A Ghost of a Clue

by Debra Doggett

  “Where were you this morning, Justin?”

  “Uh…”

  The kid looked at his friend, who looked down at the floor.

  “We had a deal, guys.” Travis definitely had the teacher voice going. Rory figured he must be pretty effective because both boys flushed and looked apologetically at him.

  “We’re sorry, Mr. Reed. We…kind of got caught up in something last night and overslept this morning.”

  “Caught up in something? That something wouldn’t be sitting out all night in the old cemetery at St. Joseph’s, would it? You guys always forget that I listen when you’re talking. I heard Brody talk about his plan at least five times on Friday.”

  Rory wouldn’t have thought it possible, but their faces got redder. Her senses told her it wasn’t all embarrassment either. They looked like they were about to burst with excitement as well. The girl walked over carrying a small bag and munching on a cookie with frosting Rory would swear was an inch thick. She remembered the days when she could do that with abandon and sighed.

  “Did you guys tell Mr. Reed about the readings we got last night?”

  The girl licked frosting from her fingers as she looked from the boys to Travis. She wore the same casual clothes as the others, but her hair was a darker black. Rory thought she teetered on the edge of teen girl blues as she noticed what might have been a smudge of eye make-up on her rich green eyes.

  “Readings, huh?” Travis frowned at them. “Well, there’s going to be some reading for you to do to make up for me having to go out to the shore myself and take your measurements. This ocean study is a big part of your grade, you know. You do remember your grades?”

  They nodded. One of them turned to the girl and scowled.

  “Thanks a lot, Amber.”

  She shrugged. “Well, it was cool. It could be like science, too. I mean, it’s sort of like science. I mean, we made all the equipment ourselves, and last night we got some actual sound.”

  Rory hid her smile at the frustration on Travis’ face. Amber seemed oblivious as she continued to recount their adventures.

  “Although I don’t think the cemetery is the best place to hang out. I mean, that’s sort of like a dead people’s apartment complex, so why would their ghosts hang out there?”

  “If I were a ghost, I’d go somewhere more fun than a cemetery.”

  The first boy had a serious look on his face that said he’d thought about this a lot. It made Rory wonder how boring the cemetery stake-out had been. “After all, everybody expects a cemetery to be haunted, and where’s the fun in that?”

  “My grandma’s part of the Ghost Hunters, and she says where we really want to set up is in back of old Ms. DuMont’s place.” Rory managed not to groan as the other boy added his bit to the conversation. “Right there by the lighthouse? That’s supposed to be way haunted.”

  “Oh, really?” Rory gave him an innocent stare.

  “Uh-uh,” Travis said. “You’re not skating out on this that easily. Guys, this is Rory DuMont, and she knows all about ghost-hunting. She’s Ms. Lorena’s great-niece and the new owner of her cottage. Rory, this is Justin, Michael, and Amber.”

  Owning a haunted house appeared to have a great deal of appeal, for all three faces turned to her with stares of awe. Rory waved, wishing they would all stop gaping at her. Travis’ face bore a shit-eating grin, and she kicked him under the table. He only grinned wider.

  “Wow. You must see lots of good sh…uh, stuff.”

  The other two nodded at Michael’s assessment. As cute as their enthusiasm for their hobby was, Rory knew it was exactly that for them, a hobby. Ghosts had played too much of a part in her own childhood for her to have that same kind of enthusiasm.

  “I’ve seen some things.” She gave them a noncommittal smile.

  Amber’s eyes got big, and she stared at Rory. “If we could set up there…”

  “Oh, man,” Justin whispered. “That’s where the shipwreck ghosts are. We could really hear some sh…stuff there.”

  Travis glanced over at Rory with a sly smile. “Yeah, I bet you could. Ms. DuMont is very into ghosts. I bet she’d love to help you guys out.”

  “Could we?” Three faces turned to her with pleading eyes.

  Rory thought about kicking Travis again, but then she had a better plan.

  “Why not? I think a little ghost hunting sounds great. Why don’t you guys come to my place this Friday, say, about seven?”

  “Wow, that’s awesome.” The kids high-fived each other and bounced up and down.

  She smiled at Travis, who shook his head.

  “Trying to outmaneuver me again?”

  “Not trying, did.” Rory didn’t even try to keep the smug look off her face.

  “Not yet.” Travis whistled at the kids, who had started to walk away, chattering happily. “Hey, guys, since you missed the work you were supposed to do today, why don’t I join you on Friday at Ms. DuMont’s. You can show me this equipment you’re so proud of, and we can talk about whether or not this is science and whether or not you get credit for it.”

  “Yes!” Justin pumped the air and the rest of them smiled. “See you Friday. Thanks, Ms. DuMont.”

  “Yeah.” Travis turned to her with a wicked grin. “I’ll see you Friday. Thanks, Ms. DuMont.”

  Chapter Three

  It had been a long time since one of them woke her up from a sound sleep, Rory thought, as the ethereal presence of a young boy stared at her from the corner of her bed. Dressed in rough woolen knickers and what looked like a linen shirt, he tilted his head from side to side as if Rory were an interesting and rather foreign object. His intense stare was what had likely brought her out of sleep, for she hadn’t heard him make a sound. His aura was strong, perhaps due to the fact that he was a child. According to Aunt Lorena, children have a great deal of energy to leave behind. Rory thought the boy might be around nine or ten although it was only a guess. She sighed, grateful at least that he’d wakened her in the morning rather than the middle of the night.

  Aunt Lorena had taught her how to still the presence of ghost energy on one of her visits out west when Rory was thirteen. She’d been desperate to get a good night’s sleep uninterrupted by her nightly visitors and had appreciated the lesson. Her father had long since given up trying to calm her nightmares, and Rory often felt her mother was more frightened than she was. She was never sure if it was the ghosts who frightened her mother or Rory herself. Aunt Lorena had shown her how to bid peace to the ghosts and encourage them on their way. She had also taught Rory some wards for her bedroom that worked to keep the energy at bay while she slept. They worked, as well, for those ghostly visitors with more malevolent natures who saw a psychic child as easy prey.

  The boy appeared only to be curious without any of the chaotic bursts of energy that indicated trauma or malevolence. Early morning sun gleamed through the window, lighting the smile on his face with a translucent glow, and he raised a hand in a wave before the energy of his ghost faded away. Rory filed his image away in her mind. She would have to dig through some of Aunt Lorena’s old journals to see what the boy’s story was and how best to approach him. Her aunt had been meticulous with her note taking, feeling it the best way to fulfill the family job of helping the trapped spirits to move on. Rory glanced over at the alarm clock. Six a.m.

  “Thanks, kid,” she mumbled as she threw the covers off. “You would have to get here an hour before I had to get up.” Kids, she thought. Way too full of energy living or dead.

  Since she planned to spend the day scouting out businesses who might want to carry her newly produced artwork, Rory swung her legs out of bed and headed for the kitchen. Coffee might serve her better than tea this morning. The caffeine offered her the buzz she knew she needed to be able to talk to a bunch of strangers about herself.

  As she strolled into the kitchen, it struck her again how comfortable she felt in this space. The night she’d arrived she had walked through the door with a bit of trepidat
ion. Her only memory of being in Maison de la Mer was three weeks one summer, not long after her fifteenth birthday. Rory had begged to go when Aunt Lorena sent the invitation, and for once her mother spoke up for her. Thanks to that, her father relented and allowed Aunt Lorena to send her a ticket. It had been three of the most amazing weeks of Rory’s life. Talking to someone who understood what was going on inside her had boosted her confidence and made her feel special instead of freakish.

  It wasn’t only Aunt Lorena that made her feel comfortable in Lobster Cove. The cottage welcomed her as well. By many people’s standards, the cottage was small, with two bedrooms, a small room that Aunt Lorena referred to as the sitting room, a cozy kitchen, and a large bathroom with an antique claw foot tub. But it suited Rory perfectly. The sound of the ocean all around her made it even more perfect.

  Furnished with an eye for the eclectic, Maison de la Mer lived up to its name. It was a home in every sense of the word. The walls were painted in soft colors that accented the contents of the room. All of the furniture was designed for comfort and beauty, a rare combination in Rory’s opinion. Each piece had a history, a story behind how it came to be here and why it stayed. Aunt Lorena was a collector, and she’d traveled all over the world. Her home was a reflection of all she was. Being here had strengthened Rory’s resolve to follow in her aunt’s footsteps. Here, in Lobster Cove, in the place created by a woman she had loved and who had returned that love, Rory could be herself. As she sat down with her coffee and opened the folder of designs she hoped would open up a new life for her, she sent her aunt a prayer of thanks for her gift.

  An hour later, dressed in the silky, red tunic top, boots, and black leggings that she thought made her look artsy, Rory stood before the heavy wood door of The Shucker’s Booktique. In her hands she clutched the black folder that held her plans for a new future. She’d worked all week on the portfolio for this visit and, thanks to her early morning visitor, had enough time this morning to polish it up a bit more.

  The idea of running her own graphic arts business had been a cherished dream for a long time. Making that dream into a reality turned out to be a scarier proposition than she’d imagined. Selling herself hadn’t been part of the dream version, so the realization that she would have to do exactly that to get her foot in the door had hit her like a splash of cold ocean water.

  She’d picked The Shucker’s Booktique as her first conquest because of the feeling it gave off as she stood in front of the window. And because she had gotten a really nice shot of the yard that had yielded a great little notecard set.

  Both old and new, modern and ancient, the vibrations she got from the building were good ones, and Rory had learned to go with her intuition on things like this. Listening to her inner voice usually turned out for the best. Usually. It had failed her where Travis Reed was concerned. No matter how much she enjoyed bantering with him, her instincts told her a relationship would be the same disastrous train wreck that the others had been. She’d spent too many of those relationships trying to live up, or in a couple of cases down, to their expectations. Being herself had spelled the end of each one. When she came to Lobster Cove it was with the promise that she would live the way she wanted to live, be who she truly was. If that meant she lived a sexless, relationship-less existence while she was here, then she’d suck it up and deal with that. After all, the plan was only to stay for six months. Surely she could be celibate for six months, couldn’t she? Don’t answer that, she told her inner voice just as it started to chime in. It was a rhetorical question. She was thirty years old, and she owed it to herself to finally start being who she was inside. Her crazed hormonal attraction to Travis Reed was not going to interfere with the plan.

  Rory had been certain she’d forestalled any date nights with her clever turn of inviting his students to her house. Her cleverness had backfired, and now she had to figure out how to keep three young kids from stirring up anymore ghost energy in her house and how to keep Travis Reed from stirring up any more sexual energy in her body. Friday was going to be a busy day. With her thoughts rambling around like wild cards, Rory struggled to focus as she pushed open the door and walked in.

  It was like walking into heaven. She was a historical nut, which was why the job in Denver had suited her so well. Spending her days viewing old photographs and artifacts was sheer nirvana. Turning them into exciting exhibits had come easily, and she had to admit she missed it. Standing inside the huge old home which had been cleverly converted to a veritable smorgasbord of books, prints and assorted small items of a rather eclectic nature, Rory felt like she’d come home.

  The room smelled of the years and history held within its walls. Classical music echoed softly in the space, adding an extra lure to the potential customers who entered. It was set up with a good eye for marketing, something that Rory knew would be important to where she placed her products. There was no point in selling herself if the buyer couldn’t then sell her work. From the looks of The Booktique, the owner here knew how to run a successful business.

  She hadn’t stood there long when a man wandered in from the back, another plus sign for a good business. Greeting customers was important. This man would be a welcome greeter, too. He was handsome, well over six feet tall, with dark black hair and porcelain white skin. The combination made him seem rather otherworldly. Something about him nagged at her, but she pushed it aside. Her presentation needed to come off focused and professional. This meeting was about business, about her future.

  Rory smiled as she started toward him, her practiced speech prepared. Then she stopped as a cold wave of energy hit her. Wave was a good word for what hit her, Rory thought, as the feel of a roiling ocean wave rushed over her. Her gaze caught the man’s face and the intensity of the feeling deepened.

  He wore a cautious look as he took in her appearance, scrutinizing her from head to toe in a way that screamed suspicion. Her confidence sank at the thought of the gossip centered on her. Hoping to find out how best to approach the situation, Rory sneaked a peek at his aura, not surprised to find it matched the stormy feeling hitting her, the swirls of gray, blue and white all around him making her feel as if she were on a boat being tossed about on the sea. For a moment they stood staring at each other, as if each of them were taking the measure of the other. Rory cleared her throat and picked up the pieces of her confidence.

  “Hello.”

  “Hello.” The man nodded, his expression still wary but his voice friendly.

  At least they were making progress, Rory thought. “My name is Aurora DuMont. I’ve just moved to Lobster Cove and I wanted to—”

  “Lorena DuMont’s niece?”

  “Yes.” Rory smiled bigger. “Yes, she was my aunt. She’s actually the reason I moved here. I’m living in her cottage out by the lighthouse.”

  “Yes, I’d heard that.”

  “Um, did you know my aunt?”

  “Yes.” He didn’t seem inclined to carry any more of the weight of the conversation than he had to.

  “Oh, well. Good.” Rory took a deep breath. This wasn’t going to get any better if they just kept staring at each other so she might as well plunge ahead. “I was hoping to talk with—”

  “Lon, did someone come…oh, hello.”

  A pretty young woman came in from the back, wiping her hands on a towel. She smiled at Rory before turning a quick frown on the man beside her. The two of them made an interesting pair, the tiny woman barely coming up to the man’s chest. She was pretty, with wavy chestnut brown hair and friendly eyes. A look passed between them then the woman stuck out her hand.

  “Hello. I’m Willa, Willa Devlin.”

  “Rory. Rory DuMont. Hi.”

  Relief washed over Rory at the friendly smile in the woman’s amber eyes. “I was telling this gentleman here that I have just moved to Lobster Cove.”

  “You’re Lorena’s niece.”

  “Yes,” Rory said, hoping the conversation didn’t go downhill again. “Yes, I’m living in
her cottage now, and I wanted to come by and speak with the owner of this beautiful bookstore.”

  “That would be us.” She waved a hand at the man. “This is Lon, my husband.”

  Rory stuck out a hand to him, and he took it. As they touched she felt that peculiar energy wave again. When he released her hand, he smiled at her. Rory wondered what information she had passed to him through that quick touch. Whatever it was, he seemed more relaxed with her presence than he had before.

  Willa motioned her to two chairs set in a cozy corner of the store. As they settled into them, she turned to Rory with the same friendly smile.

  “Now what can I do for you?”

  ****

  An hour later Rory walked back through her door without her black portfolio and with a bag from Sweet Bea’s. Her portfolio was now part of Willa’s inventory, and the slice of vanilla cake with raspberry filling in the bag was her reward. She wanted to pump her fist in the air as Travis’ kids had done. The whole conversation had gone better than she could have ever hoped. Willa had loved her designs and was excited about adding Rory’s products to her inventory. The thought of her pretty notecards and prints on the shelves of the bookstore made her happier than she’d thought possible. Now she could accept that she really was an artist. It was her eye and her imagination that created the products. She had sold herself, and it felt really good. Now for that vanilla cake with raspberry filling.

  As she walked into the kitchen, she glanced out the window, wanting to send a thank you to the water spirits who had been so helpful in guiding her to some of the best spots for her pictures. Staring out at the water, she noticed a lone figure crouched in the rocks below. People sometimes walked along the shoreline behind the cottage, so at first, she didn’t give her visitor much thought. But as she opened the window to let in some fresh air, she heard the moaning. Whoever it was below was crying, deep horrible sobs that echoed off the crashing waves.