by Faith Martin
When Corwin had phoned to tell her that the rest of the gang had agreed to her participation, he’d also given her directions to the sports field. Apparently they rented the pavilion for the meetings simply because it was located in a spot more or less equidistant from everyone’s home, and was thus the most convenient venue. And since Corwin did most of his office work and writing at his apartment, they had no real need of a well-equipped office space, either, just somewhere adequate where everyone could meet up.
So after she’d parked her car, a rather smart-looking charcoal grey Mercedes that had once been Michael’s pride and joy, she found herself surrounded by nothing more spooky than lush green hedges, a neatly mown playing field and cheerful birdsong.
On the patch of asphalt around her was a large white van with the name of a local builder emblazoned on one side, a small Japanese motorbike of some kind, several mid-range small cars of varying cleanliness and a rather sleek Jaguar XJS in bottle green.
With a small nonchalant shrug that was supposed to bolster her confidence, she set off toward the wooden pavilion, nevertheless still aware that butterflies were fluttering around somewhere just under her sternum.
What if, in spite of Corwin’s assurances that the rest of the C-Fits were all happy to have her join them on their vigils, they did in fact resent her and distrust her motives?
Then, as she mounted the deep wooden steps and tapped on the door, she told herself not to have such thoughts. When had she become a worrier? So what if things didn’t work out? It was hardly the end of the world, was it? She was still half-inclined to think that this whole thing was a mistake anyway, so it was hardly going to cause her any real regret if things didn’t go well.
As the door opened, Effie forced a smile onto her lips which then froze in place as she found herself not face to face with Corwin as she’d expected, but with a diminutive woman somewhere in her mid-sixties. Her silver hair was cut in an uncompromisingly short, somewhat mannish cut, and she was wearing dark grey slacks with a grey and white knitted jersey. Blue eyes behind small, rectangular gold-rimmed glasses observed her keenly.
‘Hello. I’m Effie James,’ Effie said, a shade uncertainly. ‘I do hope I’ve come to the right place . . .’
‘Oh yes, you have. Please come in, we’re all expecting you. I’m Jean Bossington-Smith. How do you do?’ So saying, she thrust out a slightly liver-spotted hand and shook Effie’s own extended appendage vigorously.
‘We just call her the boss for short, for obvious reasons,’ a youthful male voice piped up from somewhere inside the room, and Effie turned to survey her immediate surroundings.
The origins of the building were obvious by the wooden benches that lined the walls, along with rows of lockers in which sportsmen and women could store their gear. But a small wooden table had been set up in the centre of the room, and from the various folding wooden chairs that had been set up around it, a group of people watched her curiously.
The young man who had spoken grinned widely, and behind her she heard Jean Bossington-Smith say sharply, ‘That’ll do, Mickey.’ And then, to Effie, ‘I’m the group’s secretary, I suppose you could call me. I tend to all the admin and keep the records. I’m also the treasurer and co-ordinator.’
‘Like I said, we all call her the boss because she sees to everything. Isn’t that right, Corwin?’
The youth had to be the owner of the motorbike outside, since a leather jacket hung on the back of the chair, whilst a crash helmet resided underneath it. He had masses of curly light brown hair and curiously golden hazel eyes that Effie suspected would attract young women in droves. A pointed chin and high cheekbones didn’t hurt, either, even if his skin was still somewhat prone to the odd spot of acne.
From one side of the table Corwin rose, grinning widely. ‘It’s all totally true, I’m afraid.’ He laughed, coming forward to guide her towards the table and pulling out a chair for her. ‘I’m just the head of the C-Fits in name only. Without Jean, our work would just grind to a halt.’
She saw Jean flush slightly, but whether with pleasure or in embarrassment at the compliment it was hard to say.
‘Behave, Corwin,’ the older woman said gruffly but affectionately, and Effie had no trouble in guessing that this woman was the retired schoolteacher that Duncan had mentioned as being one of C-Fits’ regular investigators. She had probably once been rather formidable if the way the others so naturally deferred to her was anything to go by. ‘The young man with the attitude is Mickey Urquhart, Mrs James, and I apologize for his tomfoolery.’ She shot him a stern glance, and he blew her a kiss.
‘I’m studying civil engineering at Wadham,’ Mickey said, half-rising and half-bowing, and confirming her guess that he was the student that Duncan had also mentioned. ‘Glad to meet you, ma’am.’
‘Ignore him,’ Jean said, clearly enjoying the exchange of banter, leading Effie to guess that it was probably a regular occurrence. ‘He might have the brains but he lacks maturity, alas. We tolerate him simply because he helps us haul the heavier equipment about.’
But Effie was beginning to get the hang of this now, and didn’t believe her for one moment.
‘Everyone,’ Corwin said smoothly, sweeping a hand around the room, ‘this is Mrs Effie James, our latest recruit. As you know, Effie’s here as an impartial observer for Professor Fergusson, who’s writing a book on the psychological aspects of what we do.’
‘It sounds really interesting. I don’t suppose I’d understand much of it, but I for one will be interested in reading it when it’s finished.’ The woman who spoke was very tall and fiery-headed, and looked to be in her late twenties. She had big, friendly brown eyes and an open smiling face, full of freckles.
‘This is Gisela,’ Corwin introduced them as Effie took her seat and he sat down by her side, casually leaning his forearms on the top of the table. Effie noticed the long dark hairs lying flat against his skin below the bright white cuff of his shirt, the sleeves of which had been rolled back to just above his elbow. And being so close to him now, she caught the fragrance of his aftershave — something sharp with a pleasant tang of citrus. ‘Gisela is our “sensitive” and stills photographer,’ he added matter-of-factly.
Gisela smiled and waved a large, rather old-looking camera at her, and grinned. ‘Don’t look so alarmed. I’m not a medium or anything like that. I don’t go around saying, “Is anybody there?” or that kind of stuff.’
Effie, who felt ashamed to realize that some of her surprise and unease must have shown in her expression, quickly made demurring noises.
‘It’s OK, don’t worry about it,’ Gisela said generously. ‘Everyone has that sort of reaction when they find out what I do in my spare time. Most people just assume I’m slightly bonkers, but I’m not, I promise! By day I’m a dental hygienist, believe it or not!’ She laughed. ‘You’d be hard put to find anybody more average or boring than yours truly.’ Her head cocked slightly to one side and her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. ‘It’s just that I’ve always been sensitive to atmosphere — any kind of atmosphere. And there’s nothing unusual in that. A lot of people can sense, for instance, when they walk into someone’s home that the owners have just had a spat, and in spite of them being all sweetness and full of hospitality, they’re actually seething inside.’
‘Oh yes,’ Effie agreed with relief, beginning to feel a little less uneasy now. That kind of thing she could relate to. She had friends who were good at that sort of thing too. But she rather thought that there was nothing in the least otherworldly about it. Surely it only proved that some people were better at picking up on nonverbal cues and reading body language than others?
‘It’s just that, over the years, and especially since working with Corwin and doing meditation and yoga and stuff like that, I’ve managed to hone it,’ Gisela swept on. ‘Now I can definitely pick up on places that have an atmosphere. You know, sad, angry places where people have died and have left behind some kind of energy. I mean, it’s hardly surprisin
g, is it? Death must be such a wrench and shock for some people — especially if they die young, or violently. It’s bound to leave a trace, isn’t it?’ she said appealingly.
‘Now you’re frightening her, Gisela,’ the man seated opposite her said, in a rich, melodious and unmistakably Jamaican accent. In his late forties or maybe early fifties, he was perhaps an inch or so shorter than Effie, and had hair which was just turning grey. He grinned, revealing slightly nicotine-stained teeth, and held out a hand with the yellowing fingers of a serious smoker.
‘Lonny Wrighton, Mrs James.’
‘Just call me Effie, please.’
‘Effie, pleased to have you with us.’
‘Lonny only comes out with us in order to escape from his home life a few nights a week,’ Mickey couldn’t resist piping up. ‘And with eight kids, a nagging wife, and regular visits from his sister-in-law from hell, who can blame him?’
‘Mickey!’ It was, inevitably, the boss who scolded him for this latest outrageous statement, although Effie noticed — with relief — that everyone else was chuckling, including Lonny himself. Obviously they were all immune to his pronouncements.
But by now Effie had the feeling that she probably wasn’t going to take to Mickey much. She was finding his immaturity annoying rather than engaging. But she couldn’t let that become a problem. In any group of people, there were bound to be some you got on better with than others. It was just one of those things, and you simply got on with it and accommodated it as best you could.
‘He’s only partially right, Effie,’ Lonny said now amiably. ‘Mandy and I do have eight children between us, but only three of them live at home — some live with our previous partners. And as for my sister-in-law from hell, and my wife being a nag? They’re absolute angels. So you see, I come out solely in the hope of seeing or discovering something inexplicable and exciting. As does our young friend here.’
‘And have you ever done so?’ Effie asked, genuinely curious now.
‘Not yet, alas,’ Lonny answered her question with a sad smile. ‘Mind you, there have been occasions which have definitely turned interesting.’
‘Now let’s not get ahead of ourselves,’ the fifth and final stranger in the room finally spoke up. ‘If I understand Corwin right, Effie’s here to see and observe and make up her own mind about what’s what. Not have us bend her ear with our own experiences and hearsay evidence.’
The man speaking was thickset, with a balding head and button black eyes. He was almost a caricature of a working man, since he was wearing dust-imbued denim overalls, and had large muscular arms, peppered with various tattoos. Even this early in the season he had the tan of an outdoorsman, and was almost certainly the owner of the white builder’s van parked outside. And his eyes, regarding Effie steadily, were clearly alive with intelligence and good humour.
‘Malc Thornton,’ he nodded at her and held out a large, callused hand. He took her own with surprising gentleness and Effie smiled at him with genuine pleasure. There was something warm and sincere about him that immediately appealed to her.
Corwin leaned back in his wooden chair, which creaked a little alarmingly as he twisted around on it, the better to look at her. ‘Effie, it’s important that you feel comfortable with us and what we do here in the C-Fits. So I just thought, before we start out, that we’d go through some basic things with you, and make sure that you’re aware of some ground rules.’
Effie nodded, straightening up a little and hoping that she looked reasonably intelligent and competent. ‘Of course,’ she said. Her voice, she was pleased to note, sounded perfectly cool and composed.
‘OK. What the C-Fits is all about is investigating cases of suspected paranormal activity — nothing more and nothing less,’ he said firmly. ‘Mostly, people who’ve read my books or learned about us from our website get in touch and ask for our help. They believe that they’ve come across something that may have supernatural overtones, and want our opinion. If it sounds like they have a reasonable concern, we then agree to do a preliminary investigation. And based on how we assess the situation after that, we either agree to do a more thorough investigation or we bow out.’
‘Do you often do that?’ she asked quietly.
‘More often than not to be honest,’ Corwin admitted wryly, as Mickey Urquhart gave a scornful snort. ‘Sorry to say, most of the calls we get are either from hoaxers who want a laugh at our expense, or from people who think that it’ll be a bit of a laugh to have ghost hunters about, and something amusing to talk about at their next dinner party. However, some other calls are from people with serious issues that have nothing to do with the supernatural — sometimes mental, sometimes familial.’
‘Yeah, like that whacko out near Witney who wanted us to “exorcise” his sister,’ Mickey put in with a hoot of derision, and Effie tried not to wince.
‘We quickly figured out that he only wanted to put doubts about her in his father’s mind so that he’d inherit the bulk of the family money,’ Gisela put in sadly.
‘Good gracious!’ Effie heard herself say faintly.
‘Exactly. Not surprisingly, Corwin pretty quickly put him straight on that,’ Mickey said with evident satisfaction.
‘If we could get back on track, everyone,’ Corwin said firmly, and Effie saw Jean give a pert nod of approval.
‘As I was saying,’ Corwin said, but not without shooting Mickey a swift, repressive look, ‘we always have to check everything thoroughly, and be sure of exactly what it is that we’re being asked to do. And if anything about it rings alarm bells, we just back off. But sometimes, things look more promising. And our latest investigation, the one that we’re all about to start on right now, is a case in point. I’m just about to bring everyone up to speed on that, since I’ve only had the chance to tell them the basics so far.’
The others, Effie noticed, all found his words encouraging and shuffled happily on their seats in anticipation. She herself did not feel quite so sanguine.
‘I was approached last week by the daughter of an old lady who has recently died,’ Corwin said, his voice becoming gradually more eager and excited as he talked. ‘Her mother, Claudia Watkins, was in her eighties and had a heart condition, and was found dead in her home beside her bed by the woman who helped out in the house. The family doctor, who’d been in attendance just the day before, signed the death certificate, citing heart failure as cause of death. The lady was duly buried in her local churchyard, and her daughter, Isabel, was named as executor of her will.’
Effie nodded. So far it all sounded rather clear-cut, almost mundane, even.
‘Now it seems that Mrs Watkins was a very wealthy woman who lived in a big house in Adderbury, and Isabel has temporarily moved back into her old family home. This is in order to help the family solicitor make up an inventory of the house’s contents, since her mother had requested that most of the furniture and various fittings be sold off at auction, in order to benefit a local charity. And it was then that she began to experience certain phenomena.’
It was at this point that Effie felt herself tense up slightly. This, she supposed, is where it all got rather weird and extraordinary. And yet, when she stopped to think about it logically, she was being rather silly to feel so anxious. She had just temporarily joined a paranormal investigative team, after all. What else had she been expecting?
‘I see. Can I ask what sort of things?’ she asked, determined to show some backbone.
Corwin beamed at her. ‘Of course you can. You can ask anything you like, at any time,’ he told her reassuringly. ‘We all remember what it was like to be new at this, so don’t feel embarrassed or reluctant to ask if there’s something you don’t understand,’ he encouraged her. ‘It seems that as soon as she began staying in the old house, Isabel began to have troubling dreams about her mother. In them, her mother was trying to tell her something, or warn her about something.’
‘I see,’ Effie said politely, and felt a distinct sense of anticlimax.
‘Lady Cadmund?’ It was Mickey who inevitably butted in again, looking comically stunned. ‘Blimey, we’re ghost hunters to the gentry now, are we?’
Jean sighed elaborately.
‘Only minor gentry, I think,’ Corwin said. ‘From what I’ve been able to learn about the family for my preliminary research, Isabel married a man with a very obscure title and some farmland. She doesn’t even call herself “Lady” as far as I know. Not that that’s relevant.’
‘No. We help anybody who needs it, no matter who they are,’ Gisela put in firmly, smiling at Effie. ‘Rich, poor or posh. We don’t differentiate.’
‘Right on, sister,’ Mickey said encouragingly.
‘Are you children quite finished?’ Corwin laughed. ‘Do you want to be briefed or not?’
‘All ears, chief.’ Mickey saluted smartly.
Lonny and Malc exchanged elaborate eye rolls. Clearly, they were all used to putting up with his clowning around. But Effie, who thought, frankly, that Mickey was a bit of an idiot, decided to keep her opinions firmly to herself.
‘Right. Isabel herself didn’t attach much significance to the dreams, either,’ Corwin carried on, ‘but she then began to feel cold. And by that I mean,’ he turned once again to Effie, ‘cold in a way that can’t be easily explained. Although the house is old and big, she swears that she wasn’t standing in any draughts whenever she noticed these cold spells. And since it was a house that she grew up in and was very familiar with, she’d know all of its little peculiarities and foibles well. Furthermore, as you’re aware, we’ve been having an unseasonably warm spring this year. Even more significantly than all of this, however, she came to realize that she only felt cold when going into a certain room.’