by K. J. Emrick
“Huh.”
James looked over at me and I realized that I said that out loud. My thoughts had just lurched to a conclusion I should have made hours ago. It was so sudden that I couldn’t keep it bottled inside. I didn’t know how I’d missed it before.
“I know that look,” James told me. “That’s a dangerous look.”
“What? No it isn’t.”
“Oh yes, it is.” He slowed down to pull into the crowded car park of a fancy building with paper lanterns hanging from the eaves. “That’s the look you have when you’re plunging head first into a mystery whether the mystery wants you to or not.”
“I don’t have a look.”
“Yes, you do.” He put the car into park and then here we were, at the restaurant.
He was still watching me, waiting for me to explain my little outburst. I do not have a look, but I don’t want to sit in this car park all night while we argue that point, either. If he thinks I have a look, then maybe he should learn to walk softly when I’m wearing it. “It’s nothing,” I try to tell him.
“Dell.”
I keep my head forward as I look at him from the corner of my eye.
“Remember,” he said, “you wanted me to be more attentive to you. Well, this is me being more attentive. What’s going through that mind of yours?”
With a sigh, I slump down in my seat. The satiny green dress I put on before we left the cabin wasn’t really designed for slumping, but I was in that kind of mood. The hem ended up around my knees. Somehow I don’t think James minded. “It’s just something that our neighbor said.”
“Stevie?”
Now my sidelong glance became more of a glare. “Remember her name, do you?”
“Kind of hard to forget a girl named Stevie. Wonder if it’s short for Stephanie?”
I really couldn’t care less what it’s short or long for. “Stevie,” I said, with a lot of emphasis on the name, “said she was trying to sleep because she had to work tonight.”
The wheels turned behind his furrowed brow. “So? I catch my winks during the day sometimes, too, when I know I’m going to be working a story that keeps me up nights.”
“So you think she’s a reporter?”
“Well, no,” he said, waving a hand in the air. “That was just an example. Lots of folks haveta sleep days and work nights.”
Which was true, but… “How many of those people rent a cabin in a tourist town so they can get their winks?”
The light dawned in his eyes. “Not too many, I’d say. If you’re working nights to make money you don’t blow it all on a rented cabin. I know what we’re laying out to stay there, so…”
He never did tell me what it cost to rent the cabin, but I knew it was straining his budget. It occurred to me then that I hadn’t exactly been appreciative of what he was trying to do for me. All those selfish thoughts about how he should be paying attention to me and not Alistair or Stevie or anyone else… that was just rubbish, wasn’t it? I mean, it was me he was with. I should just take that and be happy with it.
Leaning across the seat, I kissed his cheek and stroked his chin with my fingers. “I love you, James Callahan.”
A little grin tugged at his mouth. “Now what was that for?”
It’s not lost on me that he doesn’t say the three little words back, but that’s the way men are sometimes. “I wanted you to know I appreciate you. A lot of guys… see, my life isn’t exactly normal right now. Hasn’t been for a while, I guess.”
His hand reached out and took mine.
“So I just…” I continued, fumbling for the words, “…I want you to know that it means a lot that you stuck by me. That you brought me here to try and take my mind off everything. My husband being murdered, the way we found his body…”
The ghosts who seem to be flocking to my Inn because they know I can hear them…
The ghost in the ladies room demanding I do something but not telling me what that something is or how I’m supposed to do anything about it…
James wasn’t ready to hear those parts of my life. Not yet. Or, maybe it was me that wasn’t ready to tell him. Either way, we hadn’t talked about how I could see and hear and talk to ghosts. I was convinced in my own head that if I ever did tell someone they would rush to have me fitted for a straightjacket and a rubber room. Keeping that secret from him added its own sort of tension to our relationship but I thought it would be better than the alternative.
He leaned over and kissed me tenderly, holding both of my hands and balancing himself so there was just enough pressure and just enough force and, holy dooley, James is such a good kisser.
The tapping on the window interrupted us, and we both sat bolt upright like two kids caught on prom night.
Only, in the darkening car park around us, there was no one there.
“Kids,” James grumbled under his breath. “Well, hope they got a show before they tapped on the glass. Come on, let’s go inside and find Alistair. I promise not to speak to the man again afterward.”
I smiled at him patiently, because I didn’t believe a word he was saying. When James got onto a story he didn’t drop it for anyone. Including me. If I thought I had a look, then he had a way.
He got out first and closed the door and I was just about to follow him when the windshield frosted over from side to side with a soft skitching sort of sound. A thin, white layer of ice from side to side. It was still warm outside. It was warm in the car.
In spite of that, I shivered.
In the frosted glass, hesitant lines were drawn.
Not again.
The message held my attention. Just like the warning in the bathroom mirror had.
Then James was opening my door for me. I gasped, startled out of my wits. I’d been watching the words crawl across the windshield and I’d forgotten where I even was for a tick. Now I looked back to see the frost had evaporated and only the faintest of lines could be seen where the words had been drawn. Nothing there for James to see. This message, like the one in the bathroom, was just for me.
“Dell? You all right?”
No, I am most definitely not all right. While I was thinking that to myself, I said to James, “I’m fine. Just a little hungry, I guess.”
As we went around the car to cross to the restaurant, I kept an eye on the windshield. Nothing else appeared but that didn’t exactly ease my troubled mind. What had I gotten myself into this time?
“Are you sure you’re—?”
Before James could finish the question I snaked my arm through his and pressed myself into his side. “I’m fine. Let’s go eat.”
If there’s anything that can distract a man it’s a woman’s soft body cozying up to him. Not fair, maybe, but a woman has her ways.
Inside the restaurant, soft music played over speakers in the corners of the ceiling. Candles in glass globe holders burned brightly on the tables. People talked with each other or pored over tall, single-panel menus. Waitresses in long-sleeved white shirts and very short black skirts rushed back and forth with frozen smiles.
“There he is,” James said, pointing to a table at the far end of the room. “Ready?”
Oh, absolutely. Putting on my friendliest face, I shrugged without a lot of conviction, and let James lead me over that way. A hostess intercepted us halfway across to ask if we wanted to be seated but we explained we were just meeting a friend. Well, James used the word friend. I just smiled at the woman until she babbled something polite and walked away.
“Ah, good.” Alistair stood up for us, reaching out to shake hands with James. “So glad you could both make it.”
He looked at me when he said it, and I got the feeling he was trying hard to make a good second impression on me. I was willing to give him points for the effort. I was still looking forward to this night being over, though.
James sat on the same side of the table with me and we looked over the menu together. “It all looks so good,” he said. I wasn’t sure I agreed. I swear, the next
meal we eat out I’m choosing the restaurant and it’s going to be a burger place.
“I recommend the pan-fried trout,” Alistair said. “Paired with a nice glass of marsanne.”
“You’ve been here before?” I asked him.
“Certainly. I was telling James earlier that I’ve come here several years in a row. I’ve family that still live here in Port Arthur. Distant rellies, you understand, but still. I’ve been doing all I can to follow up on my family roots.”
“Family is important,” I said. I meant it, too, which surprised me because I hadn’t expected to have anything at all in common with Alistair.
Alistair set his menu aside. “James told me about your husband. So sad, that. So very sad.”
I was very sure that flames were burning in my eyes when I turned my focus on James. How dare he. How dare he tell anyone at all about circumstances surrounding the death of my husband especially this man sitting here that we’ve never met before ever… erngh.
“Greetings, and welcome to the George Arthur Café and Bistro,” one of the mini-skirted waitresses said, appearing at our table just as my blood pressure was reaching a boiling point that would push several things out of my mouth that I would never be able to take back. “I’m Sally, and I’ll be happy to take your order.”
“We’re not ready to order yet,” I said, my tone clearly telling the waitress she should take her form-fitting shirt and go away now.
“Are you sure? I can tell you our specials if you like.”
Apparently, Sally wasn’t getting my subtle hint.
I added a smile for effect. “Sally. Please come back later.”
She blinked at me. Obviously, she wasn’t used to people telling her perky blonde butt to take a walk. I flashed my smile at her, and she clutched her order book to her chest very tightly. The moment stretched.
Alistair cleared his throat. “That’s quite all right, Sally. I’ll call you over when we’re ready.”
“Have to be soon,” James muttered, very carefully not looking at me. “If we’re going to make the ghost tour then we can’t be here all night.”
I swear my gaze should be burning holes through the top of James’ head. Why wasn’t anyone put off by how angry I was?
“Oh,” Sally the waitress offered, still holding her order book in front of her like a shield. “You didn’t hear? They cancelled the nightly tours for the rest of the week.”
“What?” James exclaimed. “That’s terrible. What happened?”
“Yes,” Alistair added. “They haven’t cancelled the tours here since… well, since the events of ‘96.”
The massacre, he meant. This, I knew, was a subject you didn’t bring up here in Port Arthur. A lot of the people who lived and worked in town had been there for the actual event. Stuff like that makes for bad memories. Stacks of tourists make the honest mistake of treating it like a fun bit of trivia. Somebody as cultured as Doctor Alistair Grotton would know enough to be sensitive about that horrible day.
But he’s right. Something serious must have happened for them to cancel a money-making venture like the ghost tour.
“Oh, it’s terrible, for sure” Sally told us, even though the light in her eyes said that she was enjoying the chance to spread the gossip. “There was a kidnapping. One of the tourists up there at the prison got snatched up or something. It’s a whole thing. The Federal Police are down there now.”
The ghostly warnings from today came to my mind immediately. Don’t let it happen again. The scream in the Lady’s Room… I’d thought it was just a ghost I was hearing. The echo of something from the past. What if I’d been wrong?
What if the girl had been kidnapped right out of the Lady’s Room while I was there?
“Who?” I asked frantically. “Who got kidnapped?”
Sally blinked at me and actually cringed like she was too scared of me to answer. Guess I’d laid it on a bit thick before. After a moment, the desire to spread the story finally outweighed the need to stay away from the crazy growling woman. “I don’t remember the name,” she said. “I think it was on the news. In the paper, I mean. I think there was a picture in the paper.”
That was all she could manage to get out with me still smiling and glaring at everyone around us. I swear to you she squeaked before spinning around and zipping away through the tables to hide behind the bar and whisper with the man pouring drinks, very carefully not looking my way.
When I turned back to James he had already taken out his mobile to pull up the websites of the local papers. I didn’t even have to ask him what he was doing, I just know him that well. He thinks I’ve got a look? Nothing’s more obvious than when James is running down a story. Right now he wants to see the article that shows the face of the kidnap victim.
So do I.
“Find anything yet?”
“Shh,” he answers me.
“I was just asking—”
“Shh.” This time it’s louder, and I notice the storm clouds in his eyes. “I think you’ve said enough for now, don’t you?”
“What are you…?”
“Here,” he said, completely ignoring me. “Here’s the story.”
Setting his phone down on the table he turned the screen around so both I and Alistair could see it. Truth be told, I’d been expecting to see the face of the loud-mouthed American with his dangling earring. Instead, after reading the headline and skimming down a few paragraphs, what I found was a photo that had obviously been scanned and enlarged from a group shot. Probably something one of her two friends had taken on one of their mobiles.
It was the smiling face of the blonde university girl. The one with the heart tattoo on her cheek that I’d seen during our tour of the penitentiary.
Underneath it was a name. Rory Hunter.
James chewed on his lip. “This isn’t a very deep article. Needs more information. Wasn’t this girl with a couple of other kids? Sure she was. A guy and another girl. If I could find them, and interview them…”
His eyes came up to meet mine, and I very nearly expected his head to explode just from that one glance. To say I was furious at the prospect of being ignored all over again so James could file a story didn’t even begin to cover it. I’d passed furious several kilometers back. I could look in the rearview if I wanted to have a squizz at what furious looked like.
Livid. That was a good word for what I was feeling.
“It’s my job,” he said defensively. “It’s what I do, Dell. If I was here in the middle of this story and didn’t file anything the paper’d cut me loose quicker’n Timberlake dropped N’SYNC.”
Alistair raised an eyebrow. I almost did the same but then I didn’t, because I did not want to look like I was copying Alistair. Did my big, tough reporter boyfriend just make an N’SYNC reference?
Rolling his hand in the air, James picked his mobile up again. “I need to do me job. That’s all I mean.”
“You need,” I told him flatly, “to pay attention to your girlfriend. You need to keep your promise and be here for me. Remember? That’s why we came here.”
“Things change,” is what he said to me.
Without a doubt, that was the single wrong thing to say.
I pushed my chair back and braced my hands on the table. “Time for me to leave, I think.”
“Dell, please,” he said. Seems he was saying that a lot lately. “Try to understand. This is what I do. It’s who I am. This is me.”
“And this is me,” I told him. “Leaving.”
Before I could stand up, Alistair cleared his throat. “I don’t wish to cause trouble but I’d be happy to assist you in getting your article, James. I’ve got a unique view about the town, as you know. Might even know a few things the local reporters don’t.”
James nodded, dividing his attention between me and Alistair. “That’d be aces. Thanks. Dell, I’d like to do this together. Me and you, just like always. I figured this’d be something you were really into. Never known ya to shy away from a mys
tery.”
Which was true. That stubborn streak of curiosity I’ve developed really puts me in the middle of things. Or, it used to, before the biggest mystery of my life landed my husband dead and murdered literally at the doorstop of my Inn. After that, I didn’t want to know mysteries. All the ghosts in the world could come up to me and say ‘boo’ right in my face and all I’d do is give them a gobful and send them back to wherever it was ghosts went when they weren’t bugging me.
“I’m going,” I said, very slowly, “back to the cabin. That’s where you can find me when you want to spend time with me instead of your job.”
This time I got all the way to my feet without anyone stopping me. I swear I saw Sally the waitress brace herself for me to start shouting as I walked past on my way to the exit. It didn’t occur to me until I was outside that I was going to need a cab. Again. Shoulda just added the number for the cab company into my speed dial.
The car park was still dimly lit as I stood there, one hand on my forehead, wondering what in God’s name I was doing here. I felt abandoned. Shoved aside. Forgotten. The worst part about it was the way my expectations that I had built up for this little vacation of ours were being dashed. I had wanted James and I to get closer to each other. To form a stronger relationship that could heal what had been broken by my last one. Years of pent up emotions over my husband, and no way to safely let them out. Everything was wrong in my life and I needed James to make it right.
Apparently I was expecting too much. If this was the way it was going to be with James and me, then I didn’t know why I was bothering.
That was a bigger concern, for later. For now, I just wanted to go back to the cabin. There was no sense going back to the prison site if the tour was cancelled. I was not going to stay here with James and his new best friend in their mutual admiration society. On the other hand, the cabin was just going to feel big and empty. Even with young, barely dressed neighbors popping by.