Not quite a body, my sweet Piper. Although the object in question could result in one…depending on your particular beliefs.
“You lost me,” I replied, dropping the curtain only after confirming that Wilbur had locked the Jeep up tight before disappearing underneath the window with our two suitcases. “What object, Pearl?”
A vintage turn-of-the-century voodoo doll, dear hexed one. And before you ask—yes, there was definitely a pin stuck in the rough fabric.
“I’m almost afraid to ask,” I muttered, having every intention of getting that voodoo doll in order to cast a spell to find out its origins. A room off-limits to guests that contained a voodoo doll with a pin stuck in the material wasn’t a mere coincidence. “Where was the location of the pin?”
In the back, of course, Miss Lilura.
“Great,” Piper exclaimed, the word dripping in sarcasm. “Someone got ahold of a voodoo doll and somehow ended up summoning a poltergeist to shove our victim. It’s the most logical conclusion, but murder is murder. Someone went to great lengths to not get their hands dirty, Lou.”
“That they did,” I murmured, already beginning to form a plan together in my mind. “Once Wilbur drops off our luggage, we’ll sneak into the infamous room thirteen. I do believe that dinner this evening should have some sort of entertainment, don’t you?”
Orwin and Knox were slated to arrive in time for dinner, thus giving Orwin the chance to get a read on everyone’s thoughts. Should we find that someone had called on a spirit to help commit murder, that individual needed to be held accountable. Voodoo dolls normally didn’t work that way, but dealing with the dark elements of the supernatural was no laughing matter.
One of those knock-knock jokes I have stored away for a more appropriate time would work rather well here, but I do have reverence for the dead. So, dear witches, what is next on our agenda?
Chapter Five
“I’m not sure we should even touch it, let alone have anything to do with it,” Piper whispered, leaning back slightly to get a better view of the hallway in either direction. “It might be safer to stick with investigating the available suspects.”
We’d managed to secure entry into room thirteen, not that it had required a lot of skill, considering the age and style of the locks. You see, Piper had the gift to heal, Orwin had the ability to read someone’s thoughts, and I had the capability to move things, even small intricate objects such as tumblers through harnessed energy.
Yes, you shifted the lock by telekinesis, dear hexed one. We have no time to waste, so chop-chop. Snatch up the voodoo doll and let’s skedaddle.
Pearl was being unusually impatient, but I didn’t want to touch anything without thoroughly inspecting the item in question and being mindful of the consequences of touching a possibly cursed magical item.
Don’t mistake impatience with wisdom, Miss Lilura. I mean, who keeps an empty room with the number thirteen on the door in a haunted manor to house a voodoo doll? We’re obviously not dealing with entirely stable people, and it’s best we solve this mystery and move on as quickly as possible.
“Since when have we ever dealt with stable people?”
You’re right, of course. We find ourselves enduring Mr. Cornelia almost twenty-four-seven.
It was a good thing that Pearl’s voice indicated she was behind me or else she would have seen my smile. Orwin wouldn’t have appreciated being likened to a murderous ghost.
I didn’t compare the alien hunter to a murderer, Miss Lilura. I just questioned his mental state, which seemed only wise. There is a subtle difference. Now, could we move this along? We’ll table the discussion of what you and I find humorous at a later date.
“Pearl, maybe you should go check out the staircase and make sure no one is coming,” Piper suggested quietly, still focused on the hallway. “I’m not limiting that suggestion to merely people, either.”
It would certainly help if we had a name to go along with this poltergeist.
“That’s what I’m hoping this voodoo doll can tell us,” I replied cautiously, walking slowly around the item we were currently discussing as I went through our options. Pearl had already explained to us that the room was vacant, with the exception of the handmade figure. I’d assumed she meant empty, but she had literally meant there was nothing else in the room—no bed, no matching furniture, and no knickknacks. “Gertrude knew enough about avoiding this room to warn us from entering. One of us is going to have to seek her out so we can get some background on what we’re seeing here.”
“Orwin,” Piper proposed, wringing her hands now that Pearl had gone to check the stairs. Her anxiety seemed to have ratcheted up a level. “Maybe we should leave the doll here for the time being. We can always come back once we have more information on what to expect.”
After rethinking our situation, I found myself agreeing with Piper. We shouldn’t move the doll, but I did have time to cast a simple spell that would hopefully provide us with a few answers.
I tentatively stepped closer to the voodoo doll that someone had set directly in the middle of the dusty hardwood floor of the bedroom. It wasn’t the handmade figure that frightened me so much as the dark magic associated with this object that could be used as a material component for such situations that had me a bit hesitant.
With that said, I’d still cast a quick spell to find out who placed the doll inside this room, along with who stuck a pin in its back. With the way Florence Isla Ashton lurched forward, the connection between this item and her death was definitely linked in my mind.
I mean, it wasn’t like things could get much worse for me being hexed by the only Lich Queen in existence, right?
Sweet angel of mercy, are you all but begging to become a full-blown magnet for bad luck? You make my job rather hard to do when you’re in here tempting fate…repeatedly, Miss Lilura.
“Pearl, you’re supposed to be watching the staircase,” Piper whispered earnestly without taking her focus off the hallway.
That’s why I’ve come back, my sweet Piper. We need to vacate this room immediately. No time to waste! Miss Lilura, don’t even think about casting another spell. We’ll return this evening when everyone else has retired for the night.
I wanted to argue, because such an incantation could have easily helped us solve this murder mystery without much effort. It wasn’t often we were handed such gifts right out of the gate.
That’s what worries me, dear hexed one. We’ll talk about this more back in our room. For now, someone is coming and it’s in our best interests not to get caught in the one room we were told not to enter.
“You have a point, Pearl.” I quickly made my way across the hardwood floor, trying not to stir up too much dust. The room was even void of any kind of rug. I also did my best to make sure the heels of my ankle boots didn’t click too loud as I made my way to the door. “Why would Gertrude have specifically told us to stay out of room thirteen? Unless, of course, she wanted us to find that voodoo doll.”
My thoughts exactly, which might have Ms. Gertrude slipping a bit farther down on that suspect list.
Piper quietly closed the door behind us while I nonchalantly flicked my wrist, causing the lock to slide back into place. We were ten rooms down from ours, leaving us little time to make it back to the safety of our suite.
You won’t make it, dear hexed one. Think fast!
I instinctively reached out and grabbed Piper by the arm, yanking her to a stop right in front of a portrait of an older man who bore a striking resemblance to Ms. Florence Isla Ashton.
“Maybe he was her grandfather,” I said loudly, tilting my head to feign my interest in the painting. Hopefully, the person about to find us practically right in front of room thirteen would believe we were admiring the family portraits lining the long wall. “It’s obvious from his high cheekbones and jawline that he was an Ashton. Why don’t we go down to the library for a few hours? There could be a family tree we can use for the documentary.”
Nice r
ecovery, Miss Lilura, although I’m not entirely sure we gave this cover story a thorough enough vetting process. Why is it exactly that we’re conducting this so-called documentary on mansions around the Duluth area?
A discreet cough had both Piper and me turning our heads in unison, both of us succeeding in acting surprised. I was quite pleased with our amateur abilities. The individual in question turned out to be the infamous Aunt Faye, who was still holding the white handkerchief in her right hand.
It was a horrible thought, but I wasn’t sure if anyone inside this manor cared that the matriarch had died or had been murdered.
I would have said Gertrude prior to the voodoo doll fiasco. Really, did the older woman believe we were daft?
“I’d like to apologize for my earlier behavior. Our family has been through a lot these past two days with the loss of my sister.” Faye once again cleared her throat as she spared a glance at the painting we had feigned interest in. “My niece explained your situation. If I may ask, what is the reasoning for your documentary on Ashton Manor?”
And this is why cover stories should be thoroughly gone over enough times, if only to have a ready answer for such questions. I, for one, am at a loss and find myself in need of a spot of warm cream. Perhaps we can call on Wilbur. He seemed like a nice enough fella.
“I’m not sure this is the right time to disclose our reason for being here,” Piper said, catching me off guard.
We were usually on the same page when it came to conducting these investigations, but it seemed she was sticking closer to the truth. I personally didn’t think that was such a good idea, but I couldn’t come up with a way to get her back on track.
My sweet Piper does keep things interesting, doesn’t she?
“Whatever do you mean, young lady?” Faye asked, that perpetual frown we bore witness to on our arrival back in place. “Does this have something to do with my sister?”
She might have me a bit worried. I do so need that spot of warm cream.
“Ms. Ashton, we are conducting research for a documentary involving hauntings. We have been visiting manors where there have been eye-witness documentation of strange sightings, and Ashton Manor happens to be one of them.” Piper surprised me by stepping forward and reaching her hand out in comfort. Even more shocking was that Faye responded and allowed Piper to grasp her fingers. “We didn’t want to mention the real reason behind our exploration due to the nature of your recent loss. Hopefully after the wedding guests leave the various manors and inns, we’ll be able to find a more suitable place to stay and allow you the privacy you need during this difficult time.”
I take full credit for what a genius my sweet Piper has become.
“I appreciate your honesty, young lady,” Faye finally said, seeming to have come to a decision about us. She released Piper’s hand and gestured that she should rejoin me in front of the portrait. “That was our great-grandfather, Eugene Ruthsford Ashton. Ruthsford was his mother’s maiden name, and she wanted her family name to carry on in some way. It has been said many years ago that his spirit might still roam this manor, but I’ve never witnessed any sign of such a thing. My sister, on the other hand, swore that she could hear his wife calling for him at random times during the middle of the night. Florence was always the more theatrical one, and her flair for the dramatic seemed to bring in the guests throughout the years.”
Not to mention that Ms. Florence seemed to have attracted a malevolent spirit along the way. We’re assuming that the poltergeist originally became trapped here, but what if it was brought here by an object…say, such an item as a voodoo doll?
“What was your great-grandmother’s name?” I asked rather innocently in order to keep the conversation flowing.
Orwin would no doubt have a complete dossier on the entire Ashton family when he and Knox arrived at the manor later this evening. Until then, it was prudent to get as many facts about the spirit we’d seen appear on the landing. Even the most minute detail could help him or her cross over to the other side.
Simply saying good riddance might do the trick, as well. One never knows until she tries.
“Ophelia Rosalyn Ashton.” Faye seemed to have lost herself in the past with a blank expression as she continued to stare at the portrait until Piper and I exchanged a concerned glance. Grief was handled in so many different ways, we may have misjudged our initial meeting with Faye. “I just don’t understand why Florence was so infatuated with her story. She was just a local girl who knew how to wile her wares so that Eugene couldn’t resist her charms.”
No misjudgment, Miss Lilura. Your initial intuition was spot on. Speaking of spot, about that warm cream…
“Getting back to the subject at hand, I do not believe that this place is haunted.” Faye brushed what had to be some imaginary lint off her black dress before gesturing toward the staircase with her hand. “No use in further wasting your time, though. You’re here. The family library is downstairs to the left. Follow the long hallway, past the billiards room. You can’t miss it, if that is what you’re actually looking for. Find what you need for your documentary, and then move on, please. I’ll be closing this place to overnight guests and tourists. It never should have been opened to the public in the first place, but Florence had a mind of her own. It’s our family estate, not a Motel 6.”
Ms. Faye is overly confident about the content of Ms. Florence’s will, isn’t she? My sweet Piper, add to Mr. Cornelia’s research list that he should dig a bit deeper into why Ms. Florence was the executor of the estate in the first place. It’s clear that no one in the family trusted Ms. Faye to make the right decisions concerning her sister’s last wishes for Ashton Manor.
“Thank you, Ms. Ashton,” Piper said quietly as we both stepped to the side to allow Ms. Faye to pass us by on the way to her own suite of rooms. At least, I assumed that’s where the older woman was heading as she continued to gracefully walk down the hallway. Piper stepped closer to me so that her voice didn’t carry. “Did you notice that she didn’t even glance at room thirteen?”
Ms. Faye strikes me as the type of woman who rarely makes a mistake. If she is the guilty party, she would never have given herself away with a simple glance, my sweet Piper.
“Wilbur barely said a word when he brought our luggage to our room,” I reminded them, coming to the conclusion it was time to talk to the married couple. “Let’s head downstairs and—”
Oh, dear! It seems we are about to receive a visitor.
Concern saturated Pearl’s English tone with every word she spoke, but it was the hum of energy coming from behind us that had Piper and I slowly turning around in caution from watching Ms. Faye disappear into a bedroom at the far end of the hallway.
May I point out that this particular spirit seems a bit more agitated?
Our powers as witches sometimes had no effect on ghosts or those souls stuck in the living realm. That didn’t stop me from harnessing energy from my surroundings and preparing myself for defense against whatever damage this spirit could do to our physical bodies.
“I can see her features,” Piper murmured, taking a similar defensive stance until our shoulders touched. “Look. She’s becoming clearer.”
It’s apparent that this spirit has spent years gathering up her strength. Don’t underestimate her power, dear hearts.
The ethereal mist continued to hover at the top of the staircase, becoming more distinct by the second. If I hadn’t been so concerned for our safety, I would have recognized the fact that she was beautiful. She had long black hair with her tresses falling over her shoulders, high cheekbones, bow-shaped lips, and a slender figure. The only thing I could focus on at the moment was that she was pointing at something very specific, but surprisingly not to room thirteen.
There goes my chance to enjoy a spot of warm cream.
You see, the spirit had trained her pointed finger directly at me.
Is there something you haven’t told us, dear hexed one?
Chapter Six
/> “The spirit we saw was definitely Ophelia Rosalyn Ashton,” Piper announced softly as she gently ran her index finger over the beautiful features of the woman in a black and white photograph. “She didn’t feel evil to me. Did she give off a malevolent vibe to you?”
“No, she didn’t.” I was leaning over Piper’s shoulder to get a better look at the picture inside one of the many family photo albums. The library’s filing system hadn’t been that hard to decipher, especially considering every family-related journal and picture album was shelved by date. Photographs from the 1850s were rare due to the expense and crude processes used to create an image. The Ashton albums contained many of the earliest types of photos. “We need to find Ophelia’s journal.”
Is it possible that Ophelia’s spirit isn’t the only one in this manor? Ms. Faye did mention that her sister would hear Ms. Ophelia call out to her husband during the middle of the night. What if that were true? What if Ms. Ophelia had been trying to stop her husband from doing something horrible that would keep his soul trapped in this mansion?
“That thought crossed my mind, too,” I confessed, scanning the very top row of the bookcase. “I’m not so sure Eugene’s soul remained behind after his death, though. If he were the stronger spirit, we would have already sensed him by now.”
Unless Mr. Eugene has learned to manipulate his energy. Anything is possible, Miss Lilura.
The family library was ornately exquisite with the dark English walnut paneling and matching furniture. Ladders were accessible and able to be rolled to whatever section the researcher desired. The massive river rock hearth traveled up until it touched the high ceiling. Someone had seen to it that the stack of oak logs was burning steadily, adding to the warm ambiance.
The brown overstuffed leather furniture had been positioned just so around the fireplace, with antique pieces that accentuated the décor. A tray filled with a silver service tea set and another with cut crystal glasses corresponding with decanters of various dark liquors had been arranged on either side of the room, allowing the visitors to choose their preferred drink.
The Squeaky Ghost Gets the Curse Page 5