by Rena Leith
She looked mulish for a few more seconds, and then her body language telegraphed her compliance. “Yes. Go ahead and read it, but if you make fun—”
“We won’t. I promise. We may smile and even laugh, but it will be from the sheer enjoyment of your prose.”
That made her mouth quirk up slightly.
Gillian had kept a low profile during Doris’ hijinks. “Why can’t Jack see you?”
Doris shrugged. “I don’t want him to. I don’t trust men.”
“But you loved your father.”
Doris shrugged one shoulder.
Something occurred to me. “Doris, did you ever live here?”
“Why?” She crossed her arms over her chest.
“Why’s your car in the shed?”
Gillian had started pouring a cup of coffee and spilled it all over the counter.
Doris averted her gaze. “I don’t know. We stayed here sometimes. I really liked the place.”
“From what I’ve heard, you were murdered on the beach.”
“I don’t remember my death.”
“I think whoever killed you hid your car in the shed.”
Gillian mopped up her mess. “But wouldn’t the owners of the cottage have noticed?”
“You’d think. Maybe they were in on it, or maybe the place has been so rarely inhabited that it never registered with anyone. Maybe no one has looked before. Doris, do you have any idea why you returned during that séance in the Sixties? Why not before? Did you make the decision to come back?”
“I don’t think so. I don’t know.”
“Has anyone lived here very long after your return?” I had an idea. “Or have you made sure that they moved out quickly?”
She actually looked sheepish. “I was in a bit of a snit for quite a while and put the kibosh on some folks’ plans.”
“That answers that,” Gillian said.
“We need some answers. I’m going over to ask Mina to lunch.” I handed the diary to Gillian.
Doris made a face.
I looked straight at her, determined. “It’s her vocation to collect ghost lore. She can help us.”
“She seems a little reclusive,” Gillian said.
“Weird,” Doris said.
“So okay. She might not win any social awards, but do you want answers or don’t you?”
“What’s it like being dead?” Gillian asked.
“Not as much fun as you’d like it to be. Pretty boring actually,” Doris said with a resigned air.
“You seem to be getting a kick out of it or out of what you can do to us,” I said.
“Sorry, but being murdered makes one a bit cranky.”
“Apology accepted.” Since I seemed to have the upper hand, I decided to push my luck. “And don’t mess with us over lunch. We need intel from Mina.”
Doris raised her right hand, waggled her fingertips in goodbye, and then faded away, her fringe being the last thing to go.
“I’m going next door to talk to Mina. Do we have enough stuff here to pull together lunch?”
“Cass?” Gillian’s voice was very quiet.
“Yeah?” I stopped on my way to the door.
“She’s a ghost. I mean, really a ghost. She spoke to us.”
“You aren’t going nuts. That was a ghost although I wouldn’t tell many people.”
“Why not?”
“You’d either end up on some reality show or in a loony bin.”
“Oh. Good point.” She hesitated. “I don’t believe in ghosts.”
“You said that before. But seriously? You’ve seen her. Don’t you believe what you see?”
“Aren’t you scared?” Her eyes were huge. “I mean, I think it would be normal to be scared.”
“Surprisingly, no. I don’t know why I’m not. I’m just not. I guess you never know how you’ll react until you do. I’m curious. I want to know more. I want to know if everyone becomes a ghost. I want to know what she experienced when she died.”
Gillian took a deep breath. “Okay. Don’t worry about lunch. I’ll handle it.” Her eyes were fixed on the diary. She didn’t notice as I went out the door.
The fog had burned off early today and the sun shone. A gentle breeze blew offshore as I walked up toward Mina’s house, which was painted in shades of gray and gray-blue, much like the lady herself. As I watched, she came out onto a widow’s walk at the top of the house, saw me coming toward her, and went back in. A moment later, her front door opened, and she stepped out onto her porch.
I waved. “Hi, Mina.” I climbed the five steps to her front porch. The railings of the wraparound porch were steel gray and the balustrades were white with star cutouts. “I…we were wondering if you’d like to come over for lunch today. I’ve nearly moved in, and the place is much more livable now.”
She cocked her head to the right, looking like a quizzical bird. “Yes, thank you. I’d like that.” Then she just looked at me. She didn’t invite me in or ask any questions.
“Uh, shall we go over now?”
She nodded and took a step forward.
“Okay.” I turned around, grabbed the railing, and stepped down the stairs.
Mina silently glided behind me. She didn’t go back for a purse or to lock her door. Trusting, I guessed.
She didn’t say anything as we walked back down to my place. I held the door for her as she stepped inside. She looked around like an observant heron.
“Through here.” I led the way to the big trestle table.
Gillian was setting out fixings for sandwiches and boiling water for tea and coffee.
“Mina, Gillian. Gillian, Mina.”
Gillian nodded.
Mina said, “Pleased to meet you.” Then she turned to me. “Your sister-in-law.”
“Yes. Have a seat.” I gestured to a chair, and Mina sat. “Gillian, where’s Jack?”
“Not back yet.”
“His loss.” I turned to Mina. “I remember you like tea. I have hot tea, iced tea, water, beer, a variety of sodas. What would you like?”
Mina smiled. “I still like hot tea.”
I realized that I’d started to think of her as the Grey Lady. Not gray but grey. The English spelling. There was something proper and faded about her like a rose that’s lost its color pressed between the pages of a leather-bound book with thick pages.
“Tea it is.” I set the tea caddy in front of her with a creamer and sugar bowl. “I found some exquisite silver tea spoons tucked away in a drawer.” I set out the delicate spoons. “I’ve learned a lot since you were last here. I even bought a couple of your books.” I set two thin volumes in front of her, one with a green cover, one with yellow. “Will you sign them for me?”
She hesitated only briefly. “Sure. Happy to. Do you want them personalized?”
“Please. To Cass.”
Her handwriting was spidery. She used a fountain pen with peacock blue ink. Not a color I was expecting. I couldn’t see her using a ballpoint, but the splash of color made me smile. She was a woman of subtle dichotomies. She pushed them toward me when she was through. “Have you read them?”
“I’ve read through some of the stories. Not at night, though. You’re a very evocative writer. Not what I was expecting in books that sell in tourist centers.”
“It’s very hard to find markets for ghost stories these days. That is,” she amended, “for ghost stories that aren’t romance novels.”
“Nothing romantic about those stories.” I filled her teacup with hot water.
Gillian slipped into a chair and opened a Heineken.
I poured myself a cup and sat down across from Mina. “I’ve learned more about my house and its former inhabitants since the last time we talked. I’ve decided to make the loft my bedroom.” I put together a provolone and turkey sandwich.
Mina started. “Are you sure that’s wise?”
“I’m aware that you were part of the séance group that met here. Can you tell me anything about them?”
She shook her head. “I told you about the one séance, the one that raised the ghost of Doris, who, by the way, still lives here.”
Her gaze was penetrating, more than I expected from her. I’d come to regard her as harmless; now I wasn’t so sure.
“Do you know who killed her?” Gillian asked.
“No. They found her raped and murdered—throat slit—on the beach in front of your place.”
“Murder Beach,” I interjected.
“That’s right.” She met my eyes. “I’m surprised you’ve already heard the local nickname for the place. You’ve only been here what…five days?”
“Something like that. Bodies seem to be piling up, though.”
Gillian gasped next to me. I hadn’t intended to be shocking, but something about Mina was pulling it out of me. I’d already judged her as a flake and half written her off, but now I wasn’t so sure.
Mina nodded. “Yes. Alan. Funny that he was murdered on your beach. He had no call to be out here. He’s a townie. I’ve never seen him at the beach.”
“And you watch the beach a lot.”
She nodded again. “Yes, I do.”
“What are you looking for?”
“I don’t know yet, but I will when I see it.” She half smiled.
Following where she was leading, I asked, “So, is there a tie in between Doris and Alan?”
She frowned. “Hard to tell just yet.” She put mayo on a couple of slices of bread and poked through the cold cuts. “I expect that all the pieces will fall into place once you’ve answered that question.”
Odd that she was expecting me to answer it.
She took a bite and closed her eyes for a moment. “I write ghost stories, Cass. I’m fascinated by everything that goes on in this little town. Read all my stories. Let me know if you see a pattern.”
I was tempted to tell her that I was also reading Doris’ diary, but something made me hold back. “What do you know about Alan? Why would someone murder him?” I pulled a notepad over.
She shrugged. “Why does anyone murder anyone? Love. Money. Vengeance. I bought books from him. The gamers—you’ve seen them on the beach—use his shop because he has a section on vampires, steampunk, and Victoriana.”
“Does he? I mean, did he?” I doodled a pair of fangs on the pad.
“He was in a rivalry with our other bookseller Brendan, who owns Dreams and Dust. I’ve heard about their contentions over collections and rare books. Alan is…was very private, and it’s not as though we ran in the same crowds. He didn’t have any enemies I was aware of. If anything, he seemed to go out of his way to be cordial. Cold, in my opinion, but cordial. Now let me ask you something. I’ve heard he might have fallen from the cliff.”
That was a surprise. “I haven’t heard that, but then I haven’t lived here very long. No one’s really letting me in on the local gossip.”
“Have you asked your ghost?”
“What?” That startled me. How much did she know?
“I mean, have you tried to have a séance?”
Ah. Got it. “No, no, I don’t really want to do that. Certainly not while I’m sleeping in the séance room.”
Gillian got up and set her dish in the sink. “I’m going to see if I can find Jack.” She went out the back door.
“I don’t think your sister-in-law likes me.”
“I think all this murder and ghost business is more than she wants to deal with. She only came to help me clean up and move in.”
Mina nodded. “But you believe.” She squinted at me. “You’ve seen. You know.”
I swallowed. “Yes.”
She seemed satisfied. “I will help you in any way I can. You have permission to enter my house any time whether I’m there or not. You may find it a sanctuary when you need it.” She wiped her mouth. “I have some old papers and research. I’ll look for them. You might be interested.” She tapped the green book. “Doris’ story is in here. The bones of it, anyway. I couldn’t use all the information I have. Not for public consumption.” She stood just as Jack and Gillian came in the back door. “There is the story of one of the séances.” She glanced at Jack, “Truncated, of course, and with Doris’ identity masked.”
She looked into my eyes. “And, Cass, be careful on the beach at night.” She nodded at me again and swiftly left.
Chapter 7
Jack came in the back door followed by Gillian as Mina went out the front. “Who was that?”
“My ghost writing neighbor. According to Mina, there’re a couple of stories we need to read about my house in her little green book.”
Mina was beginning to grow on me as I settled down and stopped acting like one big, raw nerve. Funny thing about me, but when I get scared or nervous, I move emotionally toward center and lop off things along the edges of my life that are strange, unusual, or different. Since I’d moved, I’d been reacting like that. Talking to Mina today reminded me that I needed to be open to the new possibilities afforded by this radical change in my life. Doris had already blown my preconceptions into glittering fragments. I breathed deeply. I had everything to gain.
“Is that Ghost Stories or More Ghost Stories?” Jack walked to the table and frowned down at the two books.
“No point in using the titles. They’re meaningless. Green book and yellow book are sufficient. It’s More, the green book.”
Jack walked over to the table, picked the book up, and skimmed it. “This one looks interesting: ‘The YesYes Board.’” He looked up. “Sounds like a séance to me.”
I shrugged. “She didn’t give me titles, and I didn’t think to ask. But she did mention a story about a séance that was a disguised version of one that occurred here.”
“She’s an author. She probably wants us to read all her work.” Gillian took the book out of his hands. “Jack, I know you’re easily diverted, but don’t randomly start reading ghost stories. We need to look for the one about Doris.”
“We should read ghost stories by the fire tonight.” Jack tried to grab the book back.
Gillian swatted him with it but surrendered the book. He thumbed through the book. “Here it is. Death on Murder Beach.”
I shivered. “I’m not sure I’m up for this.”
Gillian said, “Jack, this had better be—”
Jack raised a hand. “This isn’t really a story, probably not even scary. This book is more like an anthology, and this story or article has a different tone, less story, more narrative. ‘A small section of beach near the state park in Las Lunas is known to the locals as Murder Beach. No one knows when this appellation started, but the most notorious murder to occur here was that of a beautiful young flapper in the mid-1920s. Her murder was never solved, and her father died a broken man.’”
Someone snorted, and I looked around.
“Was that a comment on my reading?”
“No, Jack. Sorry.” I looked at Gillian.
She shrugged, and I knew it had been Doris.
Jack read, “He died shortly after her death.” He looked up.
Gillian folded a bath towel. “This investigation is going to take a while at this rate.”
“Her throat was slit from ear to ear—”
“Stop!” It was my turn to whip the book out of his hands. “This is daytime reading.”
“Okay, that was creepy. Not sure I want you to read more, either. Especially by firelight.” Gillian took the book from me, closed it, and set it on top of the yellow book on the table. “Let’s change the subject.”
“Okay. Hey, Cass, I enjoyed talking to your other neighbor.”
“Really?”
“Um hum.”
“And?”
“He’s really happy that you’re in this house.”
“And?”
“And he’s really curious about what’s going on over here. He seems very ‘live and let live,’ but I don’t think he likes to be left out if there’s any fun going on.”
“And he thinks ghosts are fun?” Gillian chim
ed in, shivering.
“There’s something elfin about him.” Jack waved his hands in an indistinct gesture.
“Seriously, Jack?” I said. “He’s over six feet tall, shaggy blond, with over-sized feet and a love of falling off wood in the water. Just about as far from elf as you can get.”
Jack seemed reluctant to give his idea up. “Okay, but there’s something—I don’t know—twinkly about him.”
“Twinkly?” I sputtered.
Gillian just laughed. “Cass? Please. We have to tell him. I can’t take it anymore. He’s scampering around the edges of the truth.”
“Tell me what?”
“Sit down, Jack.” I gestured toward a chair. “What do you think, Gillian? A beer?”
She got one out of the fridge and twisted the top off, setting the cold one down in front of him. “Drink.”
He did as he was told. After a long pull, he set the bottle down. “Okay?”
Gillian sat down next to him and put her hand on his forearm. “I know you don’t believe in the supernatural, despite your ‘Dave’s an elf’ riff.”
His expression changed from confusion to cynicism. “If this is a practical joke because I was reading ghost stories…”
Gillian plowed ahead. “You were intrigued by Doris’ car. Did you see her sitting in the car?”
He rolled his eyes. “Hon…puh-leeze.”
“I did.”
“Sure.”
I closed my eyes and shook my head. “Jack, I’ve seen her, too. We asked her why you couldn’t see her, and she said she didn’t want you to because she doesn’t trust men.”
“Riiiiiiiiiiight.” He drew the word out. “Okay, I’ll lay off the spooky stuff…for a while.”
“But you were intrigued by the séances! You seem to love the ghost stories.”
“Give it up. I’m not falling for it.” He stood. “Going for a walk along the beach. Want to come, Gillian?”
With a look over her shoulder at me, Gillian grabbed her jacket and followed him out the door.
“That went well,” I said to no one in particular.
“Men.” Doris materialized at the table with her chin resting on her hands. “And you wonder why I don’t trust them.”