The Missing Ingredient

by Diane Noble

  If things didn’t turn around quickly at the Hamilton Springs, Armand wouldn’t be the only one out of a job.

  Livvy touched Kate’s hand. “I heard about the arrest.”

  “News travels fast,” Kate remarked.

  “It always does in Copper Mill,” Livvy said gently. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

  She nodded. “I just wish there was something I could do.”

  “Have you talked to Susannah?” Livvy asked. “This must be terribly hard on her.”

  “I called Skip Spencer to see if I could get in to see her, but they’re still questioning her. I asked about bail, and he didn’t know.” Kate leaned across the table toward Livvy. “Her career may already be damaged beyond repair.”

  Just then a cell phone rang across the diner. Nicolette stood, and even from the distance between them, Kate could see the flush on her cheeks as she lifted the phone to her ear. She said something to the group she was with, then, still holding the phone, she strode out of the diner.

  Kate pulled back the curtain and watched Nicolette walk across the street. Then, stopping, she leaned against a lamppost and smiled as she continued talking.

  Watching the scene along with Kate, Livvy said, “It appears to be good news.”

  “More than that,” Kate said, leaning forward. “Look at her face. What expression do you see?”

  Livvy frowned, then a slow realization seemed to dawn. Her eyes were wide when she looked back at Kate.

  “That’s the face of a woman in love,” Kate said. “And I’m pretty sure I know who she’s in love with...”—she refrained from giving the air a victory punch—“and who she’s talking to.”

  Livvy laughed. “Something tells me you just connected some dots.”

  “One big dot,” Kate said.

  They finished their pie, then Livvy said, “Don’t forget. Tomorrow night is the book signing.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  “Is Paul coming?”

  “He’s decided we need to support the library—and you—in this. We’ll both be there early, just in case you need us.”

  Livvy pressed her fork into the last of her pie crust, took a bite, and smiled. “To help with crowd control?”

  “Are the Caspers still planning to picket?”

  “I think so. I was hoping that the fuss would die down...until the strange events at the hotel hit. Now I fear it just riled up the Caspers and Ghostbusters even more.”

  LuAnne brought their bill, and the two women went over to the cash register to pay. “Even if it’s just for moral support, we’ll be there.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And, of course, there’s Joel St. Nicklaus, who’s probably dealt with this sort of thing before. He’ll know how to handle the naysayers.”

  “Maybe he’s got something magical in his bag of tricks.”

  Kate groaned. “Oh dear. Next we’ll be talking about his white beard.”

  Livvy stared at her friend for a moment, then bit her bottom lip.

  “Don’t tell me...”

  Livvy giggled. “I’ve seen his photo, and, yes, he’s got one. But he looks more like Hemingway than the other white-bearded guy.”

  Outside the diner, Livvy patted Kate’s hand. “Try not to worry about Susannah. God’s got her in his hands, and he’s not going to let go.”

  “I know that in here,” Kate said, tapping her heart, “but it’s up here that’s prone to worry.” She touched her forehead. “Especially when it’s someone I care about.” She didn’t mention the text message she’d received, though that worried her as well.

  They hugged good-bye, and Livvy headed back to the library. Kate rounded the corner to where she had parked the Honda.

  She came to a dead stop.

  Nicolette was standing in front of her car, arms crossed.

  “I saw you watching me,” she said, tilting her head toward the diner widow. “It wasn’t a casual glance. You pulled back the curtain and stared while I was on the phone.”

  Kate’s heart did a little dance, and she coughed to get the rhythm back to normal. “I noticed the glow on your face and wondered who you might be talking to,” she said.

  “Glow?” The word came out as a growl.

  “Yes. The glow of a woman who cares a great deal about the person she’s talking to.”

  Nicolette looked stunned. Then she laughed. “You have a very active imagination.”

  Kate didn’t answer. Her heart was still pounding. She swallowed hard and tried to breathe normally.

  “No matter.” Nicolette shrugged. “But I would like to pass along a word of warning. You’re very nosy. I suggest you mind your own business.”

  “So you decided to deliver the warning in person this time?”

  Nicolette looked momentarily confused. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The smirk returned. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  Even though the sleet had stopped falling, a cold wind still blasted, lifting Kate’s hair, stinging her cheeks, and chilling her to the bone.

  KATE TOOK A CHANCE that she might be able to talk with Susannah and stopped by the jail. Skip Spencer led her into the holding facility.

  Susannah sat on the side of a bunk, alone in her cell. It broke Kate’s heart to see her this way.

  She looked up when she heard Kate’s approach. Her smile was wan.

  “Hey, kiddo. How are you doing?”

  “Fair to middlin’,” she said with a hollow laugh.

  Skip returned to his desk, leaving Kate to speak with her friend.

  “Is it true?” Kate asked again, hoping for a different answer. “About the blood on the towel, I mean?”

  “Yes. I went on a drive that day, spotted Newt’s Hummer, and decided to give him a piece of my mind about how he treats people. I drove to that place by the creek, got out of my car and found him sitting in his. He seemed despondent, which surprised me. I saw him holding that Swiss army knife of his and panicked.”

  She shook her head as she walked toward the bars between them. “I thought he was going to harm himself. So I lunged—tried to take it away from him.” She sighed. “My vivid imagination got the best of me. But I missed and during the scuffle, he cut himself. I ran for a towel, dabbed it on his wound.” She shrugged. “We even had a laugh over it, and then I left. Without giving it another thought, I tossed the towel in the trunk.”

  “I wish you’d told me that from the beginning,” Kate said quietly.

  “I didn’t think it was a big deal,” Susannah said, blinking back her tears. “But apparently it is.”

  “It is to the police,” Kate whispered, touching Susannah’s hand through the bars.

  “That’s what worries me.” Susannah turned her back and Kate could see that she was crying.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Kate and Paul drove to the library a half hour before the book signing was due to start. A few Caspers had already arrived with their picket signs. They were in full uniform, florals, plaids and pastel sateens.

  An older man held a Ghostbuster’s sign, and beside him stood the waitress named Sophie from the diner. She held a Casper sign.

  On Sophie’s other side was a tiny woman in a wheelchair. Though her hair was white, the shape of her face was identical to Sophie’s. She held a sign that said, “I believe!” in the center of an outline of Casper, the Friendly Ghost. Tied to the back of her wheelchair was a bunch of white balloons, which she handed, one at a time, to people as they arrived for the signing.

  “That’s Sophie and her grandparents,” Kate said. “They have a live-in ghost that moves furniture, puts away dishes, and covers people with blankets so they won’t get cold.”

  Paul laughed. “That’s the kind of ghost I’d like to have.”

  “I have a feeling I know their ghost personally.”

  “Sophie?”

  “You guessed it, though she didn’t say it in so many words. And I understand Sophie’s reasons for ‘ghosting.’”
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  Still sitting in the Honda, they fell silent for a moment, watching as a few other Caspers marched to the front of the library, interspersed with people holding Ghostbuster signs.

  “Do you think it helped when you spoke with the folks at Faith Briar about ghosts and the possibility of their existence?”

  “People seemed to just need to talk about it. Some were genuinely concerned but others were caught up in the frenzy caused by the St. Nicklaus book. And, of course, the idea that the Hamilton Springs has its own ghost seemed to push some of our parishioners over the edge.” He paused. “But it’s not over yet. We’ve got some mighty upset folks around town. I wouldn’t be surprised to see a better turnout than we expected tonight.”

  “I just hope there aren’t any rowdy ghosties that interrupt the author...or the storyteller.”

  “Ghosties?” Paul quirked a brow.

  “We have foodies, Tasties, roadies...Why not ghosties?” Kate turned to Paul. “You’re still planning to speak to them?”

  His expression was solemn as he nodded. “The whole town is questioning the existence of ghosts. I can’t just let it go without saying a word.”

  “And we did promise Livvy we’d try to help.”

  They got out of the car, and Paul headed to the front of the library and held up his hands. Immediately, the hubbub quieted and everyone turned toward him.

  “Friends, I know you’ve all got questions about all this, and honestly I do too. Some of you believe with all your heart that there’s such a thing as ghosts. Others of you believe just as strongly there isn’t.

  “But I want to remind you that focusing on the ghosts, whether you believe in them or not, takes our focus off the more important things—how we treat one another, for one thing. How we see God’s work in our lives—not whether ghostly apparitions exist or not. We know our God is real, and I think we may need reminding that it’s Him we need to keep our sights on. His work in our lives as we reflect his love to others.”

  Paul’s gesture was all inclusive. “All of us here have the opportunity to accept each other even in our differences, even as God accepts us unconditionally. Of course, we can’t always agree on everything, but we can agree to disagree.” He grinned. “I know that’s been said before, but it’s worth repeating.”

  In the back of the crowd, the grandmother in the wheelchair shouted, “Hear hear!”

  A smattering of others applauded, then the clapping grew louder. A Casper hugged a Ghostbuster. Then several more did the same. Soon there were more hugs, chatting and laughter.

  Paul looked at Kate and grinned again. She gave him a thumbs up.

  A late-model Ford pulled up just then and a man of about fifty got out of the driver’s side, then went around to the passenger side and opened the door.

  “I believe that’s Joel St. Nicklaus,” Paul said.

  “He fits the description,” Kate agreed. “And that must be our storyteller with him.”

  “How about we greet them and escort them in?” Paul said.

  He took Kate’s hand as they moved toward the author and his companion.

  There wasn’t an empty seat in the reading area when seven o’clock rolled around. Livvy introduced the speakers—Joel St. Nicklaus and the storyteller, Maggie McFie Waterhouse—then sat down between her husband Danny and Kate, who were seated in the front row.

  Joel spoke first, entertaining the audience with stories about why he chose the topic for his book and the rich materials he found during his research—the stories about haunted houses, hotels, and shops—and how he embellished them for the book.

  “There are more ghost stories out there than one can imagine,” he said, then looked startled when the Caspers cheered and jabbed their “I Believe!” signs in the air.

  He spoke for fifteen minutes, reminded people that they could buy his book at the back table after the storyteller was through speaking, then turned the program over to Maggie.

  Kate was taken with the woman immediately. She appeared to be in her forties, very petite, with dark cascading curls drawn away from her face. She wore a white gauzy dress with a midcalf handkerchief hem. Kate noticed that balletlike slippers graced her feet, and when she moved, it seemed she was almost dancing.

  Maggie gave a slight tilt of the head to someone standing at the back of the room, and the lights dimmed. Kate blinked. In the twilightlike light, the woman took on an almost ethereal visage.

  “My name is Precious McFie.” Maggie’s voice was that of a young woman, breathless and beckoning. The kind of voice that immediately drew Kate back in time.

  She delved into the story, and in telling it in first person, she became Precious McFie. There wasn’t a sound in the room except her voice as she spoke of the love of her life, her upcoming marriage, the joy that filled her heart when she thought of her beloved, Holden Giles III.

  “Then one day,” she said, her voice taking on a haunting quality, filled with sorrow and desperate sadness, “my beloved was no more. I say no more because he might as well have been dead to me. He found another love and discarded me like rubbish.”

  Maggie told of the journey by train to Copper Mill, a place her family and his had often come on holiday. The elegant Copper Creek Hotel was to have been her vacation destination, she said, and after her love left, the place drew her as sure as a moth was drawn to a candle flame.

  “I brought with me my wedding gown and slippers,” Maggie said, twirling. Her gossamer skirt suddenly became the gown, and her ballet slippers, the wedding shoes. She lifted a silk scarf to her head, and as she again twirled, it became her veil.

  “I waited for my love, thinking surely he would change his mind and come to me. But he didn’t, at least not right away. And when he did, it was too late.”

  She went on with the details of Holden’s journey to Copper Mill—how, in the end, it was Precious he wanted.

  She told of her walk by the creek in the sleet and hail, wearing only her wedding gown; at the same time, unknown to her, Holden was on a train destined for Copper Mill.

  She became ill that night, but as she hovered near death, she looked up and saw Holden’s face. “At first I thought it was an apparition,” Maggie said. “I didn’t believe that he had actually come to me. He pledged me his love, he pledged to never leave me, and he begged me not to die.

  “His visits were a secret, you see. Nobody knew he was with me, not even the hotel staff. His father had political ambitions, and Holden told me that his scandalous behavior would harm the family, and most especially, his father’s bid for governor.

  “It came to me that night that my Holden was not the man I thought he was. I was nearly delirious with fever, but not so ill that I couldn’t see the real reason Holden wanted his presence kept a secret. He was still in love with the other woman. Whatever his ties to me, they were borne more of guilt than of love.

  “I tried to send him away, but he would not leave me. He sat by my bed, watching me as I struggled for breath, watching me as I slipped into unconsciousness, watching me die.

  “You might wonder how I knew about his comings and goings, how he managed to creep into my room undetected by the hotel staff and even the doctor.

  “I seemed to float above the bed before I drew my last breath. I remember floating through walls and closed doors as if they were not there. Holden, in his obsessive desire to keep his presence unknown, used a secret vehicle for his own purposes...”

  Kate gasped.

  Maggie McFie Waterhouse had just connected a major dot in the puzzle. Kate glanced at Paul to see if he’d noticed, but he was as mesmerized as the rest of the audience. Then she looked at Livvy. Her friend was also staring straight ahead, apparently unaware of the clue Maggie had unknowingly dropped into Kate’s lap.

  She barely heard the rest of Maggie’s story, as her mind connected the dots: Newt’s Swiss Army knife in the Hummer, a knife he never let anyone else use; Nicolette’s phone call from someone who made her face glow; a “vehicle” for gett
ing from one floor to another; lights flickering on and off in the ghost wing of the hotel.

  Haunted? Hardly. Kate had a pretty good idea why it wasn’t.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Tonight’s the night all of this will end,” Kate said to Livvy. She had stopped by the library to return some books on ghosts and hauntings, pro and con, that Paul had borrowed. As soon as Livvy saw her, she said it was break time and suggested they grab a cup of tea at the diner.

  They sat at a booth by the window—the same window where Kate had seen Nicolette on the phone and put two and two together about who was on the other end.

  “I’m almost positive that Newt Keller is hiding out, and I think I know where. It’s time to confront him.” She lowered her voice. “I don’t care if it takes all night; I’m going to wait for him and see that justice is done.”

  “Where?”

  She smiled. “He’s been under our noses the whole time. I’m convinced he’s at the Hamilton Springs.”

  Livvy grew even more alarmed. “Oh, Kate!”

  Kate nodded. “I can’t wait any longer, Liv. I have to find out the truth.”

  “Then at least call the sheriff and let him know what you’re up to.”

  “I tried to get through to him this afternoon. I told Skip what I’d discovered. He said he’d pass along the information.”

  LuAnne stopped by their table. “Sorry for the wait, girls. We’re slammed today, what with the hotel out of commission and all. What can I do you for?”

  “A slice of lemon-meringue pie for me,” Livvy said. “And tea.”

  “Make that two,” Kate said.

  LuAnne came back with a teapot, then bent conspiratorially toward them and dropped her voice. “Did you hear what happened at the hotel this morning?”

  “Something new?” Kate couldn’t imagine what else was going on at the Hamilton Springs. The previous week’s supposed haunting was still the talk of the town.