by Krista Walsh
“I don’t know,” Mary Ruth said, and Daphne’s hopes fell. She realized she’d been crossing her fingers that the resolution of her story would be simple — just a matter of tracking down the beastie, figuring out what it was, and doing away with it.
Mary Ruth pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Her gaze flitted around the room as though she expected the culprit to appear again through the walls. Her body flickered, and a wave of fear washed off of her like tendrils of electricity, wrapping around Daphne and making her skin tingle.
“It’s all right,” said Daphne. “Just tell me anything you remember.”
The ghost’s image steadied, but when she spoke, her voice was small.
“I didn’t see anything. I just remember feeling…angry. As if someone was pointing and laughing at me or pulling my hair or telling Mummy that I’d done something I shouldn’t have.” She frowned. “No, it was memories of all those things. I remembered all the bad things that had happened to me growing up. I cried and screamed out because I wanted the memories to go away. And then there was something on my chest.”
She moved her hand to her breast, as though the weight still pressed down on her a hundred years later.
“I fought to get it off, but its mouth was on mine. I screamed and fought and shoved, but then that was it. I went blank. When I woke up again, I was standing outside my body. The room was dark, but I saw a figure standing over me. I’m not the only one it happened to. There are so many of us. We’re all stuck here, floating around without any purpose. We’re trapped like animals.”
She flickered again, and Daphne wished she could reach out and calm the woman down. “Nothing can hurt you now. I want to figure out what happened to you.”
“It’s lonely here,” Mary Ruth said. “No one else who sees me can speak to me. Their mouths are silent. There are others who can talk, but they’re too far away for us to hear each other.”
Daphne thought about what it might mean if some spirits were closer to the divide between worlds than others. Her best guess was that the ones who were murdered were anchored to the hospital, while the one who had died of more natural causes were closer to crossing over. And yet they were all here, trapped. She frowned. “You were silenced as well, but you can speak.”
The woman nodded. “That figure by my bed cut through whatever stopped my screams. He allowed me to speak. But back then I didn’t know how. This form was too new. I was too afraid.”
“Can you describe him?” Daphne asked.
“It’s all so vague now. I remember it was someone I’d seen around the house before.”
“Mary Ruth, did you know these murders are still going on?”
The woman’s eyes widened, and she shook her head. “No. No, it can’t be. No one’s here. It’s quiet here.”
Her voice trembled, and she faded until only her outline was visible.
Daphne reached out for her, but stopped short of coming into contact. “While you’ve been here, have you noticed anything? Seen or heard anything that might give me any clue about who is doing this and why?”
“No. It’s not possible. They’re all gone.”
In the face of the woman’s fear, Daphne’s discomfort at the idea of helping her and the other spirits faded. “I promise to find out what happened to you and to stop it from happening again. I’ll put an end to what’s holding you here and make sure you cross over. You’ll be free. Won’t you help me?”
The woman reappeared and clutched at her nightdress. She bobbed her head in a nod. “I catch glimpses of what’s happening sometimes, but not much. I knew when the hospital closed because the sounds changed. It grew quiet on the other side. Until you came along and were so bright and loud. We all saw you. Before you, there were the odd shapes and figures, but they were soft. Dull. I couldn’t see them clearly, and I couldn’t really hear them either. There’s only been one other woman I could hear. She talked to some people about what it would cost to bring this place back to life. She said she wanted this house to keep helping people. To make it a hospital again.”
“Did you know her?” Daphne asked. “Her name? Could you see what she looked like?”
“I heard her name. I’ve heard a man yelling at her, and I could just make it out. Her name is Laura.” She smiled sadly. “If she opens the hospital again, she’ll make sure we’re not alone anymore.” Then her smile collapsed. “But if people are still being hurt, I don’t want the hospital open. I don’t want anyone else to die like I did.”
***
Daphne rushed back to her car even more determined to get in touch with Laura Ancowitz. Whether the house itself was influencing people to commit these crimes or some creature was haunting the place, something or someone had murdered two people in the exact same way over a hundred years apart.
She suspected that if she got her hands on the autopsy photos of the patients who had mysteriously died, she’d find many more victims.
After she and Mary Ruth had spoken, she’d listened more closely to the screaming voices around her. Some of them hadn’t been dead very long.
And most of their voices were muffled.
She shivered again and tried not to imagine hundreds of people wandering lost in that hospital with their mouths glued shut.
Keeping secrets. Secrets even after death. The knowledge brought her to one simple conclusion — their murderer was not of human blood.
Mundane murderers wouldn’t give much thought to what their victims might accuse them of in the afterlife. Sealing the mouths was the act of someone who knew there were people who would listen to the stories their victims had to share.
Daphne tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. According to Mary Ruth, Laura Ancowitz’s desire to keep the hospital open had come as a relief to the ghosts, who didn’t want to be trapped in those empty halls alone.
Both Emmett and Mary Ruth had mentioned a man yelling at a woman, which hinted that the woman Charles Ancowitz had gone to meet was his sister.
Daphne pulled over to the side of the road and tried Laura’s number again. The call went to voicemail, and she hung up without leaving a second message. By the time she reached the top of her street, her phone rang. The number on the ID display was Laura Ancowitz’s.
She turned on her headset. “Hello?”
“Who is this?” a woman’s voice asked. Her tone of voice wasn’t rude, but full of hesitation.
“My name is Daphne Heartstone,” she said, although she’d left her name in the message. “I’m a journalist for the New Haven Chronicle and I’m looking to speak with Laura Ancowitz about the history of Peony House. Is this Laura?”
Silence fell, and Daphne braced for the click. When it didn’t come, she asked again, “Hello?”
“Yes. Sorry. I’m here. I’m Laura.” In spite of the pause, the woman’s tone had switched from hesitant to curious. Daphne could almost hear the questions spinning through her mind across the line. Despite Harold’s suggestion of the contrary, she’d expected the sister to be similar to the brother, so she was surprised by the lack of grumbling.
Daphne let out a silent breath of relief and satisfaction. “Can we meet? I can treat you to a coffee if you like, and we can chat.”
“No,” Laura rushed to say. A moment’s pause as she thought something out, then she added, “You can come here if you like.”
She gave her address and Daphne hung up and plugged the information into her GPS. She set off down the road, accompanying the radio at the top of her lungs.
***
The house she approached was a lovely and simple two-story detached home. In some ways it reminded her of Harold’s bungalow — the same degree of care and maintenance put into the exterior and the same warmth of color, with cream-hued siding and white trim. A dark oak door broke up the neutrality, and blooming flowers around the front steps gave everything a splash of color.
From Harold’s mention of Laura’s desire to escape society, Daphne was prepared for a s
hy woman, likely pale from spending too much time inside. Someone mouse-like and skittish. So when the door opened on her approach and a smiling ash-blond greeted her with the warmth of an old friend, she was astonished. According to the records Daphne had dug up about her hostess, Laura Ancowitz was seventy-eight years old but, like her brother, looked no older than sixty. Her skin was soft and clear, and her brown eyes, similar to her brother’s, were bright and intelligent. She stood an inch taller than Daphne, and her soft pastel-pink sweater over comfortable blue jeans showed off a slim figure that suggested she took good care of herself.
“You must be Daphne. I’m Laura.” She extended her hand.
Daphne shook it, using the excuse to check for the same wave of red magic that had washed over Charles. She was shocked to find that she felt none. This woman was completely human.
She cleared her throat as an excuse to cover her mouth and regain her composure.
“Come on in,” said Laura.
She stepped aside, and the scent of vanilla hit Daphne with its simple aroma. Beneath the vanilla came another smell that made her mouth water.
“I’m baking strawberry-vanilla scones,” Laura explained. “It’s why I wasn’t able to come out and meet you. They should be done in a few minutes if you’d like one.”
Daphne’s stomach grumbled, but she declined. Even without magic, Laura’s connection to Peony House left her wary.
“You said you want to talk about Peony House?” Laura asked over her shoulder as she moved to the oven to check her baking. “I heard about what happened there the other night. How horrible.”
The soft skin on her brow crinkled in what appeared to be genuine sadness.
“Very tragic,” Daphne agreed, although the word was inadequate. “I’m hoping to build up a complete story around Peony House, so I’ve been digging into its history. I understand you were on the board of directors for many years.”
“I guess you could say Peony House shaped who I am as much as I helped shape what it became,” said Laura. “I wasn’t on the board for long when it was still a hospital, of course. But in a way, I grew up there. By the time I was born, my family had shifted most of the hospital’s management to the board, but I liked to do my part. I started volunteering at ten years old, running errands for the nurses and what have you. At fifteen, I read to the patients and took them on walks through the garden. I have very fond memories of the estate.”
“And I understand you fought to have it reopened afterward. Renovated and used as something else?”
Laura murmured her agreement and leaned against the counter.
“That was my dream. For me, the money was always secondary. After the hospital closed and they decided not to reopen, I took myself off the board. They wanted me to stay on to help with the other campuses, but I had no interest. My priority has always been Peony House. I confess I’ve become a little obsessed with the project. I’m still determined to find a way to change Charles’s mind. Researching contractors, drawing up business plans. I take after my father in that regard. He shared the same passion for the estate as a place of healing and was loath to let the hospital pass out of his hands. At the time, it made the most sense. Now…”
She gave a half shrug and turned to her oven.
“So it was your brother who made the final decision to close?”
“He saw it as the right move. We argued about it and I still have trouble looking him in the eye. But then, if you knew my brother, you’d know he wasn’t the easiest person to get along with at the best of times.”
“I had the pleasure of meeting him yesterday,” Daphne said.
Laura chuckled. “Then I needn’t say anything else. Although —”
The timer went off, and she interrupted herself to pull the tray out of the oven and lay the scones out on the cooling rack. The sweet aroma was even more potent now that it was freed from its heated prison, and Daphne eyed the scones covetously, thinking how nicely they would crumble over her tongue.
“Sorry about that,” Laura said, tucking the dishtowel over the bar on the stove. “Let’s go into the dining room and have a seat. Are you sure you wouldn’t like one?”
“I shouldn’t,” Daphne replied, and patted her stomach. “Family dinner tonight. I need to save room.”
Laura grinned and put two on a plate. “Then you can watch me eat.”
Daphne followed her into the brightly lit room. The elegant chandelier cast bouncing prisms of color on the soft burgundy walls, and heavy wine-hued curtains had been pulled back to expose a small but splendid backyard, full of flowers of every shape and shade.
She settled down on a burgundy cushion tied to a carved wooden chair across from Laura, and her mouth watered as Laura pulled apart one of the scones, tipping the soft biscuit into her mouth.
“You were saying?” Daphne asked, wanting to distract herself from her desire to change her mind and devour the pastry. “About your brother?”
Laura frowned, then raised her eyebrows as she remembered. “I’m sure it’s nothing. I was just going to mention that he’s been in an even worse mood lately. I don’t know if it’s that miserable assistant he has working for him or other stresses, but the last few times I’ve seen him, he’s been on edge.”
“When was the last time you saw him?” Daphne asked.
“Two weeks ago or so. I met him at the hospital to show him my ideas for a new design. He lost his temper with me, and he never does that. I’m his little sister, and he’s always treated me with a modicum of respect if not affection.”
If Charles was on edge enough to rage at his sister, it wasn’t so hard to imagine him lashing out at a young man using his hated hospital as a private hotel. Maybe even getting angry enough to kill him.
I might have to push his buttons a little harder.
Laura’s brow furrowed. “Miss Heartstone, I get a very real sense that my brother is hiding something from me. Something about the hospital, and that worries me. He obviously won’t talk to me about it, so if you find out anything, could you please let me know? I’m afraid of what the strain might push him to do.”
***
On her way to Charles’s office building, Daphne thought about his discomfort at her mention of the deaths at Peony House. She wondered if Laura was right and he was keeping secrets about the hospital — or did his bad mood hint at something much darker?
She’d considered canceling her appointment with Charles after Laura had confirmed she was the woman Emmett had heard arguing with him, but as she drove, she figured she might as well take advantage of the few minutes she’d been granted. She wanted another opportunity to sense his magic and see if she could recognize something.
She also wanted to poke a few of his nerves to see what reaction she got out of him. He’d managed to stay on the hospital board for sixty years, which suggested he was good at controlling his emotions. Laura’s mention of his recent worse mood made Daphne curious about how far that control had slipped.
His determination to close the hospital and his knowledge of the past mysterious deaths made Charles Ancowitz stand out as the most likely connection to the Peony House murders, even if she didn’t yet understand how.
She grabbed the file folder from her backseat and went up to his reception area. She greeted Eliza with a bright smile. The woman turned her back without saying anything, but this time Daphne didn’t need to worry about gum bubbles. Charles came out of his office before she had a chance to sit down.
If she’d thought she’d seen him at his worst on their previous encounter, he was proving her wrong this afternoon. His beefy arms were crossed against his chest, and he glowered at her under his dark eyebrows.
“How can I help you, Ms. Heartstone?” he asked.
Daphne held out the file folder. “I wanted to thank you for lending me this file. It was a fascinating read and very helpful. I just have a few follow-up questions.”
“I really am very busy,” he said.
“And I won’t be
more than a moment,” she replied.
Holding her shield tightly around her magic, she cast out her mind to once more dip into his. The same red energy flowed toward her, even stronger today for his anger. She still couldn’t place it, but based on his lack of reaction to her prodding, she doubted he knew much about his own power.
“A few of the hospital records made their way into the maintenance files, and I hope you don’t mind, but I took a look. The records mentioned Peony House’s experimental and revolutionary surgeries. Do you know how far the doctors took ‘experimental’?”
She knew the deaths had nothing to do with any surgery, but she wanted to test Harold’s theory about Charles’s loyalty to his family name.
His mouth turned down in a show of frustration. “I’m sure you can do your own internet searches for that. They practiced nothing in those rooms that aren’t now common in any hospital across the country. I don’t know how you do your job, Ms. Heartstone, but I don’t see you progressing much further up the career chain if you insist on bothering busy men with pointless questions.”
She widened her smile. “I read the public files, but I also wondered if those methods had any connection to the other deaths I mentioned. The twenty-one unexplained deaths that happened in the hospital’s final years. Those cases are public knowledge, as well.”
Thanks to some employee gossip, she added to herself. Charles didn’t need to know that.
Charles’s eyes narrowed, and his hands balled into fists. He held his arms stiffly by his sides as he took a step forward, towering over her, and she drew her shoulders back.
“I don’t know what you’re trying to insinuate, but I don’t appreciate it. It was a hospital. People died. Unfortunate, but a part of life. And if you’re somehow trying to connect what happened this week to events of sixty years ago, I highly suggest you keep me out of it. Good day, Ms. Heartstone. Eliza, move up my call with Beatrice.”
He disappeared into his office and slammed the door behind him. Eliza glared at Daphne, who smiled back at her.