She was wrong. The girls weren’t going to Gracefield after all. They departed the path and headed toward the springhouse. The smaller girl was crying now, and the older one shoved her sister along.
What are they doing? Why am I being so sneaky?
Amara could not answer either of those questions, but she was going to get to the bottom of this. She hurried after them and carefully avoided being caught. It wasn’t hard to do as they weren’t paying attention to much of anything except one another. They paused once to argue and then went back to their walk.
The wooden door of the springhouse creaked loudly as they opened it and stepped inside.
Amara was right behind them.
Chapter Two
Just like she’d been taught, Amara paced herself and waited before bursting into the building. She counted to ten before pursuing her targets. Maybe she should just confront the girls, tell them to leave the property before they got hurt. There were too many ways to get injured out here in the overgrowth surrounding Gracefield. Stepping on a nail was one possibility. There were certainly plenty of boards lying on the ground; this was sad evidence of a long history of neglect. But Amara would make it right. She would uncover the hidden concrete lions that were buried under the vines. She would replace the rotting porches and repair the broken balustrades. If she had to do it with her own two hands, she would see the thing done.
But for now, she had to deal with two juveniles. They could fall down a well, if there were wells here. She didn’t know of any wells on the property, but there had to be one, right? She took her stance against the flimsy outer wall of the springhouse and ignored the spider webs that covered it. Again she reminded herself that these were only two little girls. Two girls who were probably just curious about the place, like she had been when she was young. No sense in treating them like criminals.
She listened closely, but the girls weren’t making a sound in there. Not a peep. No more arguing. No more crying. Nothing at all. That could only mean they were into mischief. She’d better take the bull by the horns or this could go south quickly. She knew that from experience. Opening the door, Amara cringed at the sound of the squeaking wood.
Better speak up so as not to startle them too badly.
“Hey, girls? My name is Amara. I saw you come in here, and I need to talk to you.” The pair did not answer, but the room went still; the miniscule movement had ceased. Oh, yeah. They were here. She felt an imaginary hand grip the back of her neck, and she swatted at it before spinning around with a flourish of her gun, like she would have done back in the day when she was in the academy. Before she had gotten too relaxed with the whole process of apprehending a suspect. Far too relaxed. She couldn’t explain what just happened, but she remained focused on her task. What the hell. Someone is here. I know what I felt! Get a hold of yourself, detective. Besides the strange phenomenon, she could sense the girls’ presence, almost hear them breathing. It wasn’t something she could explain, but it was a real thing. A real intuition. One that had served her well on the force, for a while.
“You aren’t in trouble if you step out now. Please, don’t play games with me. This is my house now.” Amara’s eyes scanned the room; it was pretty much shrouded in darkness. The springhouse had been built that way on purpose, according to Marnie. The goal was to keep the spring as protected and the water as cool as possible. Mission accomplished, Amarna thought as she shivered. Luckily for her, she had a flashlight too. She slid the gun back in her holster and removed the flashlight she’d tucked in her pocket earlier. The power company told her it might be a few days before they came out to switch the electricity on. It was such an old house, they wanted to check the wiring first.
Amara hadn’t planned on coming out to the springhouse when she drove over here. She never liked it much, and she’d only been in here a few times growing up. It was much as she remembered it. Empty, except for the sound of the bubbling spring and a stack of wooden crates to the right of the spring that bubbled up quietly at the back of the room. That was really the only place to hide. The only place two half-grown girls could hide with any success.
“Girls, please. You aren’t in trouble. If I have to come over there, I will have to tell your parents. Please, just come out and all will be forgiven,” Amara promised as sincerely as possible. To her surprise, the youngest child stepped out from behind the crates, clearly with the disapproval of the other. “Hi,” she said as she smiled at her. “Is your sister here? What are you girls doing in here?”
The girl didn’t answer but slung her backpack up on her shoulders. “We didn’t know anyone was living here,” the second girl said as she stood behind the smaller one. “We’ll leave, ma’am,” she said in a wooden voice.
“No harm, no foul. What are you doing in here?” Amara’s eyes searched the room for answers, answers she probably wasn’t going to get from these two, but she couldn’t figure it out. Why would they come in here? There wasn’t anything in this room except those boxes and dozens of spider webs. They must be hiding behind the stack of empty crates then. Whatever brought them there must be there. But what? Nobody was confessing, so Amara walked toward the stack of crates to see for herself what on earth they could be doing. The girls were far too young to be smokers. Amara took one last step and found herself staring at two wide-eyed children. She knew they were going to run before they took off. They had the look of runners. In the city she left, she would not have been surprised to find their backpacks stuffed with spray paint, but they weren’t in the city. They were in the rural town of Selma, Alabama. Very rural, in fact.
“Hey, wait a minute!” she called as they pushed past her, but she didn’t lay a hand on the girls. Manhandling children wasn’t her style. The older girl dragged the younger one out of the springhouse with a muffled cry as a strange thud caught Amara’s attention. Her eyes fell on a colored rock, a rock that could fit easily in her hand. She reached down to pick it up and called after them one last time. “Girls, you left your rock. Hey! I’m not mad!” she called as she listened to the sounds of their footsteps running away from the springhouse. She was alone with a flashlight and a painted rock, but she still had her gun too. She turned the rock over in her hands. It was sloppily painted in vibrant colors with no clear pattern.
“I know what this is,” she said with a smile. It was the new thing kids were doing. Painting rocks, hiding them in different places and then posting clues to the rocks’ whereabouts on social media. Oh, crap. Does that mean my property is on a rock collector’s website? She sure didn’t want that kind of traffic in and around her house. Not a regular basis. But it was a weird painting. The ones she’d seen before around Birmingham were more literal interpretations of different things, like paintings of an apple or an abstract geometric pattern.
Except the eye. Whoever painted this particular rock painted an eye on it. She stepped around the stack of crates again and was surprised to see a crack in the wall. A crack with water streaming out of it. What? Were there two springs in here? Great. That might be a problem. At the base of the crack was a stack of stones, all different colors but all with the same painted eyes. The cold chills returned to her skin, and she squatted down to study the arrangement. No, this wasn’t for rock finders. This was something else entirely. The place on her neck where the invisible hand had touched her earlier suddenly went icy cold. She rubbed at it and waved her flashlight around. Was this some kind of shrine? Why would two young girls build a shrine out here? And she had so many more questions, but the girls were long gone. It probably wouldn’t be difficult for her to locate them, though.
A shadow passed across the door. She thought maybe the girls had returned, but the shadow was so large and so dark that it completely blocked out the light for a good three seconds. No way was that a kid. It was too big to be one of the girls. They’d been petite creatures with haunted eyes and pale skin. This person had a masculine build and wore black. No, more like he was all black, except for his hat. She couldn�
�t identify one article of clothing besides his strange hat, and that was unusual for her. She hadn’t seen his face, either—he’d passed too quickly.
Amara heard a noise behind her. Another heavy thud. Two thuds like a man stomping. She could hear him breathing her in, like she was an irresistible flower; she could feel his breath on her neck, but how was that possible? He was breathing through her clothing. And then she felt a lone, icy finger tracing her backbone. Amara felt conflicted about turning around, but she wasn’t going to be molested by anyone. You can walk away, Amara. Drop the rock and leave this place. You can still walk away.
That’s what she thought, but then she felt his full hand on her shoulder. A rough, strong hand that sent a shiver down her spine. He laughed in her ear. He was laughing at her, at her fear. With all the courage she could muster, she spun around and slung the rock at him. She forgot all about her gun. Not that it would have mattered because there was no one there. No man or anyone. No one to attribute the laughter to—she was by herself.
She ran for the door, which was now quickly closing.
Chapter Three—Carrie Jo
The Happy Go Lucky II rocked beneath us as we settled down on the deck to stare at the stars above us. I loved moments like this and being on the water. Even if we didn’t actually take the boat out, today had been heavenly. We’d accomplished a lot, though it was always weird not having the kids around. Ashland had completed some minor repairs; I cleaned the galley and tidied the bed like a pro. We’d be taking the kids out next weekend; at least that was the plan. Lily got sick every time she stepped on board, but she continued to try. Unlike our niece, our son was a water baby. He was fearless about the water too, which bothered me a great deal since my mother’s passing.
“What are you thinking about, Mrs. Stuart,” Ashland’s voice purred in my ear as he kissed my cheek. A band on the radio sang “Close Enough to Perfect,” and I breathed a happy sigh. I knew what Ashland was thinking about. His romantic overtures were always clunky and awkward, but I loved that about him. I loved that he needed me, wanted me and wasn’t good at being seductive. Not that he wasn’t a flirt. That he definitely was down to his toes. Lucky for me, he was as true as the North Star. A man with a good soul, and handsome to boot. Yes, I could tell by the look in his eyes that he wanted me. Even after hitting our most recent anniversary, the fire between us continued to burn. How had it been five years already? Where had the time gone?
“Oh, I can’t tell you what I’m thinking. It’s the unwritten code, you know. Wives never tell their husbands what they are thinking,” I flirted back with him and kissed him in return. “But you should be able to read my mind.”
He chuckled in his soft, sexy way. “You’ve got to be joking. You know I’m horrible at mind-reading.”
I slid my arms around his neck. “Dang. We’re not alone out here. Our nosy neighbor has returned. We’ll have to take this party below deck, captain.” A dark blue night sky hung over us; twinkling stars watched us, but those didn’t bother me. Our nosy slip mate did, though. What a creep! He avoided direct conversation—Ashland tried multiple times to engage him, but he wasn’t interested. He was enjoying peering at us with his binoculars. If I wasn’t such a lady, I’d flip him off. Or tell him off. I wasn’t sure which. Maybe both.
Ashland sat up and helped me up too, but he wasn’t in any hurry to go anywhere. That was surprising. “Ashland, stop. I don’t want to give that guy any bigger thrill. He’s been staring at us all day. I can’t even wear a bikini top without this guy licking his chops,” I said as I watched the neighbor’s light flick off. Oh, thank goodness. Maybe he was leaving after all. Or just pretending he was. Who knew? “Well, maybe in a minute or two,” I said with a smile, but I must have misread his cue. Ashland wasn’t hoping to engage in any public display of affection. He had something to tell me. Something he didn’t want to tell me. That made me all kinds of nervous. After all we’d been through, that something could be anything.
“I need to talk to you, Carrie Jo. I guess this is as good a time as any. I don’t know why this is so difficult, but it is.”
A sea breeze left my tanned legs feeling chilly. I drew up the blanket around me and waited for the other shoe to drop. “Tell me,” I encouraged him as I held my breath. Please, God. Let this be something good. Everything is so good right now. Don’t let it change. I decided to think positive and not expect the worst-case scenario. “You got the job at Channel 15? Or the radio gig? You’re doing sportscasting for WXBN? What is it?”
Ashland looked away for a few seconds and shook his head. “Nothing like that. I don’t think that’s going to happen, Carrie Jo. Nobody wants an old has-been football player for a newscaster. There are plenty of those around. This is more serious than that.”
I tidied my ponytail and waited to hear his big news. “You’re killing me, Ashland Stuart. Just tell me already.”
“Alright. I’ll just spit it out. I want to be a father again. I want us to be parents again.”
I couldn’t wrap my mind around what he was talking about. “We already are parents, Ash, and the two we have are a handful. AJ starts Pre-K this year, and Lily is going into the sixth grade. I don’t think you realize how busy things are about to become.”
“I know that, but I want to have another kid. Don’t you think we should? Things are good at home, peaceful and everything. I like being a father. I think I’m pretty good at it, and I want to do it again. What do you say? Let’s do it before I’m too old to enjoy it.”
The water around the boat sloshed as a random wave slapped the Happy Go Lucky II. “Why the rush? And you’re hardly old. You’re not even forty, for Pete’s sake.” Ashland drew back slightly like he couldn’t believe I had an objection to his shaky plan. “Is this because AJ isn’t interested in sports? Like I told you before, he’s too young to care about football like you do, but he will eventually. He does like throwing things. Can’t we wait a bit?”
“I had no idea you felt like this, Carrie Jo. I thought you’d want to do this.” The tone of his voice didn’t deliver the impact he was hoping for, clearly.
Okay, now he was crossing the line! How dare he judge me? It’s not like I’d been the one stewing over this for months. I would never have guessed this was something he wanted to do. In fact, there were many occasions when I felt as if he were dialing in this whole dad and uncle thing. But had I said anything? No. Of course not. Again.
“Feel like what? I don’t have any feelings about this subject yet. I haven’t been sitting around thinking about whether or not I want to have another kid, Ashland. Just give me some time to think about it, is all. Again, what’s the all-fired rush?”
The boat rocked again, and I noticed that the stars had vanished. They were gone from sight now, smothered by black clouds. I hopped off the deck of the boat, and Ashland didn’t waste any time climbing to his feet either.
“I’m not in a rush, but I’d like to plan this one. Don’t you think we should? I do!”
“Don’t I think we should? Whatever, Ashland Stuart. You act like I don’t care about our family and just because I’m hesitant to grow it—right here, right now—I’m a bad person.”
“I didn’t say you were a bad person. You’re being unreasonable.”
“Fine. I’m unreasonable. I’ll take my unreasonable behind to the car.” I left him to stare at me as I scurried down the stairs to retrieve my purse from the galley. I thought maybe he’d pursue me, maybe he’d try to reason with me like a real grown-up, but it didn’t happen. Instead, he did his thing. Cut off lights, adjusted a few things and didn’t speak a word to me.
How could this wonderful night have turned so badly? And here was a better question, why in the world did his question surprise me? I shook my head in silence as Ashland joined me in the car and I winged out of the parking lot. Well, this really sucks. We would be alone tonight, unfortunately. The kids were with Detra Ann and Henri until tomorrow morning. They’d be having a blast with the Devec
heauxs. Better than hanging out with us, for sure.
It was Ashland who finally broke the silence. “I didn’t expect you to say yes tonight. I just wanted you to think about it, is all. I was not implying that we make one right away. Just plan for one. I’m sorry I ticked you off by asking.”
I pulled the car into the gas station parking lot and put it in park in front of the pump. “Asking me about having another kid didn’t tick me off. It’s your attitude. Like right now. You make it seem like I said no when I haven’t even thought about it. And the fact that I haven’t thought about it on my own—well, you seem to have a problem with that. That’s what ticked me off, Ash.”
He unbuckled his seat belt. “I don’t have a problem with anything. I’m just surprised that expanding our family hasn’t been on your radar.” I dug in my purse for my credit card and tried my best to ignore him. “I think you miss the ghosts, Carrie Jo. I really think you miss it all. You’d rather be hanging out with the dead than the living.”
That floored me.
Not because it seemed like another accusation but because I felt that maybe he was right. As much as I wanted life at Seven Sisters to be normal for all of us, I missed being connected to the ghosts of the past. My past. Ash’s past. Our mutual past. My eyes met his, and he gave me a sad smile. We both knew the truth then. But what was that going to mean for us? I couldn’t think of a word to say.
“Stay here. I’ll take care of the gas.” He exited the vehicle and shut the door behind him.
It began to rain.
Chapter Four—Carrie Jo
The knock at my door wasn’t Henri and Detra Ann—it was Jan Kowalski, Rachel’s grandmother. Of all the people I expected to see today, Jan wasn’t the first on my list. Not because I didn’t like her or because she wasn’t welcome at Seven Sisters. She’d just been so distant since Rachel’s sketchy trip to Scotland and her ill-fated hookup. And Jan wasn’t the kind of person to just turn up on your doorstep without an agenda. But she was gentle and knowledgeable about spiritual things to a level I could only hope for. Ashland left earlier without an explanation except to say, “I’ll be right back.” I assumed he wouldn’t be right back and that his hasty exit had something to do with the radio station. They had featured him quite regularly in the past few weeks. I thought for sure he was a shoo-in for the job. Not that we really needed money anymore. Things were going great in our renovation business, despite the current lull in activity. I had things on the radar, but Ashland didn’t seem as keen as I was about starting a new project. I had mumbled a goodbye to him as I poured my coffee into my favorite mug, but there wasn’t much excitement in the room. And I should be excited about his achievements instead of being hurt. I should be excited, not unsettled. And dang, I did feel unsettled.
Haunted Gracefield Page 2