Ghost Crypt (The Ghost Files Book 5)

by Chanel Smith

  “No trouble at all, sir.”

  Chapter Eleven

  I couldn’t help but notice that Henry seemed a little more distant than normal and that he snapped the watch open and closed, over and over again, as we drove the short distance to the pub. We were greeted in similar fashion to the day before, but I decided that rather than a glass of water, I wanted a pint of stout to take a little of the edge off. Henry ordered one as well, though Ellen stuck with water.

  Ellen wasn’t as drained as she had been the day before, but she was still deep in thought. When she finally spoke, her words surprised me. “I’m not one to give up on something, but something about this one tells me that we are in way over our heads.”

  The shocked expression on my face must have been classic. I had never known her to throw in the towel on a ghost case.

  “What?” she said. “You heard him say that it was impossible. The powers are too strong. I don’t understand everything that I’m dealing with and I don’t want to be responsible for getting one of us hurt or killed.”

  “Let’s not go that far just yet, Babe.” I honestly wasn’t thinking about our wealthy international ghost hunting careers coming to an end at that moment, but actually more concerned with seeing Ellen give up on a case. I could see me giving up; well, no, actually, I was equally as stubborn, but it rattled me to see her doing so.

  “I don’t trust what’s going on with this one.”

  Her doubt rubbed off on me, but I was looking for a way to straighten things out; finish the job. I watched Henry for several minutes. He was acting even more suspicious than he had before. As I watched him, I remembered the long conversation that he and the Celt had had that wasn’t translated for the rest of us.

  “Henry,” I began. “What was the conversation between you and the Celt about? You didn’t translate all of it.”

  “Clarification mostly,” he replied. His eyes told me that he was covering something up.

  “That’s not all it was, Henry. I used to be a PI; I can tell when somebody is lying. Give us the rest of it. Tell us exactly what he said. There really is a way, isn’t there?” I wasn’t going to let him off the hook. He’d tried to keep from revealing the means of helping the trapped spirits go to the light. It made me a little bit suspicious of his motives and made me wonder if Ellen had picked something up that I hadn’t.

  “Henry,” Ellen joined in. She could read people nearly as well as she could ghosts. “Is there something that you’re not telling us?”

  Henry hemmed and hawed for a few seconds. He was trapped by the two of us and his cover up had been discovered. “By Jove! I had hoped to just let this pass on by. It’s ludicrous to even entertain the notion!”

  “Entertain what notion, Henry?” I asked.

  “There is a way to allow the spirits to pass on toward the light. However, as I’ve said already, it’s simply preposterous to even entertain the notion of carrying it out.”

  “Henry,” Ellen said, smiling. “You’re still not telling us anything. What is the way?”

  Henry glanced at me and then focused back on her. “It would require a human sacrifice. Now, I don’t believe it’s to be a blood sacrifice, but rather a human allowing them to pass on into the extraterrestrial world,” he rushed forward, hoping to soften the blow that had already slammed into us like a freight train. “A voluntary ‘body snatching,’ if you will…”

  “Henry, slow down a second,” I said, placing a hand on his arm.

  He took a long draught of his beer and then looked back at me. “Voluntary body snatching. By Jove, that was a good one.”

  “Why did you hold that back from us?” Ellen asked. “We had agreed to be honest about all of this.”

  I suddenly remembered Henry’s reaction when I told the Celt to bring on his challenge. The spirit had had sort of a bloodthirsty look in his eyes when he had issued the challenge. He’d been a little too eager to bait me into his challenge. I wasn’t sure what his motivation might have been, but I didn’t trust him. Though, as ridiculous as it sounds, I wanted to prove to him that I was man enough to step up and do what it took. I would have stubbornly stepped up to sacrifice myself, just to prove the point. That’s messed up, Monty.

  “So that’s why you told me not to accept his challenge.”

  “Yes, of course.” His eyes were shifting back and forth between the two of us. He wasn’t completely off the hook. He was still nervous that we would discover something else.

  “What else, Henry?” Ellen asked. She had a way of drawing information out of a person or ghost. She was intimidating with her mixture of straightforwardness and sweetness; it was nearly impossible to hold anything back whenever she asked for something.

  I suddenly knew what he was covering up. He was the ultimate Brit, dauntless in the face of a challenge. I had visions of the Red Coats marching in a straight line, dressing up their lines shoulder to shoulder in the face of musket fire from all around them, absolutely fearless. “You told him that you’d do it, didn’t you?”

  “In a way.” He hesitated for a moment. “Yes.”

  “Henry, you can’t sacrifice yourself for a bunch of 2,000-year-old ghosts!” Ellen shouted.

  Her shout drew the attention of the bartender. “Ghosts? Are we talking about ghosts?” He started toward our table. “’Ave you ’eard that they think that the Tube between Vauxhall and Stockwell is ’aunted by ghosts? They say that the bloody things open the train doors while it’s barreling through the Tube. That throws the brakes on, of course. Bloody dangerous, if you ask me. They need to fix whatever it is before some old bloke that’s had a few too many tumbles out an kills ’isself.”

  “I was just explaining that very thing to these Yanks,” Henry said. He was working on another cover up for the bartender and a way to get rid of him.

  “Did you ever hear the story about that ’aunting in Cornwall a few years back?” he started in. Henry’s plan hadn’t worked. We were settling in for a long day, if we had an English bartender that started telling ghost stories. As fate would have it, however, he had only taken a breath to start his tale when the phone rang. “Ahhhh… wouldn’t you know it. The minute you get started on a good story…” He went back to the bar to answer the phone.

  “I wasn’t thinking of sacrificing myself for a few 2,000-year-old spirits,” Henry began. He was pale, and by the way he licked his lips, I guessed that his mouth was dry as well. He had seriously considered doing what he was talking about. “I was thinking of sacrificing myself for that old bloke that the bartender was talking about, a little old lady, a pregnant mother-to-be or a small child. Just like he said. One of these days, someone is going to take a tumble if we don’t put an end to this nonsense.”

  “But Hen…” Ellen started.

  “Let me finish,” he interrupted. “The two of you have a good life ahead of you. You’ve a good marriage, love and like as not, there are little ones in your future. I, on the other hand, have no wife, no children and no prospects. I am the logical and reasonable choice to take care of this problem and my mind is made up.”

  “Henry,” Ellen began. There was a hint of tears in her eyes. “Your sentiments are certainly noble, I cannot argue that, but you simply can’t be serious. As you said before, to even entertain the idea is preposterous. You cannot sacrifice yourself. There must be another way.”

  “There is no other way,” he announced. He raised his nose slightly as if he was finished listening.

  “You’re taking the word of a 2,000-year-old Druid priest on that? Be reasonable Henry. We don’t know that he’s telling us the truth. Ghosts can be rather tricky and manipulating at times. Believe me, we’ve seen some of the stunts they like to pull. You need to just put the idea out of your mind.”

  “Henry, let’s explore more options,” Ellen started in. “Let’s do some more research, get some more historical background and perspective. Let’s explore the alien origins of Stonehenge and the Druid Order more. There must be someone who ca
n help us find another way.”

  Henry’s resolve began to visibly weaken as Ellen reasoned with him. “I suppose we could continue researching.”

  “That’s right. And Monty’s right too. We don’t even know that we can trust him. You heard me say before that I don’t trust this entire situation. There are entirely too many unknowns for me,” Ellen continued.

  “We’re not going to give up on this, Henry,” I joined in. “Ellen and I are just as concerned about someone taking a tumble out of the train as you are. It’s a miracle that it hasn’t happened yet. We’re as invested in this as you are, but we have to remain reasonable.”

  “Very well, then,” he began. “I have meetings throughout the morning tomorrow, but I should be available by mid-afternoon. We can continue to do research. Let me see if I can get in touch with some other gentlemen that might be able to give us a little bit more detail.”

  We finished our drinks and managed to escape the bar before the bartender got off of the phone; by the sound of his conversation, he was on the line with a supplier. He waved at us as we left. “Come back tomorrow, and I’ll tell you some whoppers!”

  We returned his wave and continued out the door. The rather heated discussion in which we had been engaged had left an odd tone hanging between us and we rode in silence back to our hotel. Before Ellen and I got out of the car, Henry asked us to wait a moment.

  “Monty. Ellen. I sincerely appreciate the fact that you have allowed me to be a part of this. I have grown quite fond of the two of you. I realized only a few moments ago that you are quite fond of me as well. I can be a bit bullheaded and stubborn, and I apologize for that. Please, take a long, slow lunch, enjoy the afternoon and sleep in tomorrow. I’ll put something together and we’ll dive right back into all of this tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Sounds like a plan to me,” I agreed, extending my hand to shake his. “It would be a tragedy to come all of the way to London and not get to see at least some of the sites. And, old man, we are quite fond of you, you’ve been a Godsend.”

  “Agreed,” Ellen added. She leaned in and gave him a soft peck on the cheek.

  He teared up as she kissed him and took a swipe at his eyes with a handkerchief that he pulled from the inside breast pocket of his suit. “If all Yanks are as good as you two, then Americans ain’t half bad.”

  With that comment made, we got out of the car, said our goodbyes, and watched as Rochester drove away with Henry sitting tall and straight in the back seat.

  “I think the old guy lives a very lonely life,” Ellen commented. “We’ve probably been a breath of fresh air to him.”

  “Who’d a thunk it. A couple of down home Yanks like ourselves.”

  Ellen smacked me in the chest and we started into the entrance of the hotel together.

  Chapter Twelve

  I could tell that Ellen had something up her sleeve when we went down to the car at 8:00 a.m. the next morning. She’d promised me chocolate pancakes and I was wound up to have some. It had been a while. The waffles in Belgium had been a decent substitute, but the craving for chocolate pancakes was strong and its fulfillment was long overdue.

  I ought to have known that something was up when she whispered in Rochester’s ear as we were getting into the car instead of openly giving directions the way we had every time we’d gotten in the car before.

  I recognized the route, somewhat. I knew that the Denny’s I had seen on the Google maps was near the British Museum and the route we were on was headed in that direction. Ellen had me fooled with the smile on her face. I believed that she was happy to finally be treating me to some chocolate pancakes.

  I suddenly understood her hidden mirth when we pulled up in front of a Denny’s uniform store. “Here’s your Denny’s,” she said, bursting into laughter. I even noted a smirk on Rochester’s face.

  “Very funny,” I said. “However, the joke is on you. You promised chocolate pancakes and now you have to figure out a way to provide them for me.”

  “Ma’am,” Rochester said. “If you’ll permit me, I know of a place. It is not far from here and well worth the trip.”

  Still feeling slightly stung by her joke, I wasn’t exactly certain that the two of them weren’t in on something together. I kept an eye on the face in the mirror, but he gave nothing away and Ellen was acting quite innocent; too innocent. Her joke wasn’t quite finished yet, but I hadn’t yet caught on to what she had planned.

  I watched out the window as Rochester took us past Hyde Park, Kensington Gardens and Kensington Palace, where the newest royal lived with his parents William and Kate. The car finally came to a stop in the parking lot of My Old Dutch Pancake House.

  “Your chocolate pancakes await you.” Ellen was beaming. She was extremely proud of herself, not only for the joke that she’d played on me earlier, but for delivering on her promise.

  “How did you find this place?” I asked.

  “I had some help,” she replied, glancing over at Rochester as he stood holding the door.

  “Rochester?” I chuckled. “You old dog. I think the two of you had this planned out.”

  “Monty, you and Rochester have something in common,” she said.

  “We do? What’s that?”

  “Chocolate pancakes,” Ellen replied.

  “Is she telling the truth, Rochester?”

  “I do rather fancy them, sir,” he replied. By the stoic look on his face, you would never have guessed it, so I had to just take his word for it.

  “I’ve a truth test for you then, Rochester.”

  “What would that be, sir?”

  “Come join us.”

  “I couldn’t possibly indulge, sir,” he replied.

  “If you fancy them the way I fancy them, you’ll join us.”

  I could see that he was caving in to my challenge. “I suppose I could have just one, sir.”

  I knew that nobody could have just one pancake, but I was thrilled that he decided to join us. It just goes to show that sometimes our first impressions of people aren’t always as accurate as we think. My Old Dutch Pancake House had every flavor of pancake ever invented and then some. As promised, they also had chocolate ones. Rochester didn’t become chummy with us, but we did manage to get him to give us a few details about his background; that is, until the pancakes arrived.

  After gorging ourselves on pancakes, we toured Kensington Palace Museum and enjoyed Kensington Gardens. We then headed off to Buckingham Palace, though we were a bit too late for the changing of the guard. We discovered a pricy little pub where we enjoyed another traditional, British lunch and continued to enjoy being tourists until about three o’clock in the afternoon, when Ellen happened to look at her watch.

  “We’d best go meet with Henry,” she said, showing me her watch. I was wearing one too, and could have looked at my own. We made our way back to where we were supposed to meet Rochester and found him waiting patiently on a bench in the shade not far from the car.

  “Did you enjoy your tour?” he asked as he opened the door for us. I still couldn’t shake the John Houseman from my head entirely, but after that morning’s secrets had been revealed I was starting to see him in a whole new light and he seemed to be a little bit more interested in us.

  “We did, indeed,” Ellen replied.

  “You’ve your meeting with Mr. Wandsworth, now?” he asked.

  “Yes, he is at the museum,” I replied.

  Without further discussion, Rochester pulled away from the curb and into traffic headed for the British Museum. I was still duly impressed as we pulled up to the museum. We simply didn’t have architectural structure with that sort of ancient, old world charm in LA. We had a lot of modern artsy stuff, but mostly, it seemed, American architects had focused more on function rather than form in their building designs. Of course, another factor was cost, it would be astronomical to attempt to build anything resembling the British Museum in modern times, on anyone’s budget.

  We entered and were greeted b
y the beaming receptionist that we had been seeing quite a lot of and were surprised to have a message and a note from Henry.

  “He left this note on my desk to be delivered to you today,” the receptionist said, pushing it across the counter toward us. Ellen looked at it and then at me, wrinkling her brow.

  I picked it up and started reading.

  Dear Ellen and Monty,

  I had something relating to an archeological find in Wales come up and had to hurry out of town for a few days. I have enclosed several places and ideas for you to visit and contacts that can help fill in some of the pieces to our puzzle.

  I realize that without my translation services, you will have some difficulty speaking to our Celt. I would recommend Ewen. Though Monty didn’t particularly take a liking to him, he is still one of the leading experts in anything to do with the Druid Order and understands the Celtic tongue even better than I do. For all of his rather bizarre idiosyncrasies, he is a knowledgeable professional and, I might add, he is already in the loop. I don’t know that we ought to be dragging many more people into this little mystery of ours. Word gets out, you know.

  I shouldn’t be long. The enclosed list ought to take several days for you to work through as it is. I’ve also taken the liberty to jot down some of the theories that we’ve postulated and some of the questions that still remain. Just a bit of organization on my part.

  Also, while I’m away, please enjoy a little bit of London like a pair of good Yanks.

  Best Regards,

  Henry Agness Wandsworth

  I examined the attached outline and list while Ellen read the letter. When she was finished, there was a very odd look on her face.

  “What?” I asked. “It looks like he planned things out very well to help cover for his absence. I’m not so sure that I’m keen on seeing Ewen again for any reason, but if worse comes to worst and we need him…”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about.” She extended the letter to me. “Look at his signature.”