by Rena Leith
“Not really,” Jack said. “Although my sister had to fend off the press.”
Marcy laughed. “I saw that on TV. Nice, Cass.”
“I’m never going to live that down. Deer in the headlights.”
“I also saw a brief interview with Sara, Alan’s widow. Did you see it?”
“No, but we may have gotten it on TiVo. I’ve been taping the news,” Gillian said. “What did she say?”
Marcy said, “You never really know what she’s going to say. Once I told her, ‘I need to be in two places at once.’ Sara said, ‘Einstein said everything happens at the same time, so you probably are.’ When I said, ‘Excuse me?’ She said, ‘It’s that relativity thingy.’”
Gillian laughed. I heard the nervousness in her laughter. I also realized that Marcy hadn’t answered the question about what Sara said when she was interviewed. She was like a magician, misdirecting our attention.
“Oh, that’s good,” Jack said. “You have a friend like that, don’t you, Gillian?”
Gillian stopped laughing and glared at him.
Marcy said, “Sara always thought that Alan looked like William Thacker. You know, from “Notting Hill”. Hugh Grant.”
I had a flash memory of the body on the beach.
“It probably helped that he was a bookstore owner in the movie. Sara’s nothing if not earnest. And dramatic.” She took a sip of her coffee. “You’ll see.” Then she looked as though an idea had just struck her. “Why don’t you come over to the clinic for coffee tomorrow morning? I’ll also invite her and introduce you!”
“I really shouldn’t. Jack and Gillian are here to help me move in.” I looked at Gillian and Jack for rescue. “And Sara must be in mourning for her husband.”
“I’m sure she could use the distraction,” Marcy said.
Gillian looked pointedly at me. “You need to have friends here when we leave. Go ahead. We’ll keep working on the place, won’t we, Jack?”
I got that she meant someone I could talk to about the ghost.
Jack grunted.
“In that case, sure.”
“Great! I’ll set it up and get back to you.” She got up, picked up her bag, and prepared to go. “Oh, before I forget, what cat food do you need?”
Jack handed her a can they’d brought.
Marcy took a look. “Oh, sure. This is a good one. I’ll order it and let you know when it’s in.”
We all stood, and I showed her out to her car.
She got in and leaned out the window. “Don’t hesitate to bring him back in if there’s any sign of infection.”
“Will do.”
She waved as she drove off. I walked back in, sat down, and finished my coffee.
“That was a little strange,” Gillian ventured.
She could have been talking about Marcy or the ghost. “No kidding.”
“Be back in a few minutes,” Jack said.
“He’s headed back to the car. Can we talk?” Gillian asked as she picked up after Jack and shot a meaningful look at me.
“I’m not really sure what to say.” I looked around. “I’m guessing that was the bootlegger’s daughter. What was her name?”
“Doris. No idea what her last name is. She looked like a flapper so the right time period. Do we believe in ghosts?”
“Do we have a choice?”
“Oh, Cass. What are you going to do?”
I started to cry. Gillian held me until I got it under control.
“I have no idea what I’m going to do. This is unreal.” I wiped my eyes. “I have no place to go. No one will buy this place.”
“It’ll be okay. We can figure this out. Don’t ghosts usually have unfinished business? Maybe we can ask it what it wants.”
The front door banged, and Jack came in. “I checked the building. There’s really no extra room out there and no other place on the property to stash your stuff. It’ll have to go in here.” He seemed to notice that I’d been crying. “Are you all right? I hope you don’t take my teasing seriously.”
“I’m just feeling a bit overwhelmed. Maybe I made a mistake.”
“Oh, no.” He sat down. “This is a great place. I’m sure there’s a lot of stuff here you can get rid of to fit your stuff in.”
Gillian added, “Before you make any irreversible decisions, let’s check out the attic. I’ve sold some stuff on eBay in the past. You can always do that. Make it a condition of sale on the larger stuff that the buyer picks it up, though. There should be a local listing site. And there’s always freecycling. Post stuff to your local freecycle email list, and people will pick it up from your porch. But it has to be a free giveaway. Better to try selling first.”
Jack said, “We’re getting ahead of ourselves. We haven’t examined the attic thoroughly.”
I got up. “Let’s find out,” I said, moving to the living room and heading up the small circular stair.
“It may be a bit hard to get large items up here,” Jack said, following me.
Gillian stopped and knelt on a tread. “This is amazing. Look, each riser has been hand cut. The scrollwork is divine. This staircase is a little gem.”
“I hope you still feel that way after we haul a bunch of stuff up here.” My head cleared the floor, and I looked around. At first glance, the attic looked like a little harem tent. I hadn’t realized that I’d stopped cold until I heard a muffled yell from below. “Oh, sorry.” I moved on up into the space, grabbing the railing that extended above the stairs.
Gillian followed me up into the room with Jack on her heels.
“Could this be where they held the séances?” I lifted some of the scarves and lace off lamps and tables. “Modern lamps in addition to the candles.”
Turned wooden candle stands stood around the room with partially burned candles on them. Some were as tall as four feet.
“I’ll bet you’re right.” Gillian put the shades up. “What a view! You might want to rethink your bedroom strategy. How fantastic to wake up with a view of the ocean every morning. You could use the bedroom downstairs as storage.”
Gillian’s words sparked my imagination. This could be an aerie. I pulled down the extra fabric from the windows facing the ocean, kicked up a cloud of dust, and sneezed three times in a row.
“Bless you!” Gillian said. “Oh, three times. That’s supposed to mean good luck or something good is about to happen to you. I can never remember.”
“Probably means either you’re catching cold or allergic to dust,” Jack added.
“Everyone’s allergic to dust. I was trying to clear the view. There’s no need to block it this high up and facing the ocean. No one can see in.”
“Such rich colors. The afternoon sun gilds everything.” Jack leaned on the window frame and looked out.
“Only when it isn’t rainy or foggy,” Gillian added.
“Spoilsport.” He kissed her.
“I like your idea, Gillian, but I don’t know if we can get the bed up here.”
“Sure we can,” Jack said confidently.
“Good. This room feels right.” And oddly I meant it. I felt more positive even knowing that this was the likely location for the séances.
The large room was peaceful. It was insulated and finished. Under the eaves, someone had built in storage cabinets. It felt more like a loft than an attic because the windows were large, and the room was spacious. With the circular staircase, the entry was always open.
We spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning the loft and hauling my belongings up. This is where I wanted to wake up in the morning.
Exhausted by evening, we ate in front of the TV and scanned the news recordings Gillian had set up. Most were pretty standard and repetitive. Alan Howland had been an attractive man in a slim, intellectual way. His wife was pretty with big blue eyes and a bubble of blonde hair.
“I don’t think she’s going to be ready to have coffee with me in the morning. I should cancel out.”
“I agree,” Gillian said. “
What was your vet thinking?”
“No idea. Marcy doesn’t seem terribly broken up by her friend’s husband’s death. Maybe she didn’t know him that well.”
Jack leaned back on the couch after we watched the last newscast. “I’m switching to live feed.”
“Vampires have made a second appearance on the California coast.” The young female reporter smiled.
Jack sat up straight. “What? Vampires?” He rewound the live news report.
We listened in rapt silence while the reporter discussed a cult movie that had been made years ago about vampires in a small coastal town not far from here.
“I think the reporters ran out of new material,” Gillian said. “So now they’re creating their own.”
I shook my head. “According to the reporter we saw earlier, there were two holes in Alan’s neck and his body was exsanguinated.” I hit record.
“Sounds like a vampire, but it also sounds like they’re trying to blame the local gamers to me,” Jack said.
“Didn’t you used to play “Vampire: The Masquerade?”” I asked.
“That was a long time ago. College days.” Jack carried his plate to the kitchen and got a beer from the fridge. “I just don’t like to see blame shifted onto people because they’re a little different.”
I had a flashback to Jack in college: shy, withdrawn, always reading or gaming. I nodded. “I agree with you.”
Gillian added, “They didn’t actually say that it was murder, just a suspicious death. I’m going to set up some national news. See if it’s a big enough story to get picked up by the networks and CNN.”
“With the quirky vampire twist, it wouldn’t surprise me,” Jack said.
“I hope not. I don’t need everyone I know seeing this story.” I was thinking about Phil as I wiped the table. “Maybe I should invite Mina to come for a visit now that things are cleaned up a bit.” And, I thought, now that I have plenty of lights and company. “Mia mentioned an evil ley line.”
“Ley lines?” Gillian asked. “As in Harmonic Convergence? I was a little kid in Arizona when people descended on Sedona because its converging ley lines gave the place great power.”
Jack raised his eyebrows.
“Supposedly. Supposedly gave the place great power.”
“You went to the Harmonic Convergence?”
Gillian blushed. “My mother dragged me along with her. At dawn.”
“You’re full of surprises.” Jack laughed and then turned toward me. “Ghost stories and ley lines? Does Mina really know anything about the history of this house?”
“To be honest, I’m not sure. She talks as if she does. She writes those poorly published short collections of ghost stories that you see sold in shops in tourist towns. Line drawing illustrations. Garish single color perfect-bound covers. Ghost Stories of Las Lunas. More Ghost Stories of Las Lunas.”
“Let’s invite her over,” Gillian said excitedly. “We should go buy the books.”
It wasn’t a bad idea. “Would you guys mind picking them up in the morning, and then I’ll run over and ask her to lunch. I need to make some friends.”
“From what you’ve said, I’m not sure the two of you will be BFFs,” Jack said.
I shrugged. “Maybe not, but she’s a neighbor. If I ever need help, she’s the closest.” And the most likely to be able to shed some light on what I’d seen in the garage.
“Good point.”
“I need a bio break.” I headed for the bathroom, shut the door, and settled onto the seat when Doris walked through the door.
“I need your help,” she said in a high, breathy voice.
“Shit!” I yelled. After I caught my breath, I said, “You’re a ghost. What on earth would you need help with?”
“Nice choice of words. ‘On earth’ I need help finding out who killed me.”
“Surely they’ve been dead for years. Besides, why do you care? Aren’t you supposed to go into the light or something?”
“Or something.”
“Did you see a light?” Did I really just ask a ghost if she’d “seen the light”?
“For a second and then it winked out, leaving me behind.” Her voice was petulant like a disappointed child.
“Bummer. So that wasn’t a permanent ‘go into the light?’” I felt a little sorry for her. In a well-lit bathroom, Doris was not a frightening ghost.
“Yeah, not so much. Hollywood. What do they know. And don’t go inviting that lunatic from next door in here. She gives me the heebie jeebies.”
“She gives you the heebie jeebies? And anyway I don’t see how I can help you.” She was so not what I was expecting.
“Hello! No body?” She pushed her hand through my face. “I can’t do anything. I need you.”
Shockwaves ran through me. It was as if icy water with the consistency of air washed through my insides without a drop touching my skin. I shivered. “Don’t do that again.”
“Do what? This?” She did it again.
“Cut it out or I won’t help you!” I tried to be emphatic while keeping my voice low.
“Does that mean you will?”
“We’re going to need rules.”
“Like what?”
“Leave me along while I’m showering, dressing, peeing.”
“Seriously?” She tilted her head to one side.
“Oh, I’m serious. You’re giving me pee fright.”
“Agreed.”
And she vanished.
Chapter 6
With a sigh of relief, I relaxed and finished up.
As I left the bathroom, Gillian called out, “What happened?”
I had a full body shiver. “I had the ghost of an idea.” I met Gillian’s startled gaze and nodded my head, hoping she’d get the hint.
“No!” she whispered. Clearly, she did.
I nodded. “But now we have a deal. I help her, and she won’t do that to me again.”
Gillian choked. “Help her? How?”
“Beats me. She said she wants to find out who killed her. Guess we’ll find out. I’ll need to look for letters, notes, a diary. Any background material. I need clues to guide a search.” I looked up and spoke into the air. “Someone should tell me where to look if they want my help.” Suddenly, I realized that I was talking to the ghost the same way Mina had. Not good. “Say goodnight to Jack for me. Can you lock up down here?”
“Sure thing, but you know, you and I need to talk about this.”
I turned to look at her. Her eyes were pleading, and she looked scared.
“I know. Really I do. I just can’t do it now. I’m exhausted.” I paused. “I don’t think she’ll hurt any of us. She asked for my help. Don’t worry. Please.” I had an odd feeling of certainty about my ghost but no idea why. I thought it had something to do with our bathroom conversation. Doris needed my help, and for the first time since she’d glimmered in my peripheral vision, I felt in control. I didn’t know if I could help her, but I did know that I was going to try.
Gillian smiled. “Okay. Tomorrow.”
“’Night.” I climbed the circular stairs to the loft. I looked out the window at the moonlit ocean for a bit and then turned on the light by the bed and looked around for something to read, my habit before sleeping.
Poking around in the cupboards in the eaves, I found a leather-bound volume. Carrying it to the bed, I propped up some pillows and started to read the lovely script.
****
I woke up late the next morning, wondering how I could get answers. Whether it was the atmosphere up in the loft, the diary I’d been reading, or a dream visitation by the ghost, I didn’t know, but I dressed quickly and came downstairs with Mina on my mind. She might have some answers for me.
Gillian stood at the kitchen window, looking at something beachward.
“We could pay a visit to Mad Mina,” I said, moving toward the coffee smell that filled the room. Mina had told me when I’d first moved in that my house had a reputation for being haunted, she�
�d implied knowledge of the house’s history, and now a ghost asked for my help finding out who killed her. I looked around. “Where’s Jack?”
Gillian, still looking out the window, pointed vaguely toward the beach. “He’s chatting with the surfer dude.”
“Huh. Maybe he can get us a local perspective on the situation. I need more information. I feel as though everyone knows what’s going on but me.”
That finally got Gillian’s attention, and she turned around. “Have you thought about looking through some of the old papers and letters we’ve seen?”
“I did, and I found a diary last night. Back in a sec.” I climbed to the loft, opened the bedside table drawer where I’d stashed it, and pulled it out. I flipped through it as I returned to the living room. “Here’s a June entry. ‘Dear Diary, Daddykins bought me a Packard roadster today in a luscious gold with a cream leather interior. I simply must go shopping to find something that matches. I was reading Time magazine today and was horrified to read that Mrs. Livermore said that women become incoherent on the public platform because they are so accustomed to talking to husbands and brothers that they can’t seem to get used to talking to anyone else. I’m a New Woman and have no difficulty at all speaking whenever and wherever I feel like it. I cut my hair and hemmed my skirts. Of course, Daddykins didn’t approve, but I’m his little kitten.’”
The diary slammed shut as if of its own will, and the familiar clammy cold wind pushed through me.
Doris materialized half an inch from my nose. “Who said you could read my diary?”
Gillian let out a small scream.
My blood ran cold as my earlier confidence in Doris’ intentions evaporated. “Don’t do that! We have a deal.” My voice was too shaky to be effective. So much for being in control.
“You aren’t using the commode. You don’t have permission to read my diary. That’s private!”
“You’re dead…Doris.” I put a hand through her to demonstrate my point.
She dematerialized and reformed, still glaring.
“Do you still want my help? Then you’ll have to cut me some slack. I have to know your story so that I can help you find your murderer. There are things you don’t know or don’t remember, but your diary… That’s a window into your head right at the time things were happening. There are clues in there, Doris. I repeat. Do you still want my help?”