After taking him out for a wee, Lauren made herself a spinach and cheese omelet and a cup of coffee, then returned upstairs, sitting down at the desk where the woman had sat only an hour before. There was no trace of the letter she’d been writing or the implements, only Lauren’s laptop, which hummed accusingly as soon as she powered it up. She hadn’t done any work in nearly a week and it was time to get started. She was working on an autobiography of a popular reality star whose life was of little interest to Lauren, but it was a job, and she would do it to the best of her ability. Once she finished the project, she’d devote some time to her own writing.
“How about writing a ghost story?” Zack’s voice whispered in her mind. “You always said you wanted to try a different genre.”
“I don’t think so,” Lauren replied. “Ghost stories are really not my thing.”
“Okay, how about a historical romance, then? You used to love reading those. Remember that series you gobbled up about the woman who went back in time to eighteenth-century Scotland? You couldn’t buy those books fast enough.”
“All right. I’ll think about it,” Lauren replied grudgingly. “Now I must concentrate on my client’s meteoric rise to fame. She wants to devote an entire chapter to Twitter and how a nude selfie she posted went viral.”
She could almost hear Zack’s chuckle as she pulled out her notes and began to type.
Chapter 4
When Lauren took Billy back to the vet on Friday, he got a clean bill of health and nearly leapt off the examining table headfirst in his desire to get away. Dr. Kelly caught him deftly and handed him to Lauren, who held him close, terrified he’d hurt himself again.
“It’s like having a child,” Dr. Kelly said, correctly interpreting her expression. “You might want to puppy-proof the house. As he gets bigger, he’ll try to climb the stairs and drink from the toilet.”
“Eww. Gross,” Lauren said, making a face.
Dr. Kelly shrugged. “That’s what puppies do. Is he your first dog?”
“Yes.” Zack had wanted to get a dog, but Lauren had argued that their apartment was too small and they should wait until they bought a house. Her gaze slid toward the photograph of Holland House. “You mentioned that you like history,” she began, instantly wishing she hadn’t said anything.
“Yes, local history in particular. Why?”
“I’d like to learn more about Holland House.”
Dr. Kelly leaned against the examining table and crossed his arms, his head tilted to the side as he considered her request. “Have you experienced something odd?”
“How do you mean?”
“I’ve been hearing stories about that place since I was a little kid: weird creaking noises, candlelight flickering in the window, the sound of a woman crying… It was the ultimate act of bravery to go there on Halloween,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Are you afraid of ghosts?” The smile broadened into a full-on grin.
Lauren’s cheeks heated with embarrassment. First, she’d brought up that the house was said to be haunted, and now they were once again speaking of ghosts. She averted her gaze, staring at Billy’s silky head instead, but Dr. Kelly wasn’t fooled by her sudden aloofness.
“Tell you what. Meet me for a drink, and I’ll tell you everything I know.”
Lauren’s head shot up, her eyes opening wide. Was he asking her out? Wasn’t it unethical to fraternize with one’s patients? Well, technically, she wasn’t his patient; Billy was. And what was the harm? She’d spent less than a week in the house alone and already she felt the heavy weight of loneliness pressing down on her restless mind. Getting away and changing her surroundings had seemed like a great idea, but now that she was installed at Holland House, she felt even more lonely and unsettled. She didn’t know anyone in Orleans and wasn’t likely to make new friends if she didn’t come out of her shell, at least once in a while.
“All right,” she said, wondering if she was going to regret this. “Where and when?”
“Tonight? Unless you have big plans for your first Friday night in town.”
“I don’t.”
“How about the Blue Fin Bar and Grill? Say, seven? Do you know where it is?”
“I’ll find it. See you later, Dr. Kelly.”
“It’s Ryan,” he called after her, making her smile.
**
Lauren’s nervousness increased as the afternoon wore on. Why had she agreed to meet Ryan Kelly? She hardly knew him. Just because he was Billy’s veterinarian didn’t mean she should trust him. Maybe he made a pass at all his female clients. And how did he know she was single? Maybe she’d moved into Holland House with her husband and children, she reasoned as she stood in front of the antique wardrobe, looking for something to wear.
“Wear something pretty,” she heard Zack say. Lauren felt the prickle of tears and turned away from the wardrobe, unnerved. Zack’s spirit was urging her to move on, to open herself up to new experiences, but was it his guilt that prompted this encouragement, or her own need to come to terms with the loss she’d suffered? For the first nine months after his death, she’d felt nothing but impenetrable grief, but her feelings had shifted, going from sadness and hopelessness to anger and hurt. Her mother assured her that she was just going through the stages of grief, but her mother didn’t know the whole story; no one did. She had to work through her feelings on her own, without involving family or friends. Perhaps it was childish to feel ashamed, or misguided to keep their memories of Zack untarnished, but that was what she’d decided to do when she committed to this period of exile. She had a decision to make, and once she knew how she intended to proceed, she’d tell everyone the truth. But not yet. She wasn’t ready to shed light on something she’d kept hidden for the past few months, or to hear everyone’s opinions on the subject. This was between her and Zack, and it would remain that way, at least for now.
Suddenly upset, Lauren whipped out her phone and dialed Dr. Kelly’s office, hoping it wasn’t too late to cancel, but Merielle’s voice informed her that the office was closed and gave a number to call in case of emergency. It seemed wrong to call the emergency number simply to weasel out of having a drink with the man, so Lauren disconnected the call and turned back to the meager selection of clothes hanging in the wardrobe. She hadn’t brought any of her dressier outfits. She hadn’t worn them in ages, and there had seemed no point in lugging extra clothes when she’d be spending most of her time on her own.
She finally selected a cashmere V-neck in hunter green and paired it with the black slacks she’d brought along in case she needed to meet with a client. She hadn’t worn any makeup when she saw Dr. Kelly at the office, but some vestige of feminine vanity ushered her into the bathroom, where she applied eyeliner and mascara and dabbed a little lipstick onto her pale lips before releasing her heavy blonde hair from its ponytail.
The sky was full of stars, and a nearly full moon hung majestically over the inky water of the Atlantic by the time Lauren arrived at the waterfront bar. A part of her desperately wanted to turn around and drive away, but she forced herself to leave the sanctuary of her car and walked up the gravel path toward the door. The dining room was spacious and well lit, with waiters weaving between the tables and the hum of conversation spilling through the open doors, but the bar area was surprisingly intimate. Comfortable armchairs and couches stood grouped around small tables that afforded the perfect view of the moonlit bay, and soft music played in the background.
Ryan, who’d been occupying one of the armchairs, got to his feet and came over to greet her, giving her a casual peck on the cheek. “You came,” he said unnecessarily.
“I did,” Lauren replied, suddenly glad she’d overcome her reservations. It’d been a long time since she’d been out, and it felt nice not to be alone on a Friday night. She took the other chair and Ryan summoned the waiter.
“What will you have?” Ryan asked Lauren.
“Prosecco, please.”
“And a glass of Pinot Noir f
or me,” Ryan said. “Are you hungry? We can get a couple of appetizers.”
“I’m okay, thanks.”
“Maybe later,” Ryan said to the waiting waiter. “We’ll start with the drinks.” He leaned back in his armchair and crossed his legs, looking casual and relaxed. He wore a dark-blue button-down shirt, jeans, and a pair of comfortable-looking suede loafers, making Lauren glad she’d decided to change out of her leggings and sweater.
“You look nice,” he said, smiling shyly.
“Thank you,” Lauren muttered, disconcerted by his praise. “It’s beautiful,” she said, gazing out over the moonlit bay to distract him from watching her. “The stars never look this bright in Boston. There’s too much light.”
“The sky probably looked much the same when the first settlers arrived on Cape Cod,” he replied.
“Have you lived here long?”
“All my life. My mother’s ancestors settled on Cape Cod in the sixteenth century. The first Hayworth to arrive on these shores was a master builder, and he passed on his skills to future generations. The Hayworths built many of the houses in this area. My paternal great-great-grandparents came here from County Cork in Ireland and settled in Orleans, spawning several generations of fishermen. My dad was the first Kelly to go to college. He taught high school level history. He was the one who got me interested in local lore.”
“And who got you interested in photography?” Lauren asked with a smile. Was she flirting?
“My mom, actually. She likes to take pictures. The walls were always covered with family photos and nature shots she’d taken while I was growing up. She especially loves photographing lighthouses.”
“Did she take that photo of the lighthouse in a storm I saw in your waiting room?”
“Yes, she did. I love that one. It’s one of her favorites, but she gave it to me as a gift when I opened my own practice.”
The waiter returned with their drinks, and Lauren took a sip of her Prosecco, nodding in approval. It was delicious. “So, what do you know about Holland House?” she asked, reminding him why they were there.
“Not much,” Ryan replied, grinning sheepishly. “I invited you out under false pretenses. I just wanted to have a drink with you.”
“Do you have drinks with all your clients?” Lauren asked, miffed at being duped.
“Only the ones I want to get to know better.” Ryan’s expression grew serious when he realized she was angry. “Look, I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable. You’re actually the first client I’ve ever seen outside the office—by design, that is. I run into my clients all the time. This is a small town.”
“It’s fine. I’m glad I came,” Lauren admitted.
“Ah, so you did want to see me again,” he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Either that or you’re starting to feel lonely in that big, empty house.”
Lauren glanced away. Was it that obvious that she was lonely? Some women wore their widowhood like a shield, using it to keep out the world that refused to stop spinning despite their loss, but although she wasn’t ready to embark on a new relationship, she didn’t want to come off as someone who was wallowing in grief, giving off waves of loneliness and impenetrable sadness.
“It is a bit quiet,” she agreed. “I’ve lived in Boston all my life. I’m used to traffic, noise, and crowds.”
“I went to school in Boston, but I was glad to come home. I love it here, especially in the off-season. There are some mornings when it’s overcast and the fog still hasn’t burned off and the beach feels completely deserted, as it must have been before anyone settled here. There’s an eerie stillness that envelops you in its embrace, and the waves lap at the shore, rolling in faster and faster as the tide comes in. It’s perfect. And then Jack, my dog, spots a squirrel and it all goes to hell in a handbasket.”
Lauren took a leisurely sip of her drink and reflected on what Ryan had described. It had been foggy and silent only that morning, the mist moving stealthily between the trees and shrouding the dock in a thick blanket of white. She’d heard the blast of a foghorn somewhere in the distance and had looked away from the vast emptiness beyond, feeling uncomfortably isolated. Had the woman she’d seen that first morning felt the same when she’d looked out the window of her house on the hill?
“Surely you must know something about Holland House, having lived here all your life,” Lauren said.
“Only that it’s said to be haunted, which is nonsense, of course. Any house that’s seen several generations of people carries some footprint of their lives; it’s only natural, but that doesn’t mean their spirits are actually hanging around, spooking the current residents.”
“Tell me about Orleans, then,” Lauren invited. Learning about the town would give her a starting point in her research if she decided to pursue her idea.
“That I can do,” Ryan replied. “This area was first settled at the end of the seventeenth century by Pilgrims who left the Plymouth colony in the hope of securing arable tracts of farmland. It was sparsely populated, and its industry revolved around fishing, whaling, and farming. Most houses were very modest, which made Holland House an oddity when it was built, since it was quite sizeable. The inhabitants of the house didn’t farm the land, nor did they join the ranks of men who went out to fish, which set them apart from the community. Over time, the Holland family became one of the most prominent in Orleans.”
“That’s a French name, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Orleans was named after Louis Philippe II, Duke of Orleans, in honor of France’s support of the American colonies during the Revolutionary War, but at the time Holland House was built, this area was considered the southernmost parish of Eastham. To be honest, I never really looked into the history of the house. My interest always lay in Hog Island, which is clearly visible from Holland House.”
“Are you going to tell me what’s so special about this island, or will I have to guess?”
Ryan laughed softly. Lauren thought he might have blushed, but the lighting was too dim to tell for certain. “When I was a boy, I went through a prolonged pirate phase,” Ryan said, smiling at the memory. “My grandfather told me the story of Captain Kidd and his treasure, and it captured my imagination.”
“And who, exactly, was Captain Kidd?” Lauren asked, giggling when Ryan gave her a stare of mock horror.
“You’ve never heard of Captain Kidd?”
“Not that I can recall, no.”
“Captain Kidd was a seventeenth-century Scottish sailor who became a notorious pirate. Legend has it that he buried part of his treasure right here on Hog Island. The greater part of his loot was said to be buried on Gardiner’s Island off the coast of Long Island. He was arrested and eventually executed. The treasure he left behind was never unearthed, either here or on Long Island, but it wasn’t for lack of trying. People have been looking for it for centuries. If you row out to the island, you can still find broken shovels and dug-out pits where treasure hunters tried their luck. It’s believed that he revealed the exact location of the loot to his wife in one of his letters, but no such letter ever came to light. When I was a boy, I was convinced that I would be the one to find the treasure and become rich and famous.”
“And how did that work out for you?” Lauren asked, trying to imagine Ryan as a boy.
“Not well. Like many others before me, I failed to find any trace of the booty.”
“That’s a shame,” Lauren replied.
“Don’t I know it. When I was about ten, being a pirate seemed like the most romantic of occupations. Had someone told me I’d be neutering dogs and putting beloved pets to sleep, I would have had them walk the plank.”
“Life has its own plan, doesn’t it?”
“It certainly does.”
“And what does your daughter want to do? Would she like to follow in your footsteps and become a veterinarian?”
Ryan looked momentarily blank, then smiled and nodded as if he’d just gotten the punchline of a joke. “Merielle is not m
y daughter. She’s my little sister. She’ll be going to UMass in the fall, but she’s helping me in the office until then. She says I’m a great boss,” he added smugly. “Really understanding.”
“Is a lot of understanding required?” Lauren asked, curious what he meant.
“She’s an eighteen-year-old girl who likes to party. Need I say more?”
“No, I guess not. I haven’t had any dealings with teenagers since I was a teenager myself, but I can imagine.”
“So, what do you do when you’re not skulking around historic houses?” Ryan asked.
“At the moment, I work as a ghostwriter.”
“What does that entail?” he asked.
“Ghostwriters are usually hired by people who want to write a book but don’t have any writing ability to speak of, most often for the purpose of writing an autobiography. Sometimes, established fiction writers hire ghosts to increase their output. They provide the ghostwriter with an outline and have them write the story in the writer’s name, preferably copying their style of writing.”
“Isn’t that cheating?” Ryan asked.
“It’s perfectly legal. Many big-name writers use ghosts, but they usually give them credit for the work.”
“Are you working on something now?”
“I’m writing an autobiography of a well-known reality star.”
“Anyone I’d be familiar with?” Ryan asked.
“Oh yes, but I can’t tell you her name. I’d be violating the terms of the contract.”
“And how is it progressing?”
“With excruciating slowness. I usually have a good working relationship with my clients, but this woman could probably make the Dalai Lama lose his cool. It’s nearly impossible to get her to concentrate for longer than a minute. She’s constantly on her phone, checking the number of her Twitter followers and posting selfies. She thinks I can write the book without her input.”
“Have you ever tried writing under your own name?” he asked, watching her with interest.
“Yes, but I haven’t written anything new since… I’m sorry, I can’t…” Lauren looked away as tears threatened to fall. She didn’t want to talk about Zack or her reasons for leaving Boston. She was shocked to realize that until Ryan had brought up the past, she’d gone a whole half hour without thinking about Zack, something that hadn’t happened since he’d left on his first tour. Lauren angrily wiped away the tear that slid down her cheek and fumbled in her bag for a tissue.
The House on the Hill: A Ghost Story Page 3