Marta seemed nervous as she answered. “I have an old friend who lives just outside Hartford. I’ll be staying with her. I gave Mr. Costello her number in case you need to reach me. He said I could take a day or two.”
“She called her friend while you guys were out,” Granny said, floating closer. “Her name’s Gertrude and it doesn’t sound like she’s doing very well. Poor thing.”
Emma took note of Granny’s words, but smiled at Marta. “Is that why you were so determined that Mr. Bowers and I stay now that Mrs. Costello is gone, so that Mr. Costello wouldn’t be alone if you went to see your friend?”
“Yes,” she admitted, lowering her voice but still clutching the crucifix. “I knew Mrs. Costello might leave. I’ve gotten to know the signs. She’d promised me a day off to visit Gertrude later in the week. Gertrude has a bad heart and I wanted to see her while I was in the area, but I would never leave Mr. Costello alone, so I thought that with you folks here this might be a good time to take the trip. Also the girls might come this weekend and I wouldn’t want to miss them.” She paused, adding, “I won’t be gone long.”
Emma started to place a hand on Marta’s shoulder, but the woman backed up a step and rubbed her crucifix as if starting a fire with two sticks. She was out of her uniform and dressed for travel in black slacks and a white shirt worn under a gray cardigan. “Don’t worry, Marta,” Emma told her, withdrawing her hand, “we’ll be fine until you return. And I promise we’ll take good care of Mr. Costello.”
The usually dour housekeeper perked up and offered a small smile. For the first time since their arrival, Marta looked Emma directly in the eye. The contact wasn’t long, but it was long enough for Emma to see fear in her eyes.
“Marta, I can see that something else is bothering you.” The housekeeper didn’t say anything, but looked away, so Emma added, “Why do you keep rubbing your crucifix when I’m around? Are you afraid of me?”
Emma half expected Marta to bolt. To grab her overnight bag and boogie out the front door with determination, as Vanessa had earlier but for a different reason. Instead, Marta let her hand drop from her crucifix. She folded her arms in front of her and slowly brought her eyes back up to Emma’s. They were sad, as well as tinged with fear. “It’s not you, Mrs. Whitecastle. At least not directly. I can tell you are a very nice lady.” Marta lowered her voice. “Much nicer than Mrs. Costello.”
“She’s got that right,” Granny quipped. “It’s not even a contest.”
Emma suppressed a smile. “Then what is it?”
“It’s . . . it’s . . .” she stammered. “It’s the spirits around you and in this house I fear.”
That took Emma back. “The spirits? You can see them?”
“I knew it,” Granny said, slamming her right fist into her left palm. “She’s always a little squirrely with me around.”
Marta’s hand went to the crucifix again as she shook her head side to side. “Oh no, Mrs. Whitecastle, but I can feel them. I could from the moment I stepped into this house. Even before you and Mr. Bowers arrived I felt it, but it’s much stronger now that you’re here. Even now, right this minute. I . . . I know that you’re supposed to be able to speak to them. Please tell them to go away before I return from seeing Gertrude. Can you do that?”
Emma smiled at the woman. “Marta, you’re right, there are spirits in this house. I’ve met them and spoken with them. But they are very friendly and won’t hurt you or anyone else in the house. You have my word on that.”
Marta leaned forward and whispered, “Even the one that’s in the kitchen right now? It was here earlier, when I was making the pie, and it doesn’t seem friendly at all.”
Granny put her hands on her hips. “Is she calling me unfriendly?”
Emma laughed lightly. “The spirit that is here now with us is the ghost of my great-great-great-grandmother. Her name is Ish Reynolds, but everyone called her Granny Apples because she was known for her apple pies. She said she watched you make yours.”
“She’s your ghost?” Marta asked. “One you keep with you?”
“Humpf,” groused Granny. “That makes me sound like a pet, like Archie.”
“She’s a ghost that travels with me a great deal.” Emma paused, then tried again to reassure the frightened housekeeper. “Really, Marta, Granny or the other spirits that visit this house will never hurt you.” Seeing Marta relax a bit, Emma asked, “How long have you been able to sense spirits?”
Marta buttoned and unbuttoned the middle button on her cardigan, the nervous action replacing rubbing the crucifix. “It started when I was a little girl in Germany. Then it stopped. It didn’t start up again until the past year or so.”
Emma thought about the time line. It coincided with Kelly and Tanisha becoming friends. “Have you ever felt a spirit hanging around Kelly or Tanisha when they visit Chicago?”
Marta seemed very thoughtful for a moment. “Yes, I have, a few times. At first, I thought I was going crazy. But then realized with Kelly being your daughter and all, it might just be real.”
“That’s Granny,” Emma explained. “She loves the girls, just like you do, and keeps a close eye on them.”
Granny still wasn’t pleased. “Now you’re making me sound like a guard dog.”
“And you’re sure this Granny or the other spirits won’t hurt me?”
“Never,” Emma assured her. “The ghosts you feel in this house are the spirits of the Brown family. They owned Misty Hollow many years ago and seem very nice.” Emma was pleased to see the fear start to fade in Marta’s eyes even more. “Now go, Marta. Be with your friend and don’t you worry about Mr. Costello.”
“What happened to you?” Phil asked when Emma finally joined them in the den.
“Marta and I were having a little girl chat,” Emma explained. “The friend she’s going to visit is quite ill. I was assuring her we’d be fine while she’s gone.”
Gino had been sitting on one of the large sofas. He got to his feet. “Is she gone yet?”
“She’s just leaving now,” Emma told him.
“I want to see her off.” Gino excused himself and left the room.
“Just girl talk?” Phil raised a suspicious brow at Emma as she took a seat next to him on the other sofa.
“It seems Marta Peele can sense spirits. She can’t see or hear them, but she often knows when they are around. That’s why all the crucifix rubbing.”
“So it’s not you specifically?”
Emma shook her head. “She’s known about the Browns, or at least about their presence, from the moment she got here. I assured her that the spirits were friendly and wouldn’t hurt her. She’s also been sensing Granny since our arrival. I think our talk helped quite a bit.”
Phil leaned over and planted a kiss on Emma’s cheek. “Good job, Emma.”
Emma turned her head and planted her own quick kiss on him, but on his mouth. “I have a suggestion. Let’s take Gino with us when we visit Mrs. Monroe.”
Phil looked surprised. “Really?”
She nodded. “Yes. Marta is very concerned about him being alone, for one thing, and I think it might be good for him to learn more about spirits.”
Phil rubbed his chin with a thumb, thinking over her suggestion. “Is the second reason for his books or to help him understand Tanisha better?”
“Both.”
“Then sure,” Phil agreed. “Let him tag along if he wants. You can ask him when you explain who this Fran Monroe is and why you want to meet her.”
When Gino returned from saying good-bye to Marta, Emma filled him in on her visit with Mazie at the restaurant and on Fran Monroe. He’d taken his prior place on the sofa across from Emma and Phil and had leaned back, one arm draped across the top of the sofa, one long leg crossed over one knee, and listened. For a long time he didn’t say anything. When Emma was done, Gino got up and went to
the desk. On it was a laptop. He opened it and fired it up. Emma and Phil gave each other looks, questioning if they should say more, like about the Browns. Emma hadn’t gotten to that part of the story yet.
“Are you checking out Emma’s story?” Phil finally asked, his voice edged with defensiveness. He got up and went to the desk.
“Of course,” answered Gino as he navigated the Internet. “Wouldn’t you?” He glanced up at Phil. “I’m not saying Emma’s lying, Phil, but I’m a bit of a skeptic about this stuff. A good writer always checks his facts.”
Emma joined the men at the desk. She placed a hand on Phil’s shoulder. “As I recall, Phil, you came right out and called me a liar when we first met.”
Phil gave her a sheepish glance. “Guilty as charged.”
Gino started pecking out information on the keyboard. “If this Mazie drowned, there would have been a news story about it.”
“Mazie is an unusual name,” Phil noted, “but it’s too bad we don’t know her last name.”
Gino stopped typing and raised the index finger of his right hand into the air. “Ah, but I think we do.” He stopped to dig through his recent memory, then shot them a grin. “When I first met Frank he told me his last name is Russo. What can I say, we paesans stick together.” He put his fingers back on the keyboard. “I also met his son that day. His name is Chris and he’s Frank’s only kid, as I recall.”
“That would make him Mazie’s father by default,” Emma pointed out. “And Mazie did tell me that her brother’s name was Christopher.”
Gino was excited. “So Mazie’s last name would also be Russo.” He typed some more, then clicked on a promising link. “Bingo! There it is.”
Emma reached out and tapped the photo of a young girl that popped up on the screen. “That’s her. That’s Mazie.”
The article reported on the tragic death of a ten-year-old girl named Mazie Russo who drowned at a place called Little Neck Pond earlier in the year. “Very sad,” Gino said, his voice low. “I can’t imagine losing T even now, let alone when she was just a half-pint.” The room was blanketed with a thick silence as all three parents considered the horror.
“My brother Paulie was killed by a car when he was just eleven,” Emma told Gino. “My parents are still not over it. And never will be.”
Gino cleared his throat. “So this woman you want to go see, what’s her name again?”
“Monroe,” Emma told him. “Fran Monroe. Probably short for Frances. She lives in Whitefield, across from the library according to Mazie.”
Gino typed Fran Monroe Whitefield into the search engine. Up popped a few references. Gino tapped the screen with a finger. “You’re right, her full name is Frances. It says in this news clipping that she was once the town librarian. She retired a few years ago after serving for forty years.”
“Is there a photo?” Phil asked.
“Not with this article.” Gino navigated back to the search results and tried another link. “Bingo!” he called out again.
“What’s with all the bingos?” asked Granny, coming into view on the other side of the desk. “You guys playing the game?”
Over Gino’s head, Emma gave Granny a slight shake of her head before turning her attention back to the photo of Fran Monroe. The photo showed a short, stocky woman with cropped gray hair accepting an award in the shape of a crystal book. Gino’s fingers flew over the keyboard as he put in more search information.
“Gee, Gino,” Phil said with a chuckle, “you type faster than my secretary. If this writing thing doesn’t work out for you, I’ll give you a job.”
“For years,” Gino said with a hearty laugh, “I hunted and pecked my way through books. Finally, I smartened up and took a typing class. Best thing I ever did.” His fingers paused, hovering over the keyboard in perfect typing posture. He lifted his head and looked across the room, out the glass doors toward the lake, his mind momentarily somewhere else. “It was actually Janelle, Tanisha’s mother, who suggested I take the class. It used to drive her nuts watching me index-finger my way through a manuscript.” He smiled to himself and turned his attention back to his laptop. “She said I should either learn to type properly or dictate my work. I tried the dictation, but it just wasn’t comfortable for me, so I took the typing class.” He stopped typing again. “I’ve never told Tanisha that.”
“You should,” encouraged Emma, giving Gino a pat on his shoulder.
Gino went back to checking out another article on Fran Monroe. “So you’re curious about this woman?” Gino asked.
“I’m hoping she can help us,” Emma told him.
“With my book idea?” Gino asked. “Or do you want to know more about the young girl who died?”
Emma and Phil exchanged glances, then Phil spoke for them both. “Neither actually.”
“Oh?” Gino stopped reading the article and looked at Emma with curiosity. “Then for your show?”
“Just tell him the truth and get it over with,” Granny groused. “The man’s got to learn more about ghosts for T’s sake, if for no other reason. Besides, I’m tired of being your dirty little secret.”
Emma scowled at Granny and decided to jump feet first into the deep end of the pool. “You’re hardly that, Granny. Didn’t I tell Marta about you?” Phil shot her a surprised look that quickly softened into support.
Gino, who had gone back to reading the laptop screen, stopped and stared at Emma as if her mind had slipped its track.
Emma, expecting such a reaction, turned to face Gino head-on, her arms crossed in front of her. Granny floated over and stood next to Emma in support, although only Emma knew it. Still, she was happy to have the ghost by her side. Phil took a step back to watch the whole scene play out like live theater.
“Gino,” Emma began, “I was speaking to Granny, the spirit in the room with us right now. She’s my great-great-great-grandmother and almost constant companion.”
Gino didn’t say anything for a long time. Then he turned his eyes back to the glass doors and the lake. Once again lost in his thoughts.
Phil broke the silence. “You okay, Gino?”
Gino didn’t say anything or look at any of them. He got up from the desk and slipped past everyone, making a slow zombie walk toward the doors that led to the deck. He didn’t go out, but stood in front of them, still staring at the lake. Outside, a light rain was still falling.
Granny leaned over toward Emma. “Did the news strike him deaf and dumb?” By way of answering, Emma shrugged.
Phil walked over to the wet bar and fixed a scotch, neat without ice. He took it over to Gino. “Would you like this?”
Without taking his eyes off the landscape, Gino held out his hand. Phil placed the heavy, short glass into it and didn’t let go until he was sure Gino had a grip on it. Automatically, the author brought the scotch up to his lips and took a long drink, still not taking his eyes off the outdoors. After his second sip, he turned to them.
“You say this ghost’s name is Granny?” he asked Emma.
“Yep, that’s me,” answered the ghost.
“Yes,” answered Emma. “Her real name is Ish Reynolds, but everyone calls her Granny.”
“Including my daughter?” asked Gino.
Phil and Emma again exchanged looks, each understanding that Gino wasn’t in shock, but combing his memory.
“Busted!” announced Granny.
Gino started to take another drink, then thought better of it. “Vanessa once told me she thought she heard T talking to someone named Granny during one of her visits. Vanessa assumed it was T’s grandmother who passed away about seven years ago. But T always called my mother Grandma, not Granny. I thought she was addressing her great-grandmother, the one I told you about, but she called her Nonnie. Granny and Nonnie could sound alike if you’re not paying close attention, so I dismissed it because T and Nonnie were close and I
didn’t think it unusual for her to speak to her dead great-grandmother. After all, people talk to their dead loved ones all the time.” Gino ran his free hand through his hair. “For a long time after she died, I talked to Janelle like that. It made me feel closer to her. Then during another one of T’s visits, I passed her room and overheard her talking. She clearly said Granny. I stuck my head into her room and asked who she was talking to and T said she was just reading something aloud.” Gino paused. “After that, I never heard her say the name again.”
“Yeah,” said Granny, “I remember that day. It was a very close call and T hated lying to her father like that.”
“There really is a Granny,” Phil said. “Bowled me over the first time I realized it was true.” He held out his hand for the glass. “Would you like another drink?”
Gino handed him the glass. “No, but thanks. I think I’d like a clear head for this.” He walked back to Emma. “So this Granny ghost is here right now and you told Marta about it but not me?”
“I told Marta just a few minutes ago,” Emma explained. “She sensed something odd in the house and was afraid. I told her she had nothing to worry about.”
Gino pointed a thick finger at Emma. “Is that why Marta was rubbing her crucifix like Aladdin’s lamp whenever you were around?”
“You picked up on that, too, huh?” asked Phil with amusement.
Gino laughed. “Hard not to.”
“Yes, that’s why,” confirmed Emma. “I introduced her to Granny and she seemed somewhat comforted. At least enough to leave her cross alone.”
“We bonded over pie,” Granny added with a satisfied grin.
Gino paced back and forth in front of the cold fireplace. Every now and then he’d stop and start to say something, but changed his mind and went back to pacing. Finally, he stopped long enough to ask, “So this Granny ghost travels to Chicago when T visits?”
“It’s more like Granny pops in to check on her,” Phil explained. “She pops in on Kelly, too. She’s become very close to the girls. It doesn’t matter where they are, Granny can find them.”
The Ghosts of Misty Hollow Page 11