Christmas Spirit

by Rebecca York

  He walked around the building, looking at the ground. Along one side was a bald spot in the grass, where someone could have been standing. Or maybe the spot had been there since the summer, and nobody had gotten around to putting in a patch of sod.

  “Where’s the boat slip?” she asked. “Where you saw him take off?”

  He led her onto the dock, then a few yards farther along. “You know who this belongs to?”

  “It’s one of the slips tourists can use. But most people don’t come here by boat at this time of year.”

  “So we still don’t know anything.”

  “Sorry.”

  He cleared his throat. “You didn’t have any problems in town—until you ran across that man assaulting a woman in the swamp?”

  “Well, there was the old ghost story.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I should get back to work,” she said, changing the subject.

  “We were going to get keys made. And you could take a lunch break.”

  “I already grabbed some leftovers.”

  “I can get some takeout and bring it back to the house.”

  “There’s still some quiche. Unless you think real men don’t eat quiche.”

  “I ate it for breakfast,” he pointed out. “Where’s the locksmith?”

  “Just across Main Street.”

  “Okay, I’ll take you up on the lunch offer, if you walk there with me.”

  She nodded.

  They walked down to the locksmith, where she ordered six keys. Then he stopped at the coffee shop that was right on the corner of Center Street. Although he looked casual as he stood in line to order, she was getting to know him, and she saw that he was watching the people.

  “You’re wondering who did it?” she murmured.

  “Yeah.”

  “If they left in a boat, they probably aren’t still here.”

  “Unless they came back.”

  She gave him a quick glance. “I just can’t think of Jenkins Cove like that.”

  He lowered his voice. “We have to go back to the main event. The murder was real.”

  “Yes.”

  Neither one of them mentioned the ghost on the road. Was that real, too? She had wanted to dismiss ghosts from her life. It seemed she wasn’t allowed to do that.

  After he bought his coffee, they walked back to the House of the Seven Gables, where she heated a slice of quiche in the microwave and set out a basket of muffins.

  Probably they should be continuing the discussion about the blender and whether someone had come into the house, but she was distracted. The party was a big deal, and she wanted it to come off well, not only because of Aunt Sophie but because she had something to prove to the town—that she could fit in here.

  ***

  MICHAEL NOTED that the activity at the House of the Seven Gables got more frantic as the day and hour of the party drew near. Not only were Chelsea and Sophie cooking and cleaning, but they were decorating the house for the holiday.

  A curvy brunette with gray eyes delivered boxes of garlands for the fireplace mantels. Chelsea introduced her as Lexie Thornton, a local landscape designer who was selling Christmas greenery for the holiday season.

  But the garlands were far from the major decorations in the public areas of the B & B. Crystal bowls of shiny glass balls, teddy bears wearing holiday outfits and ornamental nutcracker soldiers were set around on tables.

  Chelsea’s painting of Main Street occupied a place of honor over the living room mantel. On a nearby table was a dual roll of tickets and a box where people could pay ten dollars a chance to win the painting. The proceeds were earmarked for town improvements.

  Michael managed to get out of the house to take the blender to a repairman who operated out of his home a few miles from town. But he had a lot of backlog, and he said he couldn’t check out the appliance until later in the week.

  The night before the party, Phil Cardon delivered a huge fir tree, which he set up in the living room. Michael watched him closely, but Cardon seemed only interested in doing his job, getting paid and leaving.

  Michael, Chelsea and Aunt Sophie stayed up until well after midnight decorating the tree with strings of miniature white lights and antique ornaments.

  The next day, when Chelsea sent Michael out for an emergency carton of sour cream and eight ounces of cream cheese, he was glad to escape from the frantic preparations.

  After all that work, he expected Chelsea to look frazzled. But when she came downstairs just before five on Thursday in a floor-length green satin dress that hugged her curves and set off her pale skin and blond hair, he almost forgot to breathe.

  “You look spectacular,” he told her.

  She slid her gaze over his black slacks, blue shirt and tweed sports jacket. “So do you.”

  “Should I put on a tie? I didn’t know it was such a fancy affair.”

  Aunt Sophie came bustling in from the kitchen with a tray of cookies, which she set on the lace-covered table in the dining room. She was wearing a bright red skirt and a creamy blouse with frills down the front. Studded through the folds of lace were tiny lights that blinked on and off. It put her in competition with the Christmas tree.

  “Some people dress up more than others,” she said to Michael. “Dr. Janecek and some of the other men will probably come in tuxedos. And Phil will wear a work shirt and jeans.”

  “Who’s Dr. Janecek?”

  “A physician in town.”

  “Clifford Drake usually wears a tuxedo, too.”

  The guests started arriving around five. Or rather, the suspects, as Michael thought of them. He wanted a chance to meet these people and see how they interacted with the two Caldwell women.

  In the next twenty-five minutes, the B & B filled up with guests. As advertised, a man came in wearing a tuxedo. He was slim and had dark brown hair with silver wings. His eyes were also dark.

  “Clifford Drake or Dr. Janecek?” Michael asked Chelsea.

  “Clifford.”

  A few moments later, another tuxedoed man joined the crowd. He was slender and balding, which he had tried to disguise by combing long strands of hair to the side. His lips were thin, and his dark eyes were deep set.

  “The doctor?” Michael asked.

  “Yes.”

  One of the women immediately cornered him, and Michael supposed from his expression that he was being asked for free medical advice.

  Another man came in wearing a three-piece suit with a watch hanging from a chain. He looked a little nervous, and Michael was immediately on the alert.

  He leaned toward Chelsea. “Who’s that?”

  “Edwin Leonard, the butler at Brandon Drake’s house.”

  “Is he upset about something?”

  “He does look a little on edge,” Chelsea whispered.

  When Leonard spotted Sophie, his eyes lit up, and he crossed the room toward her.

  “He’s been here before,” Chelsea said. “I think he’s sweet on Aunt Sophie. And the feeling is mutual.”

  They went over, and Chelsea made the introductions.

  “Is Brandon coming?” Sophie asked eagerly. “It’s been such a long time since we’ve seen him in town.”

  “I’m afraid he decided to stay home once again,” Edwin answered. “But he practically ordered me to come to the party and have a good time.”

  “It’s too bad he wouldn’t come himself.”

  The butler shook his head. “He’s still grieving for Charlotte. I suggested that he might talk to her through the psychomanteum, but he doesn’t want to try it.”

  Michael listened, nonplussed. It was strange to be hearing a perfectly normal conversation, then hear mention of the psychomanteum.

  Sensing spirits in the old warehouse was one thing. Going into a darkened room and inviting them to communicate with you was quite another.

  “Poor man. Maybe you can change his mind,” Sophie murmured.

  “There are some other people I’d like you to meet,” C
helsea said.

  Michael took the hint. Chelsea was giving her aunt and Edwin Leonard a chance to be together.

  As she led him through the crowd, he heard someone clear his throat. Turning, Michael saw the doctor.

  “We haven’t met.”

  “Dr. Janecek, this is Michael Bryant,” Chelsea said.

  In answer to the doctor’s inquiring look, she added, “Michael is spending some time with us at the House of the Seven Gables.”

  “Did he come down here to use the psychomanteum?” the doctor asked.

  “No,” Michael answered. “I’m just taking a few days to enjoy Jenkins Cove.”

  “I’m glad you don’t believe in that claptrap,” Janecek said.

  Michael saw Chelsea’s jaw tighten, but she didn’t come back with a denial. When he saw her glance across the room, he spotted Chief Hammer talking to some of the Main Street merchants, while he ate from a paper plate of cookies and other goodies that he’d gotten off the buffet table.

  The chief spotted Chelsea and nodded. She nodded back but stayed on her own side of the room.

  Michael watched Ned Perry sidle up to her.

  “Have you talked some sense into your aunt?” he asked.

  “If you mean about selling the House of the Seven Gables, I have no intention of doing that.”

  “You’re making a mistake,” he said in a tight voice.

  “I don’t think so.”

  Michael watched the exchange with interest. He hadn’t liked Perry on their first meeting, and the man was making himself even more unpleasant. Could he have been the one who’d been following them around? Or what if he’d hired someone to do it?

  And what if Ned was willing to go even further? What if he’d hired someone to come into the house and spread that water on the floor?

  Michael moved Ned Perry to the top of his suspect list, then wondered if he was jumping to convenient conclusions. He wanted a solution, so he was manufacturing one.

  Once again, he checked to see what Chelsea was doing and found her talking to one of the Main Street merchants.

  At the beginning of the party, she’d seemed to be having a good time. Now she looked a little distracted, as though she were listening to voices other people couldn’t hear. That thought set his nerves tingling.

  He wanted to ask her what was wrong, but he couldn’t really do it now.

  He saw more people he recognized. The garden center owner, Lexie Thornton, had come in and was talking with Rufus Shea. There seemed to be something between them.

  “They know each other pretty well,” Michael commented to Aunt Sophie.

  “Lexie used to date Rufus’s son, Simon.”

  “The guy who died.”

  “We presume he’s dead. He disappeared thirteen years ago.”

  Michael watched the parade of guests. People from all strata of Jenkins Cove society seemed to be mixing and mingling. On the surface, they appeared to get along, although Michael suspected that there were probably some truces that had been called for the holidays.

  Still, the party was a success. It was close to midnight by the time the house was finally cleared—except for Edwin Leonard, the butler from Drake House.

  Sophie went to a box on a table near the fireplace and looked through the cash and tickets there.

  “We collected almost five hundred dollars for the town fund,” she announced.

  “That’s fantastic,” Edwin said. He added, “Let me help you clean up.”

  “I don’t want to put you to any trouble,” Sophie answered.

  “No trouble. I’m an expert at it.”

  “Of course.”

  True to his word, Edwin was excellent at putting rooms back in order. He organized the four of them into teams. Michael and Chelsea carried food into the kitchen. Sophie and Edwin put it away.

  Then they all tackled the plates and cups that guests had left around the house. Sophie and Leonard went out onto the back porch.

  Chelsea turned to Michael. “You were a big help, too. Thank you.”

  As they walked into the hall, he thought this might be his chance to ask her what had happened at the party to disturb her. She looked so worn-out that he only said, “You go to bed. I know you’ve got to be exhausted.”

  She nodded and started toward the steps. But something about the set of her shoulders told him that she wasn’t headed for bed.

  So, what was she up to?

  He hung back, then followed her to the second floor, where he was pretty sure her bedroom was located. Instead of stopping, she climbed the steps to the third floor.

  She couldn’t be going to work in her studio, could she? Not after such an exhausting day. And not in her party dress.

  He caught his breath as he saw her turn the other way down the hall from her studio. When she opened the door to the psychomanteum, his heart started to pound.

  ***

  CHELSEA TURNED ON THE DIM overhead lights and closed the door behind her. She’d always resisted coming into this room.

  But after Edwin had mentioned it during the party, her thoughts had kept coming back here.

  Edwin was a levelheaded man. If he thought that Brandon Drake could contact his dead wife, then maybe there was something to it. But it wasn’t just Edwin’s suggestion that had sent her up here.

  She shuddered. In the warehouse, she’d had the sensation that a spirit was trying to speak to her. She’d told herself then she was just letting her imagination run away with her.

  Tonight, however, the feeling was even stronger, and she knew she was just going to lie in her bed, tossing and turning, until she came here and tried to make contact.

  She shuddered again.

  She didn’t want to make contact. She just wanted to be left alone. Apparently, that wasn’t an option.

  She picked up the lighter on one of the tables and walked around the room, lighting the candles. Then she turned off the overhead lamp and sat down.

  She wasn’t even sure what to do besides stare at her own reflection in the mirror. She appeared ghostly in the flickering light.

  Maybe she should have changed out of her party dress. But she’d wanted to get this over with and had rushed up here. Now she was stuck.

  If you were uncomfortable, she wondered, did that make it harder or easier to communicate with the dead?

  Whichever it was, she was going to sit here and wait—even if she spent the night in this room.

  What a thought!

  She had been dead tired. Now she was wide-awake because all her senses tingled with anticipation.

  She wasn’t sure how long she sat staring into the mirror. She wanted to look at her watch, but that seemed like too much of a modern intrusion when the room harked back to ancient times.

  After a while, the flickering candlelight and the late hour made her want to close her eyes. But if she did that, she wouldn’t be able to see the mirror, and that was part of the process, wasn’t it? Too bad she hadn’t paid more attention to how this place worked.

  Realizing her hands were clenched in her lap, she tried to relax them. But she needed someone to hold on to, and she was the only one here.

  Or was she? Goose bumps suddenly covered her bare arms as she stared into the mirror. She was the only person who had walked into the room, and yet she thought she saw another figure—a woman—standing in back of her.

  Her breath caught as the figure became more real, more solid. No, maybe solid was the wrong word. Though she could see the woman standing there, she could still see right through her.

  As the back of her neck prickled, the urge to turn around assaulted her. She fought it.

  “Did you come to talk to me?” she whispered, hardly expecting an answer.

  “Yes,” a voice replied, so close that she imagined she could feel the woman’s breath on her neck.

  Not warm breath. Cold.

  She gasped, and it took every ounce of willpower she possessed to keep herself from jumping up and dashing out the door. B
ut she stayed where she was.

  “Chelsea Caldwell,” the woman said in a high, strained voice that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere.

  “Yes.” Chelsea kept her gaze fixed on the mirror, watching the ghostly shape beside her. The figure looked like a woman wearing a translucent veil that covered her from head to toe.

  “You must help me.” The woman spoke in a thick accent that made it hard to understand her. Yet at the same time, it felt remarkable that they were talking coherently to each other at all.

  “How can I do that?”

  “You must bring us justice.”

  Chelsea raised her hand pleadingly, gesturing toward her own reflection. “But…I don’t know how.”

  “You must go back to that place where you saw the murder! Near it. Near the pine tree that has half its branches burned away on one side.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You will know when you see it. Go to the place where you saw me murdered.”

  Chelsea gasped. “You? That was you?”

  “Yes.”

  Gathering her courage, Chelsea asked the question that had been deviling her since the incident on the road. “I saw you lying on the road. Then I saw someone murder you. How is that possible?”

  “The first woman was not me. It was another one who died here. Long ago. She came from the same country as I did.”

  “What country is that?”

  “It is far away. It had a different name when she lived there. That is not the important part. She and I are not the only ones. Many people have come to this charming little town as we did. Some with hope in their hearts and some with despair. But they had one thing in common. They died. They are buried in a mass grave. You must help the police find them.”

  Chelsea’s throat had gone so tight that she could barely drag in enough air to speak. “Why…are you asking this of me?” she managed to ask.

  “Because you are sensitive to us.”

  “No.”

  “My name is Lavinia. Remember my name.”

  The way the woman spoke and the directness of her contact sent a shiver up Chelsea’s spine. Still, she protested. “I have no idea where to look for this grave.”

  “I told you. Near the spot where you saw me murdered. Look for the tree. And do not deny your abilities. You have powers you have never wanted to recognize. That is why I can reach out to you. No one else. It happened when you were a girl, didn’t it? But you weren’t ready.”