Emma’s closest friend growing up. The murder disturbed Polly greatly. Shortly after it, Polly and her sister, Myrtle, left for one of the big cities and didn’t return for close to a decade.”
Disturbing her enough to crack her trust in the system and facilitate a slide into a life of crime? Keira shook herself mentally. Stop getting carried away. Stick to the facts. “We saw Dane Crispin while we were passing his house. Do you know him well?”
“Hardly at all. He keeps to himself.” Adage frowned. “Really, if you’re not a fan of the pie, please tell me. I have plenty of other food I can offer you. How about a nice, succulent TV dinner?”
Keira laughed and quickly pushed a forkful of food into her mouth. “Sorry. I got carried away. It really is tasty.”
From there, the conversation shifted to present-day events. Adage talked about the sermon he was preparing for the following Sunday, about the fundraiser to repair the church’s leaky roof, and how Mrs. Trilby had asked him to spray holy water on her roses because she wanted them to grow faster.
When Keira had finished as much of her plate as would fit inside her, Adage pushed his chair back and folded his hands over his stomach. Blue eyes twinkling behind his glasses, he watched Keira. “Now, there was one other reason I invited you here tonight beyond the enjoyment of your company. I have an offer for you.”
“Oh yes?” Keira sat up a little straighter.
“One of my parishioner’s sisters in Glendale is looking for a live-in assistant for her bed-and-breakfast. It’s a busy little establishment, apparently, and she’s seeking someone who will work there in exchange for a room, food, and a modest wage. If you accept, she would like you to start on Friday, in two days’ time.”
“Oh.” That’s so soon. Keira had to fight to keep any trace of disappointment off her face. “How far away is Glendale?”
“About six hours. I can arrange a lift to a train station in the next town, which will take you the rest of the way.” He was watching her closely. “How do you feel about it? I thought it might suit you. Miss Wright is willing to give you all of the training you need, and you’ll get cash in hand if you’re not able to open a bank account. Plus, my hope is that putting a little distance between you and this town will make it harder for those men to find you. It will be busy work, but I think you’re up to the challenge.”
“Yes! It sounds perfect. Thank you so much.” She made herself smile. You’re not in a position to be picky. This is your opportunity to restart your life. Be grateful.
Adage nodded. “I’ll send word and see about booking that train ticket. Truth be told, I’ll be sad to see you go, but I think you’ll get along with Miss Wright exceptionally well. It’s probably the best outcome I could have hoped for.”
“It really is. Let me help with the tidying up.”
As Keira dried the dishes and Adage washed, she stared through the kitchen window and watched the mist slide among the forest’s trunks. If I leave on Friday, that gives me tonight, all of tomorrow, and a couple of hours on Friday morning to do everything. To say goodbye to Mason and Zoe. Thank Polly Kennard for the flowers. Thank Adage for the exceptional kindness he’s shown. And help a lost spirit…
“Keira?” Steam from the sink had fogged up Adage’s glasses, so he slipped them down his nose to see her better. “Is everything all right?”
Smile, you idiot. “Yes, I’m good! Just a bit tired. It’s been a long day.” Tired. Miserable at the thought of leaving Blighty. Frightened of walking through that fog to reach the cottage. Worried that two days won’t be enough time to help a woman who has no one else to turn to.
If my old life was this messy, it’s no wonder my brain refuses to remember it.
Chapter Eighteen
Keira stood on the edge of the graveyard. Long rectangles of light stretched from the parsonage’s windows to paint wan color over the nearest stones. She exhaled, and condensation rose from her lips.
It’s not far. Just start walking. You’ll be home before you know it.
Her dinner with Adage had gone late. The moon presided high in the sky, surrounded by a crowd of attendant stars. Adage had given her a flashlight to light her way back to the cottage, but despite the lingering clouds, the natural light was strong enough to show her path.
One foot in front of the other. Head down. Senses high. Emma’s grave is on the other side of the cottage; you’re not going anywhere near her.
Keira tried to keep her eyes fixed on the ground, but it was hard not to look up and play guessing games with the swirling fog, heavy shadows, and cowled stone figures. Shapes seemed to move when she took her eyes off them. She hunted for the prickles along her spine that announced the presence of spirits and sensed a dull touch. It was like having a feather drawn down her back. They’re here, but they’re not trying to be felt.
She paused at the stone fence. The cottage was only a half dozen paces ahead of her, but it felt wrong to keep walking. With so little time left, she couldn’t afford to ignore the spirits at her doorstep.
Keira took deliberately slow and even breaths as she turned to face the cemetery. An owl piped its morose call from the woods behind her. A gentle wind ruffled the trees, scratching their branches together to build a discordant, crackling symphony. She felt for the muscle she’d used to see the ghosts the day before. It wasn’t easy to find, and for a moment, she thought the ability might have disappeared. Then she felt a twinge of soreness left from straining it and pulled on it to open her eyes.
The mist had thickened in some areas. The effect was barely perceptible, but pools of deeper white clung to certain places even as the fog shifted around them. Keira pushed the ability harder. It sent a sharp, stabbing pain through her skull, but the figures flared into view.
Immediately ahead and twelve grave markers deep, a tall, bone-thin woman watched Keira out of the corner of her eye. She was elderly and dressed in a heavy Victorian gown, complete with bustle, gloves, and hat. As soon as Keira looked at her, she turned and began walking toward the opposite fence, seemingly affronted that Keira would attempt to make eye contact.
Beyond her was an old man, bent nearly double from rheumatism, his only clothing a pair of boxer shorts. He was fainter than the Victorian woman but stood leaning on his gravestone with one hand. Even farther behind him was a small shape still not quite visible. A child? Keira strained the muscle more, but the pain shot deep into her head and made her press her palms against her temples. When she opened her eyes again, the figures had vanished.
She took another long, calming breath as she waited for the throbbing headache to dull. Then she wet her lips and took a risk. “Emma, are you here?”
The woman hadn’t been visible when Keira had used her second sight, and she didn’t appear now, even though Keira knew Emma had the ability to.
She might be ashamed by what she did last night. She could still be angry that I haven’t helped. She could have overheard Adage’s offer and become disheartened. I wish she’d come out and talk with me again. Maybe making herself visible exhausts her in the same way that using the second sight hurts me?
“Emma, I haven’t forgotten my promise. I’m going to help you if I can.” Keira balled her hands into fists, trying not to feel too foolish as she talked to the empty cemetery. “Honestly, you haven’t given me much to go off, but I’m still going to try. Frank hung himself in the mill. Is he still there? Is he the reason you haven’t left this earth?”
No response. Keira dared to pull at the muscle behind her eyes. It was hot agony, but gave her a brief glimpse of the indistinct shapes dotting the graveyard. Emma still wasn’t present.
“I’m going to go there. I…I don’t have much time left in Blighty and probably won’t ever be coming back. But so help me, I’ll give this
everything I have.” No answer. “Well…okay. Good talk.”
She turned back to the cottage. As she walked to the door, it was hard not to feel dozens of eyes following her back. So many spirits. Some that I can’t even see clearly. They must all have a reason to linger; I wish I had the time to help them. The door opened with a groan, and Keira stepped inside, feeling as though her heart were breaking.
Something small and warm rubbed across her leg, and it eased some of her pain. Keira smiled as she bent to pick up the cat. “Hey, Daisy, did you miss me?”
The cat, nearly invisible in the cottage’s dark, purred heartily and tried to lick Keira’s chin. Keira chuckled as she took her pet back to the fireplace, then cleared away the empty dinner plate, and set about rebuilding the flames.
“Adage found a place for me to stay,” she said. The cat stood, tail twitching, watching the flames, then lay down in the same headfirst free fall she’d used when Keira had first found her. She seemed thoroughly unconcerned with Keira’s situation. “I’ll be leaving the day after tomorrow. Which means I’ll need to find you a new home.”
She sat on the rug and pulled her knees up under her chin. The fire was growing quickly, but it did little to warm her. “The lady at the bed-and-breakfast probably doesn’t want any pets. And…” Her throat hurt, so she swallowed the pain. “And it’s probably best for you to stay in Blighty anyway, in case your real owner is eventually found.”
Keira glanced at the cat to see her response. Daisy was borderline asleep, and one eye slowly drifted in the wrong direction. Keira didn’t know whether to sigh or laugh, so the two mixed together into a weird, mangled cough. She scratched behind the cat’s ears and earned fresh purrs for her efforts.
“I’m starting to think you’re not magical after all. I’ve just been talking to a normal stray this whole time, haven’t I?”
The cat lifted her head to look at Keira, her lips parted, and for a fraction of a second, Keira actually expected Daisy to speak. Then she burped, rolled over, and closed her eyes.
The Whispering Dead: Gravekeeper Book 1 Page 12