Chills danced down her spine. Who could have done this? She stepped forward to examine the bookshelf. As she reached out, a vibration rumbled under her feet. She snatched her hand back, but the pulsation spread throughout the room.
He’s coming back.
The room filled with light. In the brightness Edmund appeared.
“I hoped you would come,” she whispered.
“Where have you been?” Edmund asked with a frown. “I came twice, but you never appeared.”
“To the country with the children. I discovered something there…”
He waved her words aside. “Someone was here. I saw them.”
“Someone? Who?”
“Winston. My trusted friend.”
Phebe whispered, “Winston?”
“He cleaned the room. Returned the missing sherry glass.”
“Did he see you?” she asked.
“No, I don’t think so. I spoke to him, touched his shoulder, but he didn’t respond.”
She paced to the window and back. “Why would he come up here to clean this room after all these years? Makes no sense.”
“Look at this.” Edmund stood by the side table and pointed to the wine carafe.
Phebe joined him, picked up the glass, and held it to the light. “The sixth glass doesn’t match.”
Edmund frowned. “What do you make of it?”
Phebe turned. “I’m not sure. We know someone is cleaning Mary’s room. Whoever it is never touched the parlor until now. Makes no sense. Could it be two different people? Why would Winston clean the rooms?”
“I don’t know what to think. I’ve never seen him up here before.”
“It’s something to ponder.” She returned the wineglass to the mirrored tray. “I have other news, Edmund.”
He only stared at the wineglass.
Phebe persisted, “I found your son.”
His eyes blazed with light. “My…”
“Yes, Anthony.”
“My son,” he whispered.
“Yes, he lives with Mr. Powell’s sister, Martha. She raised him. I only say it with confidence because Martha admitted Elizabet is Anthony’s daughter. Confirmation he is your son, since you already know Elizabet is your granddaughter.”
So, you’ve found him. I want to see my son.”
“I’ll try to make that happen. He doesn’t remember this house. Says he’s never been here. It might be difficult.”
“I’m forever grateful for what you’ve found. Mary and I are together in the afterlife. We’ve found Elizabet. The only thing left is to see Anthony.”
She searched Edmund’s face. “We still must find out who murdered you. Don’t forget that. By the way, the emerald ring. Did you give it to Winston?”
His eyebrows knit together as he stroked his chin. “Father gave it to me.” He glanced at his hand. “It’s gone. I don’t remember.
“I found him wearing it. His anger was very apparent when I commented on it,” Phebe said.
Edmund tried to reply, but faded from the room. In a flash he was gone.
“He’s gone again.” The room lost its warmth. She shivered.
At breakfast, Phebe watched Winston closely. He acted as always, stalwart, proper, disagreeable. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Myrtle bustled around the kitchen serving up the morning fare like she’d done for decades.
Conversation didn’t flow on this morning. She wanted to ask Winston about the sky-parlor but couldn’t give herself away. She wondered if Myrtle knew about his activity on the third floor.
More and more, the clues simply didn’t add up. Why does Winston suddenly care about the state of the sky-parlor?
Time was of the essence. She must return the library key to Mrs. Powell. The children would find it odd if she was late to the classroom.
“Excuse me, my friends. Duty calls.”
Winston nodded.
Myrtle watched her as she headed for the door to the main hall. “The classroom is through the other door. Have you forgotten?”
“Why no, I need to return the library key.”
“They’ve already left for town. Mrs. Powell needs a new dress. Won’t be back for a few hours. I can give it to them if you like.”
“No, I think I’ll choose another book to read. I’ll see them when they get back. Thanks anyway.” Phebe opened the door and slipped through.
Her intention wasn’t to get another book, but to study the portrait of Lucy McAdams. What happened to Jonathan’s second wife after he died?
The sudden slam of the door made her jump. She whirled around.
“Winston. What on earth?”
The signature frown was deeper than ever. “The children are waiting.”
Locating Lucy would have to wait. “Of course. I’m coming.”
The children showed quite a lot of spirit, which added to her distraction. Elizabet clung to her wanting all her attention. When class was over, Emma Powell called for the children. There was a birthday party they needed to attend.
Free of her duties for the night, she excused herself from dinner and went to her room.
The irony to all this mystery was she wanted it solved and yet, she didn’t. The visits with Edmund were pleasant, although sometimes, a little too otherworldly. He was a nice, kind man. The sort of man she would someday like to meet and maybe marry. But…that was not to be in her future. She was a spinster. Too old to find a suitable husband. And a ghost who loved another wasn’t exactly a match made in heaven. Edmund and Mary are together. She took satisfaction in that.
The evening passed. The children came home. She tucked them into bed after hearing all three accounts of the party.
True to form, Cook arrived with a sandwich, scolded her for missing supper, and left. The warm bread made her sleepy, and she drifted off.
She woke with a start. Eleven-thirty! Edmund will be coming.
But, he didn’t.
She waited to no avail, alone in the upper room.
The room closed in on her, suffocating, like a jail cell. She went to the window. The barn beckoned her. The horses will calm me. I need to get out of the house.
When her heart pulled in one direction, she seldom thought of the consequences. After stopping for a cloak, she hurried downstairs and out of the door.
The barn door opened easily, but she drew back at the sound of a carriage approaching. “Who in the world would come here this time of night?”
She was about to duck inside the barn when a voice called out.
“Phebe, please wait.”
She recognized the voice instantly. “Zig?”
“Yes, please. I need to talk with you. Thank God you’re here.”
“But, it’s so late, Zig. What…?”
He stepped down from the carriage. “Mother and I got into an argument after you left. I was looking for the family bible. I needed a quote for my book. I found a paper enclosed inside. A family tree of sorts. I wasn’t on it, but she was. I asked about it, but she refused to explain it. I’ve asked before about my father, she won’t tell me anything. She implied you might have some answers.”
“It’s not my place, Zig. Need I remind you? You made it perfectly clear.”
He took her hand. “You know something, Phebe.”
The feel of his strong hand filled her with wonder. It was warm, but gentle. She closed her eyes, lost in the sensation. “Yes, I know.”
“Then, tell me. What is going on?”
His eyes searched hers until she couldn’t resist. “Follow me. I have something to show you.”
The path to the cemetery was dark, but the bright moon gave them just enough light to make their way.
“A cemetery?” he asked.
“Yes, I want to show you, so you can see the truth.” She pulled him harder as they made their way.
In the back corner, she stopped and pointed to Edmund’s grave stone. “This is your father.”
He moved to her side. “Edmund McAdams? But, how…
my last name is Evans.”
“No Zig, it’s not. It’s McAdams. You’re Anthony Maurice McAdams.”
“I don’t understand.”
Phebe opened her mouth to answer, but stopped as a new shadow emerged from the trees.
“You!”
THIS NEW INTRUDER SPAT AT Phebe, “I thought you might come here again. Can’t keep your nose out of things, can you?”
“But, I….”
“What are we going to do about your morbid curiosity?”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“The way you can’t leave the dead in peace. I’ll have to tell Mr. Powell about this, you know. I fear your employment is about to come to an end. At the very least, a stern reprimand.”
“I’m free to walk the grounds,” Phebe said.
“But you’re not free to wander to the third floor of the main house.”
Phebe gasped. “It was you!”
Zig stepped in front of her. “Now see here…”
A knife gleamed in the moonlight. “You’re a trespasser. You don’t belong here. I’d have just cause—”
Phebe searched for a route of escape to no avail. Only one card left to play. “I know about Elizabet. Martha told me. It’s only a matter of time before they tell her and when they do, the ugly truth about Edmund’s death will be exposed.”
Shock silenced her adversary, eyes wide, mouth open.
Phebe took advantage. “It was you, wasn’t it? You killed Edmund.”
The ground vibrated, a silvery light pulsated, elevating an ear-piercing noise.
“Edmund,” she shouted.
“Yes, Phebe. I’m here.”
“I know who killed you.”
His green eyes glowed at the announcement, “Who is it then?”
Phebe pointed toward the knife-wielding intruder. “There.”
Like a whirlwind, Edmund moved forward, engulfing the accused in the vortex of cold wind and gray fog. “I trusted you. Why did you take me from Mary?” he bellowed.
The intruder screamed. “What’s happening, what is that light? The wind, I can’t stand up!”
Phebe interceded. “Stop Edmund. We must hear the confession.”
Zig stepped to her side. “She’s right, we need to hear it all.”
The whirlwind stopped. The noise subsided.
The killer cowered, face hidden behind shaking hands.
Edmund stepped toward Zig. “You can see me? Are you… my son?”
Zig smiled. “Yes, I’ve only now come to learn who you are.”
The ghost and the man regarded one another.
Edmund spoke softly, “I never knew about you while I was alive. It’s only in death that your mother, Mary, encouraged me to find the truth.”
Zig nodded, “I’m glad she did. I need answers, as well.”
“Yes, but first, I must deal with my murderer.” He turned his wrath on the cowering killer. “I need to know why,” Edmund said. “My life—taken from me, from my Mary.” He moved closer. “I trusted you. Loved you. How could you…?”
“Answer him. He deserves to know who killed him and why,” Phebe demanded.
“Answer who?” The murderer pointed to Zig. “That man? He’s nothing to me.”
Phebe glanced toward the ghost. “You don’t see Edmund? He’s here to find out why you murdered him so mercilessly.”
“Here? I don’t see him.” The confessor spun around. “It was a mistake! Edmund wasn’t supposed to die.”
Phebe gasped, “What? Then who were you after?”
White-faced, eyes round with terror, the voice lowered, barely audible. “It was supposed to be Mary.”
Phebe glanced at Edmund.
Amber shards of light from his angry eyes shot toward the huddled mass in the corner. “Mary? You wanted to kill Mary?”
“You don’t understand. I had no choice. Edmund wasn’t supposed to marry her. He was supposed to marry Lucy.”
“Lucy? But…?”
The fright left the assassin’s eyes, replaced with a steely resolve. “I worked hard to groom her. She was to have all the things I couldn’t. She would be a lady.”
Edmund shook his head. “She was a handmaid. Mary’s handmaid. Lucy was a lovely girl, to say the least, but my heart belonged to Mary.”
Phebe voice raised, “Mary was pregnant with Edmund’s child when you murdered him.” She turned to Zig. “This is Edmund’s son. This is Anthony.”
“I didn’t know,” the killer trembled.
The vibration resumed, and Edmund’s wrath cast the dark cemetery into an eerie purple light with swirling wind, fog, and a terrible cold.
Phebe tried to calm him.
The deranged killer wielded the knife high in the air. “I’ve kept the secret all these years. I’ve tried to atone, but now, I must end it.”
“No! Stop. I’ve brought the constable and his officer.” Jake’s frightened voice pierced through the night air.
Zig sprung forward and wrestled the knife away.
“Hold her there,” Phebe said. “You’re going to confess. Anthony deserves to know the despicable things you’ve done. I thought you were my friend, too. Turns out you’re just a pathetic soul with no conscience.”
The constable stepped forward. “Someone want to tell me what’s going on here?”
“Arrest this woman for murder,” Phebe demanded.
“Arrest Myrtle? What murder?”
“Murders, Constable. She killed Edmund McAdams, as well as Mary McAdams.”
The constable’s carriage rambled down the road toward town carrying Myrtle Godwin with him. One officer stayed behind.
Phebe, Jake, and Zig remained in the damp cemetery, shaken with disbelief.
“We must tell them. Mr. and Mrs. Powell. How will they ever believe it?” Phebe asked.
“A difficult task, but it must be done,” Zig declared.
She turned to Jake. “How did you know to get the constable?”
“I saw the light. It was brighter than usual. I climbed out the window—saw shadows around the graves, heard angry voices. Constable doesn’t live far from here. I ran as fast as I could.”
“Wait, where’s Edmund?” Phebe asked. “He’s gone.”
The light strengthened from the shadows. “No, I’m here.”
“It’s over Edmund. You’ve met your son. We know who killed you, and why.”
“Not quite. I know Jonathan is dead, but where’s Lucy? There’s no gravestone for her,” Edmund declared.
EDMUND’S QUESTION HUNG IN THE damp air.
Phebe turned to the stone markers barely visible in the swirling fog. “Jonathan is buried next to Mary.” She peered into the darkness. “Where is Lucy?”
“Who is Lucy?” Zig asked.
Phebe smiled. “That’s right, you don’t know. Lucy is Myrtle’s sister. She was also Jonathan’s second wife.”
“Jonathan?”
“Edmund’s brother.”
“A brother?” Zig pressed. “I don’t quite understand. My mother married Jonathan after my father’s death?”
Phebe nodded. “Yes.”
“Because of me? She was already with child.” He pointed to Edmund. “His child? Not Jonathan’s.”
“Yes. It would’ve ruined Mary completely. Jonathan gave you a proper name. Kept everything respectable. He’d always wanted Mary for himself. When you were two years old, Jonathan and Mary had a daughter. Emma. Mary died, or as we now know, was murdered shortly after her birth. Jonathan married Lucy. But, I don’t see her grave anywhere.”
“Could she still be alive?” Zig asked.
The ghostly light dimmed, deepening the blackness of the night.
She clutched the wool cloak tighter. “It’s cold. We need to get home, tell the household. We’ll have to find Lucy later.” She looked around. “Edmund, I…”
The ghost faded, but a smile danced in his bright eyes as Mary stood beside him.
“Look Zig, they’re together,” Phebe said.
Misty eyes blurred her vision. “Mary’s never appeared before. They can rest in peace, now. Together.”
Zig’s strong hands grasped hers. “But now, there is more to finish.”
“Yes,” she said.
Jake tugged at her cloak. “I see them, too, Phebe. Both of them. They’re leaving.”
Zig and Phebe turned to see Edmund and Mary fade into the darkness, arms around each other. Edmund’s green eyes filled with love, the amber shards now golden flecks.
They watched until Edmund and Mary dissolved into the mist.
“Come,” Phebe whispered. “We need to explain to the Powell’s.”
The three walked together toward the big house. Each with their own thoughts on how Myrtle’s confession changed everything.
“What do you mean waking the house before dawn, Phebe?” Mr. Powell asked. “What couldn’t wait until morning? What is Zig doing here?”
“I’m sorry, truly, but there’s been an arrest,” she answered.
“An arrest? Who?” Mr. Powell glanced around the room.
“It’s Myrtle.”
“Myrtle? You mean Cook?” he asked. “Arrested for what?”
“Murder.”
Mrs. Powell gasped.
The night in the cemetery, Myrtle’s confession, the distasteful task of informing the Powell’s. Well, it was unbearable. Zig and Jack stood by her as the explanation ensued.
The Powell’s stood white-faced.
Winston’s on guard demeanor cracked and real fear shone in his eyes.
“The constable is coming soon to confirm what I’ve told you. I’ll make some coffee. We can gather in the kitchen where it’s warm.” She looked at the butler. “There’s a guard outside. The constable will want to question you, as well.”
Winston gave his curt nod, but his shoulders sagged, and his former straight-laced bearing evaporated.
As day broke, the constable arrived and confirmed the truth.
He also produced a signed document by Myrtle. There was a will. She and Winston hid it after the deaths of Edmund’s parents. Everything was left to Edmund and his heirs. In fact, Jonathan was a product of a secret affair by Edmund’s father. It was all there, in the confession. He convinced his lover to let him raise the boy. Paid her a handsome sum to disappear, but Jonathan was never added to the will.
Somewhere Between Page 13