by Angie Fox
"Really?" I tried not to sound so eager, but I needed this break. "Did you see her that night?"
He stood, as if taking my measure. "She found a letter in the wooden secretary. It's gone now. I don't know who took it."
I rubbed a hand over my eyes. "I know. I've been chasing down that lead and it hasn't led me anywhere useful."
He narrowed his eyes. "I'm not talking about the letter Jackson showed you."
I dropped my hand. "You saw me with him?"
"I always know who's in my operating room."
The doctor walked over to where I'd stood with Jackson, and the image of the antique secretary shimmered into view on the table, exactly as it had before. He was remembering the same thing, recalling it from the ether. He caressed the mother-of-pearl dove inlaid on the wood and opened the lid to reveal the foldout writing table and the cubbyholes stuffed with letters. But then he lifted the leather lining on the writing surface and reached underneath.
"I fear this will make us look bad," he warned. "The men who died here deserve glory. But not if it lets a murderer go free. There is a higher morality at play here." He withdrew an envelope with large, scrolled handwriting across the front. "This is it," he said, offering it to me.
I didn't want to touch it. "Can you open it?"
The doctor frowned, and I decided not to press my luck. "It's fine," I said, reaching for the letter, hoping to heaven I could remove the paper from the envelope. This was more complicated than simply picking it up or turning it over.
It felt ice cold against my fingers, but I had it. I could touch it. It felt real enough.
Breathe.
The envelope glowed silver gray in my hands. The outside was addressed to Jeremiah Hatcher in careful, flowing script.
There was already a slit at the top. With shaking fingers, I withdrew the letter.
Dear Mister Hatcher,
It is with my deepest regrets that I write to inform you that I must end my engagement to your daughter, Josephine. It is not because my affections have ceased. Rather, the unfortunate circumstances that have come to light regarding the events of the afternoon of October 17, 1863, have forced my hand. I know you were not in favor of our union, so perhaps for you this will serve as a silver lining in an otherwise painful situation.
My father still considers you his dearest friend, and was honored to receive your personal Bible when you feared for your life at the battle of Eads Creek. However, your written confession about the Battle of Sugarland, which I found inside, cannot be forgiven or forgotten by me.
I confess I am shocked and dismayed by your account of the events of that day, as I had believed this a great victory for the South and for Sugarland. In light of this deception and your role in these shameful proceedings, I cannot in good conscience marry your daughter or join your family. I shall return your Bible, with your confession, for you to do with it as you wish. Your secret will go to the grave with me.
Yours,
Jonathan Conway
Impossible. The Battle of Sugarland was our finest moment. Nothing shameful had happened on that day. Had it? I gripped the letter so tight that it stung my fingers. Our town based its identity on that battle. Virginia Wydell had pinned a good part of her legacy on that one historic day.
And now it seemed the Hatchers were involved in this as well. I needed to learn more. I turned to the surgeon. "Did you know a Hatcher who fought here?" I wondered if Josephine's dad still haunted the house on the hill, along with his poltergeist wife. Josephine had rarely spoken of him. "Do you have any idea what he could have been hiding?"
The surgeon began organizing his instruments. "I was here the whole time, patching people together. The town burned down around me, and I didn't leave this room. My job is the same no matter what happens on the battlefield. But the woman who died found the letter quite distressing. She left this room, eager to spread the word to the living."
"Did you see who she told?"
"No," he said, wiping his hands on a dirty rag. "I had an amputation to perform, but when I came back out, she was dead and the secretary and all of its contents were gone. A shame. There's been more than enough death around here."
"There has," I murmured. Enough lies as well.
We had to find that Bible.
It had been the property of Pa Hatcher, and according to the letter, Jonathan had returned it to him. I wondered if it was still somewhere in the house, hidden.
Maybe that's why Ma's ghost guarded the place with such a vengeance.
The more I thought about it, the more I warmed to the idea. Josephine had said the shooter tried to break in tonight, but he'd been run off. I hoped he hadn't found the Bible first.
The doctor and I watched as the letter disintegrated in my hands, just like the one before. That was okay. I didn't need it anymore.
"Thank you for your help," I said to the doctor as I made my way out of his operating room.
He nodded and returned to his instruments. He'd given me a great new lead. Now I just had to use it.
Chapter Twenty-Two
OUT IN THE lobby, Ellis had just hung up his cell. "We have a problem," he said, returning the phone to his pocket. "Somebody ransacked Maisie's house tonight after you left."
"I think I know what they're looking for." It had to be that Bible.
Whatever confession Pa Hatcher had unburdened on those pages, it was causing a lot of trouble now. Who else would be implicated, and how many more people would have to die to keep the truth hidden?
"We need to go to Maisie's," I told him, glancing around for Matthew. I didn't see him.
Ellis headed for the door. "We'll pick her up at your place on the way," he said, grabbing his keys.
"No, wait. I don't think we should involve her until we know what we're dealing with." We made it outside and Ellis began locking up the library. "Maisie is old and frail. And she's way too fond of that shotgun. Let's see what we have first."
He glanced at me. "We'll need her permission to search."
"She said we were welcome anytime," I told him, cringing.
Maisie would want us to do what was right. Plus, I really didn't want to wake her up to explain another message I'd found on the other side.
Ellis shook his head as we hurried down the stairs toward his squad car. "You aren't much for rules."
"True," I admitted. People were more important. And Ellis would do what he could to help Maisie. I wasn't above using that to our advantage.
"We'll go in if we have probable cause," he cautioned. His radio chirped and he took the call as we slid inside his car. "What do you got, Marshall?" He pulled out as I slammed my door closed.
"Melody Long claims somebody must have stolen her vehicle," the detective said, his voice dripping with doubt.
"That was my first thought," Ellis said as we raced, lights blazing, back to the Hatcher homestead.
"I'm not sure I believe her. What car thief in their right mind returns the vehicle?" He huffed out a breath. "Did the suspect drive like a woman?"
"I don't think you want to go there," Ellis remarked, giving me a "keep quiet" look.
He was asking a lot.
Main Street was more crowded than usual. Everyone was climbing the hill toward the midnight Cannonball in the Wall celebration. Spotlights shone on the lectern and the VIP stage. The cameras and lights of the documentary film crew weaved in and out of the growing crowd.
Ellis's grip on the wheel tightened. "You ever think Melody might be telling the truth that she doesn't know anything?" he asked Marshall.
"She's acting wild as a june bug on a string. It's suspicious."
Probably because he arrested her. Guilt washed over me. I should be with my sister. Although, heck, they wouldn't let me see her. I'd be more of a help to Melody if I could just put this together and point the police to the true killer. Then Marshall would have to let her go.
Ellis ended the call, which was just as well. I didn't know how long I could stay silent.
We drove away from the crowd, toward the rural east end of town. Fewer cars passed us heading toward town, simply because not many people lived out this way. Ellis's car hugged the road, going at top speed as we switched from the highway to the back roads.
We took the winding drive through the woods and pulled up right out in front of Maisie's house. It was trashed. Police spotlights lit up the front yard, glass-strewn from the earlier gunfight. Through the broken front window, I could see someone had taken a knife to the couch. The slashed cushions bled foam filling all over the floor. The side-table drawer hung open. Magazines, knitting yarn, and VHS tapes lay scattered.
A young lieutenant greeted us at the door. "It's a mess, and there's no sign of the homeowner."
"She's sleeping at my place," I told him, ignoring his surprise.
I didn't have time to explain. Not when it was all starting to make sense.
The shooter hadn't been trying to kill us. He just wanted to drive us out so he could get to the Bible. Only it wasn't in Maisie's house.
Ma Hatcher was guarding her husband's secret with all the power of a poltergeist.
Josephine had said the shooter tried to get in and failed tonight. No doubt he'd be back.
"We've got to go to the old Hatcher place," I told Ellis. "That's where the killer will go next."
The lieutenant balked. "Who said anything about a killer? This is a simple vandalism case. Probably kids attracted to the police tape."
There was no time to explain, at least not to him. But Ellis didn't protest. He trusted me. "Let's go."
We got back into his car and I told him the whole story as he took the overgrown drive around the property that snaked up to the haunted house on the hill. He tapped a finger against his steering wheel as I got to the part about the Bible.
"So you're saying this has to do with the cannonball in the wall," he said, working it through.
My shoulders stiffened as we crested the hill and the house came into view. "Something bad happened that day. When we figure out what, it's going to explain a lot."
Ellis stopped the car in front of the haunted house. "Here we are." He killed the lights, and I shivered as the sudden darkness washed over me.
The last time I'd been near the old Hatcher place, I'd almost been buried alive trying to escape. Ma Hatcher's ghost would kill to keep her family's secret.
Poor Josephine seemed caught in the middle.
"At least I don't see any evidence of a live killer up here," Ellis muttered, not comforting me in the least.
But he was right. We saw no other cars, no signs of life.
Frankie would be able to tell us more. "Hey buddy," I said, taking the urn from my bag. Come on. He had to have some energy left. "Frankie," I asked.
When that didn't work, I tapped at the urn. That would surely get a rise from him. I could hear him now: There ain't no doorbell, sweetheart.
The ghost didn't answer.
He might have gotten ungrounded and split, although I still had the urn. At least some of him was still with me. I rattled it a bit, and felt the ash inside shift. Maybe it wasn't enough to keep him around.
I shared a glance with Ellis over the glowing lights of the dash, trying not to let my disappointment show. "Maybe he wants to stay with Maisie." I'd rather not think of the alternative.
He gave a sharp nod. "Right," he said, pushing his door open.
I joined him outside. The Hatcher place stood dark and foreboding. I saw no light in Josephine's window, no sign of Ma. It was as if the house itself held its breath, waiting for us to make our move.
Ellis clicked on his police-issue Maglite and I fired up my dollar store cheapo. If we could pull this off, if we could make this quick, I promised myself I'd never set foot in that place again.
The bare trees stirred as we made our way to the front door.
"Josephine?" I whispered.
Maybe I could spot her on my own. Lots of people had seen a candle glowing in her window. But tonight, it remained empty.
Ellis hung close to me. "Is she gone?"
"Seems so." I hadn't even realized she might want to leave. But she would have given me a sign if she were here. We were friends. Sort of.
Ellis took the lead as we approached the house, and I'm not ashamed to say I let him. I watched the darkened windows, looking for any sign of life…or afterlife.
He closed his hand over the front doorknob and the house let out a low, chilling groan.
"Jesus!" He jumped back. "Has it done that before?"
"No," I said, my voice an octave higher than it should be.
He steeled himself and reached for the knob again. This time, the door opened easily.
"So far, so good," he muttered.
I didn't trust my voice to respond.
The inside lay dark. Goose bumps shot up my arms the second I stepped through the entryway. The temperature had plunged at least twenty degrees in the span of two feet. I could see my breath as I struggled to stay calm. I'd been inside this house before. Once. With Frankie, who had helped fend off Ma when she attacked. But he wasn't with me now.
Stay calm.
The walls crackled as Ellis nudged the door closed behind us.
It felt as if the house itself wanted to spit us back out into the yard.
Believe me, we'd go. I'd be out of here in a red-hot second as soon as I closed my hands on that Bible.
"Where is it?" Ellis asked.
His light illuminated the rectangular first floor, its rough wood walls tangled with thick cobwebs near the ceiling and floors. They trailed over a broken table toward a cold fireplace hearth, streaked with soot.
"Um." It occurred to me that I hadn't let him in on that one important detail. His flashlight beam caught the rickety staircase leading to the second floor. "I don't know exactly where to find the Bible. I'm just pretty sure it's here."
"You gotta be kidding me," he muttered. His Adam's apple bobbed as a small breeze stirred his hair—one that should not have been there because we were shut completely in the house.
The hair on the back of my neck stood up. I could swear I felt someone behind me.
Cold breath tickled my skin, hovered near the curl of my right ear. I froze. "Josephine?" I whispered, hoping against hope. Darkness curled in my stomach. She didn't answer.
Floating lights danced in the fireplace. "You see that?" Ellis hissed, pointing as the ashes under the old iron log holder caught fire.
"Oh yes," I said. I saw it. Without any help at all. We needed to run. Instead, I urged him deeper into the room. "It's not in the fireplace."
His arm was stiff under my hand, and he resisted my tug. "We don't know until we check it out." I held on to him tight, so glad to have him in here with me. "It's trying to chase us away," he whispered. "Whatever is the scariest room in the house, that's where we need to go."
At that exact moment, a low growl pierced the air. It came from the second floor.
"Now that could be something," I said.
Ellis squared his shoulders. "Okay." He took my hand and together we walked toward the stairs. The snarl intensified, halting us in our tracks at the bottom. "This is good," he said, shining his light up as we began our ascent.
"The best," I agreed, ignoring the shaking of the stairs. I heard the low whump-whump-whump of an object rolling toward us on the landing above.
"Bowling ball?" Ellis guessed, startling slightly as the object crashed down on the uppermost stair.
I was thinking more like cannonball. "You hear it?" I could have sworn it was on the ghostly plane. My light showed nothing. I braced myself.
Ma Hatcher had gathered enough power to try to scare the bejesus out of Ellis and me. The question was whether the poltergeist had harnessed enough rage to hurt us.
"Get ready to run," I urged, as the heavy object rolled down to the next step, and the next, slamming into the wood, echoing hard, coming straight at us as we stepped up one more stair, and another, and another. "Steady."
I held my breath, ready to bolt.
The sound ceased.
Oh, boy. "Let's just…" I began.
"Yeah," Ellis said. Together, we raced up to the second-story landing.
This was it. We were officially out of our minds.
The landing stood dark, eerie.
Ellis let out a harsh breath. "Is this what it's always like for you?"
"No," I said, shining my light over the faded wallpaper. "When Frankie helps, I see things like he does. Everything is illuminated in tones of silver and gray. Places appear the way the dominant ghost on the property sees them. This is like walking in blind."
I stood in a narrow hallway, a long stretch of wall broken apart by three solid doors. We had no idea which way to go, but I had a sinking feeling we'd learn soon enough.
Ellis and I stood deathly still, hands in a firm grip. Waiting.
A low cackle sounded from the door on the far right end. The hair on my arms prickled and my heart slammed hard in my chest.
"That's Josephine's room," I whispered.
We advanced on it. "You think that's her?"
"No." Whatever rustled inside was dark, evil. This was Ma Hatcher's doing, not her daughter's.
We still hadn't seen any sign of Josephine or her dog, Fritz. I hoped they were all right.
I pushed open the door and stepped inside. Hot, prickling energy inched over me like a swarm of ants. I resisted the urge to scratch. It wouldn't help, and I refused to give the spirit the satisfaction. "This is definitely the worst room in the house."
Yay for us.
Ellis's grip on my hand tightened. "No. That is."
He shone his light toward the closet. The wooden door was bent, charred, and blackened around the edges, as if an evil energy had sealed it closed. I let out a gasp as the door began to rattle on its hinges.
He pressed forward. "I'll open it. You cover me."
"I'm the ghost hunter," I said, pressing past him, closing my hand over the ice-cold knob before I lost my nerve. It sent a chill through me that had nothing to do with the frigid temperature inside the house. This was it. I could feel the spirit of Ma Hatcher grasping, snarling as it clamored for me not to touch that door.