“I’ll let you two work,” Phil said. “I’m going to make myself comfy and read this wonderful book.” He held up the book Gino had given him the night before.
In spite of his words, Phil made no move toward another seat and Emma didn’t take one of the ones at the desk. Instead they looked at each other, wondering if they should say something to their host about the morning’s activities.
“Is it too chilly with the doors open?” Gino asked.
Emma turned to him. “No, not at all.”
“There’s a rainstorm moving in later,” Gino said. “I thought it would be nice to air the place out a bit before it gets here.”
Phil was about to say something, but Gino stopped him. “Let’s address the elephant in the room,” he said, his eyes settling first on Phil, then Emma. “Or should I say the missing elephant in the room?”
Phil stepped closer to the desk. “Gino, Emma and I don’t want to be in the way of your personal life, so if you’d like us to leave, we’d certainly understand under the circumstances.”
Gino waved off Phil’s concerns with a large hand. “No. No. Please stay. This isn’t the first time Vanessa has left in a huff, although it might be the last. As I told you both last night, I’ve had the feeling she’s had one foot out the door awhile now.”
Emma exchanged another glance with Phil, wondering if Vanessa told Gino about the baby. “So she won’t be coming back today?” she asked.
“Not today for sure,” Gino answered. He sounded exhausted though it wasn’t even noon yet. “Maybe not ever. Who knows.” He put the stack of papers down. “You know, I do need a favor, if you don’t mind. I was going to wait until Leroy came back with his car. But since I’m not sure when he’ll be back, maybe I should take care of this now and we can tackle this work after lunch.”
“What do you need?” Phil asked. “Whatever it is, we’ll be happy to help.”
“Even with murdering my philandering wife?” Gino asked without hesitation.
“Ah,” Phil stammered. Emma stood next to him, speechless.
Gino laughed but there was no joy in the sound. “Don’t worry, folks. I may write about crime and murder, but to date I’ve never even considered such a thing.” He stood up. “How do you feel about giving me a lift into Worcester? Vanessa took the SUV we leased and Leroy has the sedan, so I’m stuck. With Leroy and Marta needing occasional wheels, we need two vehicles.”
“Sure,” Phil said. “Whatever you need, except for that murder thing.” The three of them shared a nervous chuckle.
“I called the car rental place earlier and reserved another SUV for tomorrow,” Gino told them. He pulled out his cell phone. “I’ll call back and see if they have one for today, but I’m pretty sure they do. At this rate, I’m going to be their best customer.” He made the call while Emma dashed upstairs to grab their jackets. When she came back down, Phil and Gino were waiting by the door.
“All systems go,” Gino said, opening the front door for them. “Maybe we can go over some of my ideas for the book in the car.”
As Emma walked out the door, she spied Abigail Brown sitting in one of the rockers on the front porch. Seated next to her was the spirit of a middle-aged man with dark hair and a full beard. Abigail smiled at Emma. “This is my husband Warren. He passed well before me. I told him that you’re going to help us.” Emma remained silent, but gave the ghosts a nod of understanding.
Phil plugged the address for the car rental agency into the GPS of their rental, a beige, midsized, four-door sedan. Because he was such a large man, Emma insisted that Gino take the passenger’s seat while she sat in back. She’d positioned herself behind Phil so she could see Gino while speaking with him.
“According to the GPS,” Phil said as he pulled the car out of the drive and onto the road, “it should take about forty minutes or so to get there.”
“Sounds about right,” said Gino. “It’s mostly small roads, no major highways, between here and there.”
“What made you pick this area for the book?” Phil asked.
Gino thought about the question, then answered, “I’m not sure, except that I’ve always liked New England and its history. It’s so Americana, Massachusetts being one of the first colonies and all. This is where the country started, right over on the coast at Plymouth Rock.” He pointed out the window at the thick woods, interrupted every now and then by a clearing with a home or a small road. “Throughout these woods you can often find evidence of the early settlers in bits of old stone fences or foundations. There are even a few abandoned villages dotting New England.”
“Why abandoned?” Emma asked.
“Various reasons,” Gino answered. “Back in the 1700s, a bad illness or influenza could decimate a small village. Those that survived often left, afraid the place was cursed. Or maybe a fire broke out and burned the settlement to the ground, or a severe flood washed it away.” He turned to look at Emma. “Many crop failures sent farmers looking elsewhere to make a living.”
“I could see that,” Phil said. “Times were hard back then and villages not very close together.”
They rode along a few miles before Emma asked, “So which came first, the story about the serial killer or the location?”
“I had the story in mind first,” Gino told her, glancing back at her. “When I thought about the setting, I remembered reading about abandoned villages and homesteads and decided rural Massachusetts would be just the place.” He chuckled. “Besides, I hadn’t written anything about this area yet.”
Emma looked out the window. “It certainly is lovely here; even the more populated areas.”
“And very different from either California or Chicago, huh?” asked Gino with a grin.
Phil and Emma nodded in agreement as the road entered the center of a small, active town. “But not that different,” Phil noted, pointing out a couple of chain restaurants.
“So tell me,” Emma began, “how do you imagine the paranormal coming into your book?”
Gino gave her question solid thought before answering. “Like I said last night, I see it as more of a diversion to keep the killer from being found out. The place where he stashes his victims is rumored to be haunted and he helps fan those rumors to keep people away.”
“And as I said last night,” Emma told Gino firmly, “most ghosts do not scare people in the fashion usually seen in movies or on TV.”
“So, in your opinion,” pressed Gino, “they are not scary?”
“I’ve encountered some that have been quite intimidating, but they can’t harm a living person physically. They don’t have that power. They are limited in what they can do.” When Gino looked at her, puzzled, she added, “For example, say a ghost was in this car and angry enough to want to hit you with a baseball bat.”
Gino laughed. “That must be the ghost of Steve Monahan, a kid I knew in college. I heard he died a few years ago. I took his girl away from him and he did come at me with a bat. Fortunately, some other guys got him under control before he could crack my skull open.”
Phil glanced over and laughed. “See, Emma must have gotten a bead on something like that.”
Gino wasn’t buying it. “I doubt it. Steve and I made up eventually, and I’m sure there are others who’ve wanted to take a bat to me, though he’s the only one who actually tried.”
“Well, for this example,” Emma continued, “let’s say the ghost of Steve Monahan was about to take a bat to your head. First of all, a bat is a solid object and spirits are not. Steve would not be able to hold it or even pick it up as a ghost. If he tried, his hands would go right through it. Same thing if he tried to hit you with his fists. They would simply go through you like you were nothing but air. In this case, you’d be solid, but Steve would not be. The most you might feel is a bit of air circulating from his efforts.” She thought about what Blaine had said about being able to pull
his father back from the edge of the barn roof. “There might be incidences when a ghost can feel or touch a living person, but it would be very rare and then only for an instant. There’d never be enough contact time for a ghost to grab a weapon and wield it or to physically hit someone.”
“I’ve often heard,” Gino said, truly interested, “that people claim there is a cold breeze when spirits are around. Is that true and why is that?”
“Spirits need energy in order to manifest,” she explained. “Heat is energy. When they are present they absorb the heat, leaving behind cooler air. One ghost present might not make a significant difference, but several definitely can.” She paused. “Of course, this is a very simplified explanation.”
Gino digested the information. “So ghosts throwing things around a room or moving tables and chairs is malarkey?”
“Pretty much,” she answered. “Although I have witnessed ghosts moving in such a quick manner that the air around them moves, creating an air current. It might move paper or curtains, lightweight things like that, but never anything with any serious weight, like a bat.”
“Unless the ghost inhabited a live body,” added Phil.
Emma nodded. “That’s true. Sometimes spirits can overtake a living person and use his or her body to communicate.”
“Like with your pal Milo Ravenscroft?” asked Gino. “I’ve done some reading on his experiences. Interesting guy.”
“Yes, he is,” responded Phil. “He’s also a great guy and married to Emma’s best friend.”
“I didn’t realize that,” Gino said. “I thought he was just Emma’s mentor.” He glanced from Phil back to Emma.
“He is, but that’s how he met Tracy,” Phil told him.
“What Milo does is called channeling,” Emma explained. “Milo can and does channel spirits. He’s quite talented in calling them from the other side. I don’t have that gift. The ghosts I meet usually come to me or I encounter them somehow by chance. Although I have channeled a few.” She took a deep breath and plunged on. “And sometimes, though it’s rare, a ghost can inhabit a body and try to influence the host individual to do its bidding.”
Fascinated, Gino twisted around so far to look at Emma that his seat belt nearly choked him. “Have you ever seen that yourself?”
“Yes,” she answered truthfully, remembering several incidents. “A while back we encountered a vengeful ghost that was manipulating people into killing themselves.”
“Damn!” cried Gino.
“Yes, it was quite terrifying, but it’s not that easy. A living person is much stronger mentally and emotionally and usually fights off the urges to do wrong without even realizing what is happening to them. But like I said, it’s fairly rare to my knowledge, even in Milo’s experience.”
“There’s a premise for you,” Phil said to Gino as he made a turn into the parking lot of the car rental agency. “You can have the killer be possessed by a ghost. Maybe the ghost does live at the old farmhouse and is making the killer bring the bodies back as sacrifices.” He parked near the front of the rental office and killed the engine.
“Jeez, Phil,” Gino said with a shake of his head and a short laugh. “That’s pretty creepy and a very good premise. Maybe you should take up writing novels. You obviously have the imagination for it.” He got out of the car and Emma got out of the back to make the transition to the front passenger seat.
“We’ll wait, Gino,” she told him as he held the door open for her to enter. “Just to make sure the rental goes off without a hitch.”
“Okay,” he said, glancing back over his shoulder at the small office. “As soon as I know everything’s a go, I’ll wave to you so you can head back to the house or do some sightseeing. I think I’ve picked your brain enough until after lunch.”
While they waited, Phil said to Emma, “You gave him a good basic tutorial on ghosts.”
“Yes, but I don’t think it was what he wanted.”
“Nonsense, it was clear Gino was very interested in what you were saying.”
Emma shrugged, watching the door of the office. “Maybe, but the reality of spirits doesn’t have all the creepy bells and whistles I think he was hoping to put into his book.” She turned to Phil, amusement clear on her face. “But what was all that about ghosts asking for sacrifices from a murderer?”
“You didn’t like it?” he asked with a laugh.
“Not particularly, but it would make a great book or movie.”
“You don’t think it could happen?” Phil looked at her, waiting for her to consider the question.
She thought about that and didn’t like what crossed her mind. “On the contrary, if a strong spirit took over a very weak-minded individual, it might.”
Phil tapped her knee. “There’s Gino, but he’s not waving, he’s walking over. Maybe they didn’t have the rental they promised.”
When he got to the car, Gino leaned on the open window ledge on Emma’s side. “Hey, I got to thinking. Our breakfast was interrupted and I’m getting hungry. You guys like fried seafood? You know, New England has the best.” Before they could answer, he added, “There’s a place not far from Misty Hollow that’s fantastic. A buddy of mine told me about it. I went there twice last week, it’s so good. Why don’t we have lunch there and continue this conversation?”
“What about Marta?” Emma asked. “She was making stews for our lunch.”
“Don’t worry about that.” Gino waved off her concern with a hand. “The stew can be reheated for our dinner. Marta will probably be thrilled not to have to cook another meal today. I’ll give her a call and let her know. I’ll sweeten the pot by giving her the rest of the day off. We can reheat the food ourselves.”
Emma turned to Phil, who said to her with a grin before she said anything, “You know how I feel about fried seafood, darling.”
She twitched her nose at Phil in annoyance before turning back to Gino. “Give us the address and we’ll meet you there.”
• CHAPTER NINE •
THE place was called simply Frank’s. It sat on the northwest corner of an intersection on the far edge of the village of Whitefield. Whitefield was close to Misty Hollow, but in the opposite direction from Worcester. The building was painted brick red, trimmed in black and white, and was decorated with weathered fishing equipment such as nets, traps, and buoys. It was obvious from looking at it that it had started life as a shack, the original building distinct though attached to various additions made over the years. In the front was a sizeable patio. A large parking lot took up its right-hand side and curved toward the back. It seemed to be the most happening business on the road, with most of the other buildings appearing to be light industry or retail stores catering to rural life.
Even though it wasn’t quite noon, the place was busy. They stepped through the large door and were immediately hit with the warm thick smell of frying oil and fish. The menu was posted on the wall behind the counter in large black letters painted on a long white particleboard that stretched the length of the counter.
“This will be easier,” Gino said, handing Emma and Phil paper tri-fold take-out menus he pulled from a holder on the counter. Once they settled on their food, Phil sent Gino and Emma to find seats while he stood in line to place their orders.
“Over here, Phil,” Gino called to him when he came out of the order area holding a tray with napkins, thick plastic plates, a ceramic mug, two plastic glasses, and metal utensils. They were seated at a picnic table inside, next to a window.
“Too chilly to sit outside?” Phil asked with surprise.
Emma pointed out the window. “Too wet.” Clouds had been clustering when they left the car rental place and now it was raining. It wasn’t a hard rain, but it was wet enough to make the few diners at the picnic tables outside dash for the dining room while they crouched over their food to keep it dry.
“I would think it wo
uld be lovely to sit on the porch at the house and watch the rain on the lake,” Emma said as she distributed the items from the tray.
“It is,” Gino told her. “We’ve had a couple of small rainstorms since we’ve been here. The last one was in the evening. There’s nothing more peaceful than a nice fire, a good book, a glass of brandy, and the sound of rain.” He stood up, took the mug, and indicated the beverage dispensers near the trash and condiment counter. “This is a serve yourself place on the drinks.”
Emma picked up a fork. “I can’t remember the last time I saw real plates and silverware at a place like this.”
Gino chuckled. “I said the same thing when I first came here. Frank, the owner, told me he tries to be as green as possible. Said he’d rather hire some kids to wash dishes than fill landfills.”
Phil turned to Emma. “Iced tea?” She nodded and Phil took the two tall glasses and followed Gino.
Emma turned her face back to the patio and watched the rain splattering on the now empty tables. Spotting something odd, she did a double take and refocused her attention, not on the rain but through it. A young girl was on the patio, twirling in the rain, her arms outstretched, her young face turned upward. Her long brown hair wasn’t getting wet, nor did her sneakered feet stir puddles. She wore jeans and a short-sleeved shirt and was transparent. She was a ghost. Emma’s heart sank. The child had died young, maybe when she was only ten or eleven. The ghosts of children always saddened Emma. The Brown children were young when they disappeared. This girl, however, was contemporary, and from her clothing, especially the bright yellow cartoon character on the front of her shirt, Emma guessed she had not died long ago. Emma tapped lightly on the window. The girl didn’t hear her, so she tapped again, a little harder. This time the girl stopped spinning and stared at Emma. Emma smiled at her and the girl smiled back and waved.
“Whatcha looking at?” Phil asked, returning with their drinks. Gino wasn’t with him.
The Ghosts of Misty Hollow Page 9