“The student surpassing the master?” Phil suggested.
A short scoffing sound popped out of Emma. “Never in a million years could I gain the same level as Milo.”
“Don’t be so sure, Emma. In the few years I’ve known you, you’ve made great strides in the paranormal field.” He eyed her with a mixture of concern and pride, unsure of which emotion should take priority at the moment. “Often without your consent.”
A large black bird flew low overhead, winging from one tree to another. They both watched its graceful travel.
Emma shivered slightly, remembering some of her more harrowing adventures with spirits. “It’s more like I have a similar but different set of skills from Milo. He told me shortly after our trip to Las Vegas that my talents seem to be more intimate. The spirits speak to him and come to him during séances, but they seek me out with more personal needs.”
“You’re a fixer,” Phil said, glancing her way. This time it was amusement that glowed on his face like sweat.
Emma stared at Phil. “A what?”
“A fixer,” Phil explained. “You know, someone they can go to in order to set things right. To solve their problems so they can move on.”
Emma looked around the clearing, her eyes searching for any physical signs of the spirits she felt stirring about. “When I hear the word fixer,” she said, not taking her eyes off the surrounding trees and shrubs, “I think of some scary guy who makes nasty problems go away for the rich and famous before the media finds out.”
Phil chuckled. “You’ve been watching too much TV with Granny.” He patted her arm and walked into the middle of the clearing, scanning the ground.
Emma followed him off the path. “What are you looking for?”
“Nothing really.” He scuffed the surface of a few places with the toe of his sneaker, then walked a few paces in a straight line. “Just trying to get a feel for how big this barn was. From the size of the clearing I’m thinking it was large, and it looked to be a nice size in the photos, but you never know. Photos can be deceiving.”
He toed the ground again and found another outline in the dirt to follow. He continued doing that until he was pretty sure he had an idea of the width and depth of the building. “Yep, it was pretty big. Larger than the old house, but that makes sense. Barns have to store tools, livestock, and food for the livestock.”
Scratching his head, he looked around the clearing. “Emma, did you see any evidence of a well anywhere?”
“No, I didn’t. Is that important?”
“Not really. I’m just curious. They would have used well water.” Taking off his cap, he laughed and wiped a hand over his forehead. “What can I say? It’s just the old rancher in me coming out. I love visiting old places like this and getting a sense of what it must have been like to farm or ranch without all the modern conveniences.” He replaced his cap.
“Tell him the well was located between the barn and the house.” Emma turned to see Blaine Brown standing next to her. “It’s been locked up and out of use for many years.” He pointed to the wide patch of brush separating the old farmhouse from the clearing. “It’s in there. To the right a piece.”
Emma gave Phil the directions to the well and he made a beeline in that direction, disappearing among the shrubs and trees.
When he was gone, Emma turned to Blaine. “I spoke with your grandmother back at the house. She seems very sad about your death. About outliving you.”
The ghost nodded. “Nana Abby has suffered much loss in her life. When I died, everyone thought it might be the final blow, but it wasn’t. She’s the strongest person I ever met. She was the heart of the family.”
“How did you die, Blaine?”
The ghost drifted over to where Phil had been scuffing the ground with his foot. “I fell to my death,” he told her. “Right here. It was about this time of year and I was mending the barn roof. We’d had a lot of rain with more on the way. Pa and I didn’t want to wait until the next storm passed before patching the leaks found in the last rain.” Blaine looked up as if he could still see the top of the big barn. “My pa and I were almost finished when I slipped on a wet mossy spot and fell. I broke my neck when I hit the ground.”
Emma briefly closed her eyes, picturing the tragedy. “Your father must have been beside himself seeing that.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He drifted back to stand beside her and looked directly into Emma’s eyes. He had been a handsome boy in life, with wide intelligent eyes and a strong jaw. His hair had been dark and chopped short with a longer piece that fell over his forehead. His nose was narrow and straight.
“You were very young when you died.” Emma resisted the urge to push the wayward lock of hair off of the ghost’s face. She knew it would be useless to try, but the mother in her wanted to make the effort.
“Yes, ma’am. I had just seen my twentieth birthday.” He looked away toward the brush, where they could hear Phil bumbling around. “I was courting Marjorie Woodbine over in Spencer and hoped to make her my wife the following spring.” He turned again to Emma. “Can I ask you a question, Emma?”
“Of course.”
Even though Blaine no longer breathed, he went through the motion of taking a deep breath before continuing. “I must have died as soon as I hit the ground because I saw my body, all crumpled up like old newsprint, where it fell. And I saw Pa. He was screaming down at my body and nearly fell hisself.”
“I’m glad he didn’t,” she told him, trying to give him comfort during the painful memory.
“That’s what was real peculiar,” Blaine told her. “Next thing I know I was standing next to Pa on the roof, calling to him and trying to pull him back from the edge, but I couldn’t. My hands could not grasp him. They went through him like he was made of water.”
Emma gave him a smile swelled with compassion, understanding how frustrated Blaine must have been seeing his father nearly follow him in death. “Actually, your father was solid and you weren’t. You’d already become a spirit. And very quickly, too.” To demonstrate, she reached up in an attempt to push back the hair on his forehead. Her hand went through him as if he weren’t there. “See? Like now.”
“I finally understood that, but that wasn’t the odd thing I was speaking of. I remember becoming so intent on saving Pa that I finally made one final grab for him and shouted his name. That time my hands did latch on to him and pull him back.”
Emma’s eyebrows shot skyward in surprise. She’d heard about and even witnessed spirits being able to move objects by whipping up the air currents that usually accompanied their presence, but never knew of a ghost being able to make physical contact with a living person or a solid object except in movies and on TV shows. “Are you sure you physically got hold of him?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Blaine’s face flooded with conviction. “For just a split second he was in my hands and I pulled him back from the edge of the roof. And he heard me holler to him. I’m sure of it.” He went through the motions of another deep breath, determined to relay the memory correctly. “Then Pa sat down on the roof kind of dumbfounded and looked around up there, calling my name as if I were still there working away and not down yonder like a rag doll. I tried to put my arms around him and let him know I was there, but this time my hands and arms went right through him like butter on a summer’s day, and he couldn’t hear me calling his name no matter how loud I yelled it.”
Emma briefly covered her face with her hands, then removed them lest Blaine misread her confusion for disbelief.
“After he collected hisself, he went down the ladder and tried to help me, but it was too late. He was totally grief-stricken and yelled for my mother, but at least he was on solid ground then and in no mortal danger.”
The morning breeze kicked up a little more, carrying along with it the earthy scent of rotting leaves and the fresh scent of the country air. Overhead, the black bird darted am
ong the trees again, this time followed by another; the birds joyfully getting in some fun before cold weather brought it to a close. Emma wrapped her arms around herself. Off in the bushes came the sound of shuffling and branches being broken, along with a few swearwords.
“Either your man is digging around like a bear, or a bear is digging around after him.”
Emma laughed out loud at Blaine’s comment, then turned to him, concerned. She found him grinning in the direction of the noise. “Are there bears around here?”
“Aye,” he replied. “Black bears but not many. It’s more likely Phil encountered a skunk.”
Emma laughed again. Although Phil could handle himself very well out in the wild, she wasn’t too keen on him going head-to-head with a skunk and bringing the results back to their room. Still smiling, she studied the ghost of Blaine Brown and thought that Marjorie Woodbine would have been a lucky woman to have such a charming and decent man by her side, and how heartbroken the young woman must have been at his death.
“Is your death what you need my help on?” Emma asked him, getting back on topic. “Do you need me to explain what happened to you so you can pass over to the other side?”
He turned to her, a bit of offense edging his young face at her question. “Oh no, ma’am. I’ve already been there. So has Nana Abby and the rest of the family.” Blaine paused, then added slowly, “At least most of them.”
“What do you mean by that?” she asked. “Are some caught here on this side?”
Blaine nodded. “We believe so.” His face turned stormy, his jaw set. He looked Emma directly in the eye. “Two children. Can you help us?”
“I can certainly try.”
More rumbling and thrashing caused them to look in the direction of the bushes. From overgrowth emerged a ruffled but excited Phil. “Guess what I found in there?” he called to Emma.
“A hedgehog having tea and scones?” she called back.
“Very funny.” While he walked in Emma’s direction, Phil slapped at his pants to remove the twigs, leaves, and dirt that had stuck to him like Styrofoam packing peanuts.
“He probably found our family graveyard,” Blaine told her, his voice still serious. “If he wants to visit it again, tell him to approach it from the house side. It’s less overgrown there and he might even find a bit of a path left.”
As Phil reached her, Emma held up a hand signaling she was not alone. “How did these children die?” she asked Blaine, returning to the real issue. “From illness?” She knew that in prior centuries a lot of children died from diseases that were now nearly eradicated, or at least had remedies.
“No, ma’am,” Blaine told her, the words awl sharp. “We believe they either met with a mortal accident or . . . ” he said, his voice trailing off, “or were murdered.”
Emma sucked in a sharp quick breath. Phil remained silent, but put a comforting and supporting hand on her shoulder as he waited. He was used to her having conversations that didn’t include him. Emma raised a hand and placed it over his, glad he was there.
“Their names are Chester and Clarissa,” Blaine continued. “They’re twins born to Nana Abby.”
Emma remembered something Abigail had said about the time the photo was taken. “Did they go missing around their eighth birthday, shortly after that formal photograph was taken in front of the big house?”
“Yes,” Blaine confirmed.
Emma paused to absorb everything she’d been told. “How did you know I was coming to Misty Hollow?” she asked. It was something she had been curious about since she’d arrived.
“I overheard Gino telling his wife and the cook about a guest coming who could talk to ghosts,” Blaine explained. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
“That’s why you were all on the porch when I arrived.”
“Yes, ma’am. Gino has had a few other guests come and go, but you were the only one who noticed us. We were quite excited.”
Emma remained silent for a moment, then turned to face Phil. His hand slipped from her shoulder, but she took it up and held it. “Two of their children died, possibly an accident.” She paused. “Or even murder. And they haven’t crossed over to the other side yet. Blaine and his family want me to look into it.”
Phil was quiet for a moment, then gave her hand a squeeze. He turned in the direction Emma had faced while conversing with Blaine. “Mr. Brown,” he said, addressing the unseen spirit, “we’ll all look into it. Emma, Granny, and I. We’re a team.” He slipped his hand out of Emma’s and held it out in the direction he’d aimed his words.
The ghost of Blaine Brown looked down at the living man’s hand, made of flesh and bone and blood, as his had once been. He glanced at Emma, who gave him a slight nod of encouragement. Blaine placed his own hazy hand into Phil’s warm one and went through the motion of a handshake, neither feeling the physical agreement, but both sensing the bond.
Smiling, Emma turned back to Blaine. “I’ll need more details about their disappearance. Let’s meet again later today, maybe right after we talk with Gino about his work, or even after dinner when it’s quiet.”
The ghost nodded. “We’re usually on the front porch in the evening. But if we’re not, send your Granny for us.”
• CHAPTER SEVEN •
“I WAS about to send a search party out for you two,” boomed Gino good-naturedly when they walked into the kitchen. “Marta said you left shortly after sunrise.” He was sitting at the big oak table, a mug of hot coffee in front of him, a tablet in his hands. Marta was bustling around the stove. The homey scent of cinnamon, apples, stewing meat, and fresh, strong coffee hung like a warm comfy blanket over the room. Vanessa was nowhere to be seen.
“We’ve been exploring,” Phil told him, with more than a little childlike excitement. “We got into the old farmhouse and looked around, and later I found an old graveyard. From the markers, it seems to be the Brown family plot.”
Gino put down his tablet. “Wasn’t the old house locked?”
“The back door wasn’t shut tight,” Phil explained. “A little jiggle and it popped open. But I made sure it was locked tight when we left.”
“I’ve only walked past it,” Gino noted. “What did it look like inside?”
“Crammed with boxes and old furniture,” Emma told him. She took a deep breath, sucking in the delicious scent of baked goods. “The tables and chairs they use for weddings here are stored in the kitchen.”
“It’s a sturdy structure,” added Phil. “Very well crafted. Not as large as this place by a long shot, but roomy enough.”
Marta delivered a basket of fresh baked muffins to the table. “The oatmeal will be right up, along with some eggs.”
“We need to wash up,” Emma said, “especially Phil. He was rooting around in the bushes looking for the well and graveyard.”
“I stumbled upon the graveyard by sheer luck,” Phil corrected. “But Emma’s right about cleaning up.”
“Nonsense,” Gino said with a wave of his hand. “We’re not formal around here. Just hit the bathroom in the hall or wash up at the kitchen sink. You can shower after you eat.”
“The eggs are almost ready,” Marta added, still not looking directly at Emma. “And the apple bran muffins are best when hot.”
Emma and Phil, both starving, made a quick decision. “I’ve got dibs on the hall bathroom,” Emma said as she made a dash out the door.
A few minutes later, Emma, Phil, and Gino were chatting pleasantly over breakfast. “Marta,” Emma said, after inhaling half a muffin, “these muffins are divine. Best I’ve ever had.”
“I’m with you on that,” added Phil as he slathered butter on his second half.
“Marta is a whiz at baking,” Gino said as he scooped more scrambled eggs onto his plate from a covered serving bowl. “Wait until you see what she can do with rhubarb.”
Emma turned to Ma
rta with excitement. “I love rhubarb pie.”
For the first time, Marta allowed a tiny smile in Emma’s direction. “Unfortunately, it’s out of season. But I’ll be making an apple pie for tonight’s dessert, if that suits you, Mrs. Whitecastle?”
“Another favorite,” Emma assured her, happy that she got the housekeeper to melt a little.
Marta turned to Phil. “Mr. Bowers, can I get you some bacon or sausage?”
“No thanks, Marta,” Phil told her, wallowing happily in the food on the table. “This is plenty. Any more and I’ll have to head back out for that two-mile run we missed this morning.”
“Is Vanessa coming down to breakfast?” Emma asked as she poured milk over her oatmeal and sprinkled it with Marta’s special granola of toasted nuts, coconut, and dried cranberries.
Gino shrugged. “She said she was earlier when I checked on her, but who knows?” He turned in his chair toward the stove. “Do you know, Marta, if Mrs. Costello changed her mind about breakfast?”
Without looking directly at her employer, Marta said, “Mrs. Costello had me bring a tray up to her about twenty minutes ago.”
Gino turned to look out the large window by the kitchen table. It faced the lake, its surface slightly shimmering under the light breeze. “I’m really sorry, folks, about her unsocial behavior,” he said to Phil and Emma without looking at them. “She’s not always like this. Vanessa usually loves company.”
“Maybe she doesn’t feel well,” Emma offered as an explanation, remembering what Granny had said.
Gino turned back to them. “She did look pretty pasty when I checked on her this morning, but she said she was fine.”
“You don’t need to apologize for me, Gino. If apologies are needed, I can do it myself.”
They all turned to find Vanessa standing in the doorway between the dining room and the kitchen. Dressed in jeans, boots, a cream turtleneck sweater, and a cranberry designer jacket, she looked ready to leave the house, not join them. And just in case her attire didn’t broadcast her intention, the oversized sunglasses perched on her nose sealed the deal, along with the large leather satchel grasped in one hand.
The Ghosts of Misty Hollow Page 7