"Is this real?" Julie asked as she slowly sank to the floor to sit cross-legged on the patterned rug. She was tempted to reach out a hand and see if Grams was as solid as she appeared, but couldn't quite bring herself to find out.
"Reality is overrated," her grandmother replied dryly but with a twinkle in her eye. "Now listen up; we don't have much time. We can't tell you anything directly, but we can give you a few hints to help you on your way."
"First things first," her great-grandfather interrupted, "You need to watch out for treachery, treachery and betrayal. It's in those blasted papers; be careful about those papers."
"Which papers? The map of where Edward was digging, something from the historian?"
"Can't say more. Just remember what I said; pay attention to those papers," agitation evident in his expression he waved his pipe in the air for emphasis. Again, Julie understood his impatience had nothing to do with her, but at his inability to communicate effectively.
"Okay, I'll try to remember," she answered as the bluish halo began to slowly flicker and fade from around her great-grandfather.
She turned to her grandmother, still shocked and unsure whether she was awake or dreaming. "Are you ghosts?" she asked. "I always told Gustavia she was crazy for believing in auras and spirits, but maybe I was the crazy one after all."
“Nothing ever dies; especially when there is love. And I do love you, my child,” Grams answered. “Now, listen closely. We don’t have much time before it will be too late for this cycle.”
"First, remember what your great-grandfather said, be careful of those papers." Julie nodded impatiently and gestured for Grams to continue.
"Second, remember this: the magic garden will bring the light; don't think so literally." With that statement there was a flash of light, then both chairs were empty. On table between them lay the family history she had spent hours searching for in that very room.
After a moment, she hesitantly reached out to touch the spot where Grams had been sitting. She felt a quick, mild tingle, then nothing: no warmth, no evidence to show what she had seen was real.
Getting to her feet – and deciding her legs, though slightly shaky, would hold her – she snatched up the book, made her way down the hall, and then slid into bed. Julie was sure there was absolutely no way she would ever get back to sleep; yet, in what seemed like only a few short minutes, she opened her eyes and realized it was morning.
Her memories from the night before were fresh and detailed, but with a surreal quality that allowed Julie to almost convince herself it had all been an extremely vivid dream. Even so, her first action after getting out of bed was to rush to the library and look for evidence to support her middle-of-the-night experience. At first, she saw nothing—no telltale indentations in the seats, no marks where feet might have rested and flattened the fibers of the carpet. Nothing appeared out of place until, just as she was getting ready to leave, she noticed a tiny bit of pipe ash on the arm of the chair where her great-grandfather had been sitting. Remembering the book she had carried back to her room, Julie walked slowly down the hall to check. It was there, right on her nightstand where she'd dropped it on her way back to bed.
A dream? No, it was real. Everything she had seen and heard the night before was real. Maybe she should start braiding her hair and wearing little strings of bells around her neck.
* * *
Later that morning, Julie placed a call to the historian who had compiled her family history. Barrett Kingsley, it turned out, was in poor health and his memory was fading; but he still had his collection of notes and would have his grandson Tyler drop them off for Julie to read. He couldn't recall any mention of a magic garden; but assured her, if there were any information, it would be in his notes.
Then, back in her studio, Julie began resetting the lighting for her next series of images. The concept for the series had come to her in a store dressing room. There had been mirrors attached to a set of folding doors and the play of images as they opened and closed had inspired her to play with reflections. She laid large pieces of square, round, and rectangular mirrored glass on the floor; propped more pieces of mirror against boxes, tripods and furniture; then arranged various objects around and on the mirrors creating a sort of kaleidoscope effect. Lighting was a bit tricky since the mirrors refracted the light in unpredictable ways. She experimented with a soft-box fitted with a warming filter and then with some tightly directed spotlights. After a few test shots, she added some colored filters to the spotlights then shot some more.
After an hour or so of repositioning, relighting, and re-shooting, she was close to having something workable. Experimenting with various angles and distances, she decided she was well on her way to creating a series of compelling abstract images; powerful, but subtle and mysterious. Sort of like the turn her life was taking.
Looking at her watch, she realized she was running behind schedule. Logan would be picking her up any minute now for their trip to the lawyer's office to go over the documents he'd had drawn up. She was annoyed at the pressure Logan had been putting on her about these matters. Her irritation was compounded by having asked several times for copies of the prenuptial agreement and the wills so she could read them over, only to be told they were just standard boilerplate documents. Logan said he didn't want her to have to worry about what he called "minor" details, but she was still uneasy and more than a bit annoyed.
Everything that had happened over the past few days was making her feel edgy. Maybe that was why she felt so unsettled in her relationship; she wondered if it might have been better to cancel the appointment altogether, but it was too late for that.
He arrived exactly on time—Logan was a stickler for punctuality—gave her a quick peck on the cheek and fairly pulled her out the door. All the way to the lawyer's office he chatted away about his work, cutting Julie off with yet another story each time she tried to speak. She wanted to tell him about the magic garden, but he never gave her the chance.
When he finally pulled the car into the parking lot of the tidy office building where his lawyer practiced, she had subsided into silence. Logan was thankful she had stopped protesting; this was the first step in his carefully laid plan, and she was not going to mess it up.
"Julie, this is my lawyer, Justin Abernathy. Justin, meet my fiancée, Julie Hayward."
"It's nice to meet you," she said.
"The pleasure is mine," he replied.
"Can we get started?" Logan hurriedly cut in, putting a stop to any further pleasantries.
"Yes, sure," Justin turned his attention back to Julie. "I assume Logan gave you copies of the documents so you could read them over and have your own attorney make any necessary changes."
"No, I actually haven't seen any copies; Logan assured me this paperwork was all standard, and I didn't need to retain my own attorney," she looked at Logan and saw his face was flushed with barely contained annoyance.
"Julie," he said, "if you trust me at all, you'll just sign the papers." He pushed, trading on her feelings to guilt her into signing.
"It isn't that I don't trust you, Logan. But even your own attorney thinks I should have the chance to read them first."
For a split second, Julie thought she saw a look of hatred flash across Logan's face before he composed his features into an expression of concern. Now she was angry, and did not bother to try and hide it. Normally Julie considered herself an even-tempered person, but after the last few days her emotions seemed just a bit too close to the surface and were not as easily controlled. She turned her furious gaze on him: eyes blazing, foot tapping out a staccato beat; she did not speak.
"I was just trying to take care of you; you know that, right?" His voice turned wheedling. At this point, Logan realized he might have been a bit too forceful. He had never seen Julie get angry; she was usually so tractable that, in his head, he had nicknamed her the country mouse. Now, he was beginning to think he'd made a mistake with her; she might not be as easy to handle as he exp
ected. That was bad. He'd been positive she would fall in line without questioning his motives.
"Yes, but I am an adult; I can take care of myself." To Justin she said, "Thank you; I will take a copy of those documents. Once I've had a chance to read them, we will get back to you. I am sorry to have taken so much of your time."
"It's not a problem; just call for an appointment whenever you're ready. You can have your attorney contact me with any questions," he said pointedly. And with that, Julie took the proffered envelope and sailed out the door. She was tempted to tell Logan to just leave without her, but she wasn't up to the walk back to the house.
Thankfully, considering the chill pervading the atmosphere inside the car, the drive home was short. Logan appeared calm, but Julie could sense that, under his polite exterior, he was seething, angry. She wasn't exactly impressed with him, either. Knowing it was better to have everything out in the open, Julie described her visit to the psychic – glossing over the more unbelievable aspects of her recent experiences-– and explained that there might be something of value hidden in or around the old house. She did not mention anything about her middle-of-the-night ghostly visit, but told him what little she remembered of the deathbed tale. Julie then waited to see his response.
Exactly as expected, he was completely dismissive.
"Don't be silly; that sounds more farfetched than one of Hattie McBatty's children's stories."
"Calling my best friend names is not helping, Logan."
The rest of the trip was silent. By the time they pulled up in front of the house, Logan had calmed himself and said, "Please, just read through the papers; can't you see I'm only trying to show you how much I love you by protecting your interests." He smiled as though nothing had happened, then gave Julie a quick peck of a kiss, and, not seeming to notice her lack of response, drove away. Julie stood on the steps watching his car disappear down the drive. How had she never noticed this side of him? Smarmy one minute and overbearing the next, he ignored anything that conflicted with his own idea of what was correct.
He also didn't notice the shimmer that arrowed from the formal garden into his back seat. Called by Julie's distress—and with the perspective lent by being a ghost—Grams knew her beloved granddaughter was upset about something, and she was going to do her part to save the day. She just needed to figure out how.
Clutching the manila envelope, Julie stalked up the steps and let herself into the house muttering imprecations under her breath. Until recently, her relationship with Logan had seemed like a mature meeting of the minds between two adults. Maybe he didn't think she had a temper since there had never been any reason for fighting, but if he continued the childish act he had put on today things were going to change.
Tossing the envelope onto the table, Julie began pacing from room to room, tension mounting into anger. What on earth had possessed Logan to think she would just merrily sign legal papers without even reading them first? Didn't he know her at all? He had watched her take care of Grams during her final weeks, had seen the care she had taken with the paperwork from each doctor. He and Gustavia had been beside her while she dealt with the funeral arrangements.
Julie frowned.
Wait, that wasn't quite true. Gustavia, tears streaming down her face, had helped choose an urn to hold Gram's ashes, had looked at the book of Thank You cards to find one with just the right artistic flair. Logan had taken a business call and gone outside for privacy. More than that, she remembered the same thing had happened on the day Grams died. While she and Gustavia watched Estelle slip away, Logan had been absorbed with work on his laptop because he'd had an "unavoidable" problem that had to be dealt with right then. Before Grams had been wheeled out of the house on her way to the funeral home, he said he needed to get back to the city. Oh, he made sure that Gustavia would be staying and had seemed concerned that Julie should not be alone; but, even so, he had gone. He had left her at a time when he should have been practically glued to her side.
Maybe Gustavia and Grams had been right about him all along. Neither one of them had ever warmed up to Logan, and the two of them had formed their own little non-admiration society for him. Julie told herself it was because they were both a bit overly protective, and they were both passionate women who expected relationships to be based on emotions. Julie had always prided herself on being more practical, more logical. Both had pronounced Logan to be a cold fish and Gustavia maintained his aura was "hideously oozy", and he gave off bad vibes. Bad vibes, whatever those were, had not been enough to deter the relationship; and, when Logan proposed, Julie hadn't seen any good reason to say no. Marrying him seemed like the logical thing to do. After all, she was not like Gustavia, not like Grams, not like her own mother who put passion before safety.
So Logan didn't inspire her to the heights of ardent infatuation, so what? Passion was overrated and almost always got a person into trouble.
Oh, my God, she thought, maybe I'm the cold fish. But when anger flashed through her again – turning her face hot, clenching her fists, and causing everything inside of her to rise up and churn – she decided she was not cold or emotionless; not at all.
When Julie was angry, her first impulse was to dive into housework. Cleaning let her burn off steam while getting something positive done. She was angry enough right now to clean the entire house and then move on to the neighbor's.
She barely had time to change into a comfortable pair of leggings and an old t-shirt before she heard the doorbell ringing. Expecting a contrite Logan to be on the other side of the door, and not at all ready to make up, she twisted the knob and yanked it open.
Chapter 7
Well, that's not Logan, she thought as she hesitantly said, "Hello, may I help you?"
"Are you Julie? I'm Tyler Kingsley; my grandfather asked me to drop these notes off for you."
"Yes, thank you; I hope it wasn't too much trouble," she answered. "I wasn't expecting you to come so quickly."
"No, no trouble at all, my schedule was wide open for the day." He smiled a bit sheepishly, deep blue eyes twinkling. "Besides, I'm willing to admit I do have an ulterior motive; if you don't mind, I would love to see the house. I've read the history and the notes my grandfather made, and I've always wanted to see it for myself."
"Sure, least I can do." Julie, still trying to tame her emotions, took a deep breath and let it out on a sigh. His timing was not stellar, but she might as well be polite.
Tyler ran a hand through dark, glossy hair just long enough to curl over his ears. She was upset about something. It wasn't hard to tell. He had sisters; he knew the signs. He let his eyes rove over her gently, assessing her body language: tense across the shoulders, chin slightly raised, and her eyes were still snapping even though he could see she was trying to tamp it down. Something had gotten under her skin.
Now he was doubly curious; and the best way to satisfy curiosity, in his experience, was to investigate. So, knowing full well she was in no mood to be cordial, he followed her into the house anyway.
She led him, first to the kitchen, where she offered him a cold drink. After pouring them both a glass of lemonade, she asked if he wanted to see just the house or some of the property as well. He wanted to see it all, so she decided to start outside with the formal garden.
As they strolled through the smooth green expanse of the back lawn, Julie told him the garden now occupied only about three-quarters of its former size. For the past few years the local garden club had maintained this two-acre section of the property in exchange for being able to bring tour groups through on Sunday afternoons. It was a nice source of revenue for the group and saved Julie a ton of time and money; making it a win-win situation.
"Do you think this is the magic garden?" Tyler looked around him avidly. Julie tilted her head and looked at him. So, there had been something in the notes about the magic garden, though she'd seen nothing in her scan of the resulting book. Clearly Barrett Kingsley had forgotten after all this time. She wasn't sure how sh
e felt about Tyler knowing her family secrets. He had been watching her slowly relax as they walked across the property, but now the tension was back; she just kept feeding his curiosity.
"I doubt it; Grams and her garden club renovated it when I was in high school. In the process they dug up pretty much every square inch of this section. If there had been anything to find, I am sure they would have found it."
"What if one of the garden club members found something and kept quiet?"
Surprised at her own reaction, Julie turned and said hotly, "Those garden club members were my grandmother's closest friends. They would never steal from her; not for anything."
Tyler held up both hands in surrender, "Sorry; it was just a thought; I didn't mean anything by it. Sometimes I don't use the filter that should be between my brain and my mouth."
Not completely mollified but willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, Julie led him past the formal garden and up a slight incline. At the top of the knoll, she stopped and gestured for him to look around. This slightly heightened vantage point overlooked most of the property's acreage.
A series of smaller perennial beds edged a wide expanse of mowed lawn leading down to the line of trees marking the boundary of the planted areas. Julie explained there was additional acreage beyond the trees that had been cleared for vegetable gardening at one time.
"I was thinking of dividing some of the cleared areas into smaller parcels and selling them to pay for repairs to the house. Then this business with . . . well, something came up, and right now that is not an option.”
Tyler looked at Julie, eyes narrowed speculatively. He had picked up on the hesitation. "Business with what?"
Julie blushed and replied, "Trust me, you don't want to know."
He quirked an eye brow, "Sure I do, what happened? Did you find a treasure map? I read all the notes, and there was no mention of a map."
“Not exactly; and you wouldn’t believe me if I told you, so just let it go.” The funny thing was – even funnier, since she had no such compulsion to share her late night visitation with Logan – Julie found herself tempted to tell him exactly what happened: all of it, including the most recent ghostly encounter. Logan already thought Gustavia belonged in the loony bin; she didn’t want him to think of her that way as well. But she had a feeling Tyler wouldn’t judge. It would be a relief to just get it out of her system.
Rings On Her Fingers (Psychic Seasons Page 4