“Where’s Gino?”
“He went to the men’s room while they brewed a fresh pot of coffee. Why?”
Emma looked past Phil to make sure Gino wasn’t there, then turned back to the window. The child was gone. “The spirit of a little girl was out there just now.”
“Not one of the Browns, I take it,” Phil said as he took his seat next to her.
Emma shook her head. “No, a modern girl. I wonder how she died. It couldn’t have been very long ago judging from her clothing.”
“I couldn’t swim,” a small voice answered.
Emma turned and looked toward the sound. The ghost of the girl was standing at their table, next to Phil. She was a cute little thing with an upturned nose and round cheeks. “You drowned?” Emma asked softly, keeping her voice low.
The girl nodded. “I fell into the pond. My brother ran to get help, but it didn’t come in time.” She turned her head downward. “We weren’t allowed to be there alone, but we sneaked away when Grammy was on the phone.”
Emma could only imagine the grief and guilt of the poor grandmother who’d been watching them. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“Mazie,” the child answered. “Mazie Elizabeth.”
“Do you remember when you drowned?” Emma asked, her voice barely a whisper.
The child gave it some thought, then shrugged. She had no clue and it didn’t surprise Emma. Spirits often lost track of time after they died, and a child more so.
A middle-aged man with thick gray hair and a pronounced belly under his full apron approached their table laden with their food order. He placed large red plastic baskets of various fried fish and seafood, fries, and onion rings, along with small tubs of coleslaw, on the table in front of them. “Is there anything else I can get you folks?”
“This will be great for starters,” Phil answered, eager to send the man off so Emma could continue her chat with the ghost. “Thanks.”
“If you have room when you’re done,” the man said, “we have homemade apple pie and apple crisp. The apples come from our own orchard.”
Mazie squealed with glee at the sight of the man. “That’s my Grandpa Frank.”
After Frank left, Emma caught site of Gino. He was talking to some people by the beverage counter. She quickly turned to the child. “Mazie, have you been to the other side yet?”
“You mean with the other dead people?” She asked the question naturally, as if asking about a favorite ice cream.
“Yes.”
“Sure,” Mazie answered. “But sometimes I come here to see Grandpa Frank. And sometimes I visit Grammy, but mostly Mommy and Daddy and Christopher. That’s my brother.” She scrunched her hazy brows together. “That’s okay, isn’t it?”
Emma smiled. “Of course it is, sweetheart. Come and visit them as much as you like. It helps them to not be so lonely.” Emma paused, still keeping an eye on Gino, who looked to be holding court on the other side of the dining room. Phil had turned so it looked like she was speaking to him instead of into thin air. It was a practice he’d perfected over time.
“Mazie,” Emma asked, “have you talked to other people like me? You know, living people who can see you?”
Again the child gave the question serious thought. “A couple of times. There’s the lady who came to the pond after I died.”
“She lives here in Whitefield?”
Mazie nodded. “Mrs. Monroe. Everyone says she’s a witch, but she seems nice to me. She’s old but not ugly like witches in stories.”
“What did she do when she came to the pond?”
“She told me not to be afraid and that I should go with them.”
“Them?” Emma asked, confused. “With Mrs. Monroe?”
Phil had an arm across the back of Emma’s chair and slightly tapped her shoulder, signaling her. She looked at him and he jerked his chin in the direction of the beverages. Emma looked up and saw Gino shaking hands with the men he had been speaking with, taking his leave.
Mazie shook her head, not paying attention to Emma or Phil. “No, there were others. Like me. Mrs. Monroe said to go with them, so I did.”
Emma went on alert with a possibility. “Were these others children? Like maybe a brother and sister?”
Mazie shook her head at the question. “No, just a couple of grown-ups who were like me. You know, dead already.”
“Where does Mrs. Monroe live, Mazie?” Emma said in a rush as Gino started toward them. “Do you know?”
“Sure.” The child’s face brightened. “She lives in the yellow house on Ash Street, across from the library. The one with the red door. Everyone knows that.”
“Thank you, Mazie,” Emma whispered quickly. “It was nice to meet you.”
Gino reached the table just as Mazie drifted off toward the kitchen and her grandfather. Gino took his seat, placing his cup, which was now full of steaming hot coffee, on the table. “Good. The food’s here. But you shouldn’t have waited on my account. Fried food isn’t good cold.”
Phil gave Emma a knowing smile, then said to Gino, “No problem. We kept ourselves amused. And the food just got here. Frank delivered it himself.”
“Dig in everyone,” Gino said as he picked up a fried clam and popped it into his mouth.
Instead of getting separate meals, Phil had ordered them a family-style feast, doubling up on some of the seafood. They began filling their plastic plates with the food. Emma piled her plate high. Taking her first bite of a large sea scallop, she closed her eyes and softly moaned. She heard chuckling. She opened her eyes and found Gino watching her with amusement. Next to her, Phil was barely containing laughter. He pointed his fork at Emma and said to Gino, “Wait until she really gets going.”
Emma finished chewing and wiped her mouth with a paper napkin. “What? You two have never seen a woman enjoy her meal before?”
“Gino,” Phil said, “get what you want now of the food, because in ten minutes this table will look like a plague of locusts hit it.”
Gino bit into a large onion ring and watched Phil and Emma exchange looks while he chewed. Phil’s was one of affection and amusement. Emma looked ready to push Phil off the bench, but then returned to her food, eating two plump clams one after the other. He next compared the plates of his dining companions. Phil’s was filled, but Emma’s was overflowing.
“I thought you were the one who loved fried seafood, Phil,” Gino noted.
“That was merely a ruse,” Phil answered. “Emma has a fried food addiction, especially shellfish. We’re trying to find a program for her.”
Emma, her mouth full, nudged Phil with some force. “Quit talking about me like I’m not here.”
He laughed and ignored her. “Notice, Gino, that she didn’t touch the coleslaw or the rolls, just the fried food.”
In defiance, Emma shoved an entire onion ring into her mouth, quickly followed by another, with a clam chaser.
“Vanessa,” Gino noted with interest, “won’t touch fried food. She was with me the first time I came to Frank’s and she hated it, even though she had a nice piece of grilled halibut. I think the place is too down-to-earth for her.” He ate another clam. “So what’s your secret, Emma?” he asked after swallowing. “How do you keep so slim if you eat like this? Especially if you’re on TV. The camera adds weight.”
Emma tried to answer, but her mouth was too full. She kept chewing.
Shaking his head and smiling, Phil answered for her. “Exercise. Lots of it. Plus it’s her only food vice. Might even be her only vice, except for me.” The men laughed. “Whenever we visit Kelly in Boston,” Phil continued, “I have to take Emma to one of these local places so she can get her fix of greasy clams and scallops. No fancy restaurants, just fish shacks like this.”
“And onion rings,” Emma said, still chewing.
“Oh yeah, can’t forget
the onion rings.” Phil chuckled again. “Gino, I thought this woman was too perfect to be real until I saw her go after my aunt Susan’s fried shrimp and corn fritters like a starving field hand.” At the mention of the shrimp and fritters, Emma gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up and washed her food down with iced tea.
“Yep,” Phil said, giving Emma a wink. “That’s when I really fell in love.”
“I should be embarrassed,” Emma said, laughing at herself as she wiped her mouth, “but I’m not. I only scarf fried fish and seafood down like this a couple times a year.”
“And onion rings,” Phil reminded her.
“God, yes.” She looked Gino in the eye and whispered, “Onion rings are my kryptonite. I can’t get them down fast enough. Especially big, fat, beer-battered ones like these.” She plucked another onion ring from her plate and held it aloft to study its crispy brown goodness.
“Do onion rings take away your ghostly superpowers?” Gino stuck a scallop with his fork.
“Fortunately not,” she said with mock relief. She bit the onion ring in half.
Phil laughed again. “But I pity the ghost that gets between Emma and her fried food.”
They had made a serious dent in the feast when Emma stopped for a breather. “Gino, since we came in separate cars, do you mind if Phil and I drive around the village before heading back?” Phil looked at her with surprise, but said nothing.
Gino shrugged. “Not much to see around here, but no problem.”
“Are you sure it won’t interfere with the research for your book?” she asked. “That is why we’re here.”
Gino waved off her concerns. “You’ve already given me a lot to think about, so go, have some fun. We can talk tonight before or after dinner if I think of more questions.”
“Will you be okay?” Emma asked. “You know, considering Vanessa.”
“I’ll be fine,” Gino assured them. “As I said, it wasn’t totally unexpected and not the first time this has happened.” He drained his coffee and left to get a refill.
“What did you have in mind?” Phil asked once Gino was out of earshot.
“There’s a woman here in the village by the name of Mrs. Monroe. Mazie told me about her. Seems she’s a medium. I’d like to talk to her. She helped Mazie cross over. You never know, she might have come across the spirits of the Brown children.” Emma popped the last clam on her plate into her mouth and reached for more out of the communal basket.
“Do you know where to find her?
“According to Mazie, she lives in a yellow house by the town library.” She dipped another clam into some tartar sauce and tossed it into her mouth and chewed. “I think she said Ash Street.”
Gino returned, his full coffee mug in one hand, his phone in the other. “Seems Leroy’s taking his leave, too.”
“He quit?” asked Phil with surprise.
“No, nothing that drastic,” Gino assured them with a smile. “He said some other people he knows showed up at his friend’s today and he wants to take another day off to spend time with them. Since we’re not really deep into the writing and research process yet, I told him to take two, if he needed them.” Gino took his seat. “Seems everyone is taking time off from me.”
“What do you mean?” asked Phil.
“When I called Marta to tell her we wouldn’t be back for lunch and that she could have the rest of the day off, she asked if she could take the rental car when I returned to go to Connecticut. Said she’d always wanted to visit there.” He took a long pull of coffee. “Since Vanessa isn’t around and Marta’s work mostly concerns Vanessa, I gave her tomorrow off, too.”
Remembering how concerned Marta was about Gino being alone, the news surprised Emma.
Frank approached the table. “Mr. Costello,” he said, “some friends of mine are here and would like to meet you, if it’s no trouble.”
“Frank,” Gino said with his signature heartiness, “I told you to call me Gino. And of course I’ll meet your friends.”
“They are over there,” Frank said, pointing to two middle-aged women standing nervously by the doorway to the kitchen. “They’d like you to sign a couple of books if that’s okay.”
Gino waved them over and they approached. They each clutched a copy of Gino’s latest novel. “Would you please sign our books, Mr. Costello?” The shorter of the two women asked. “Sign it to Sheila.”
“I’d love to, Sheila.” Gino held out a hand for one of the books. “Do either of you have a pen?”
“I do,” Emma answered and produced one from her purse. She handed it to Gino, who quickly scrawled his autograph and a short message to Sheila in one of the books and handed it back to her. He held out his hand for the book held by the taller woman, but she wasn’t interested in him. She was staring at Emma. Sheila nudged her and the woman came out of her trance and handed Gino the book. “My name’s Mary Jane.” He signed it and handed it back to her with a smile.
Mary Jane thanked him and hugged the book to her chest. She turned her eyes back on Emma. “Are you Emma Whitecastle, the ghost lady on TV?”
Emma smiled. “Yes, I am.”
“Sheila,” the woman said to her companion. “This is Emma Whitecastle. You know, the lady with that show on ghosts and other weird stuff.”
Sheila stopped studying Gino’s signature and looked up, peering at Emma through thick glasses. “Oh my! It is!” She grabbed one of the unused napkins and thrust it at Emma. “Can we have your autograph, too?”
Emma gave both women a warm smile. “Of course, but how about I sign one of these promo cards my station gives me to hand out?” Emma slipped a hand into a side pocket of her purse and came out with a couple of four-by-six cards. On one side was a lovely headshot of Emma. On the other side was information about The Whitecastle Report, her TV show.
“Oh, Mary Jane,” the shorter woman gushed. “Cecilia is going to be so sorry she didn’t come, too.” She turned to Emma. “Cecilia’s our sister. A friend of ours called to tell us that she saw Mr. Costello having lunch here today, but Cecilia said she was too tired to come down to see him.”
“Guess she’s not a fan,” Gino said with a crooked grin. “It happens.”
“She’s not much into reading about crime,” Shelia said, “but she loves Mrs. Whitecastle. Never misses her show.”
Emma pulled another card out. “Here, I’ll sign this to Cecilia and you can take it to her. How about that?”
“Wow,” said Mary Jane, taking the signed card. “She’s going to flip out, and she’s going to be very upset that she didn’t come with us. Thank you so much.” Sheila and Mary Jane turned expectantly to Phil.
“Don’t look at me,” Phil told them. “I’m a nobody. Just Emma’s boy toy.” Everyone laughed.
“Are you here to see Fran Monroe?” Shelia asked Emma.
“Do you know Mrs. Monroe?” Emma asked, her interest on high alert.
“Everyone does,” Sheila answered. “She’s the town witch.”
“Sheila!” Mary Jane dug an elbow into her sister’s side. “Don’t go saying that. It’s not nice. Besides, she’s more like Emma here, just not famous.” Mary Jane looked at Emma. “Is that why you’re here in Whitefield, to see Fran?”
“Actually, ladies,” Gino interjected, “Emma is here helping me research a new book.”
“How exciting!” the two sisters said almost in unison.
Frank came out of the kitchen and started clearing off the empty baskets and plates. “Okay, you two, quit bothering Mr. Costello. We’d like him to come back.”
“Frank, this is Emma Whitecastle,” Sheila said with enthusiasm. “She has a TV show about ghosts. You have two famous people here today.”
Frank, his hands full, jerked his big head toward the door. “And I’d like them both to come back, so off with you.” Reluctantly, the two sisters waved and made their wa
y out the door, holding tight to their signed books and cards.
When the sisters and Frank were gone, the three of them sat nursing their drinks. Lunchtime was in full swing and the place was beginning to get busy. The commotion with the sisters had caused people to stare at their table with curiosity, but no one else approached them.
“We should go and free up this table,” Phil suggested.
Emma started to get up, but Gino didn’t move. “So,” he said, looking from Emma to Phil, “who’s this Fran Monroe?”
Emma and Phil exchanged glances, silently communicating, weighing possibilities and explanations, while Gino watched with interest.
“Just from your expressions, I’m thinking this is going to be good.” Gino drained his coffee mug and set it on the table. Swinging his long legs over the bench, he got to his feet. “Let’s talk about it outside.”
• CHAPTER TEN •
MARTA Peele appeared very happy to see all three of them back from their excursion, especially Gino with the new rental vehicle. Before she left, Emma asked Marta to give her a rundown of what was ready for their supper later.
They’d told Gino they would fill him in back at the house, where there was privacy. He and Phil were waiting for Emma in the den. They were just as eager to get Mrs. Peele out of the house as she was to be on her way.
The housekeeper showed Emma the two stews, one with meat and the other vegetarian, in the refrigerator and gave her instructions on heating them both.
“Please do not microwave them,” Marta said. “It’s much better to bring them to the right temperature slowly on the stove, otherwise the meat gets tough and the vegetables overcooked.”
“Don’t worry, Marta,” Emma assured her, “I’ll take care with the food.”
“And there’s apple pie over on the counter.”
“I do believe her pie is just as good as mine,” came a voice from near the pie. “I watched her make it and she definitely has the knack.”
Emma didn’t dare look in Granny’s direction. Instead, she kept focused on Marta. “It smells delicious, Marta.” Emma noted the woman was now clutching her crucifix. “Do you know anyone in Connecticut?”
The Ghosts of Misty Hollow Page 10