The Ghosts of Misty Hollow

by Sue Ann Jaffarian

  Gino had come to a stop beside her. “You got something?”

  “Not yet,” she said. “I was just concentrating on the lesser sounds hiding under the surface ones.”

  “Guess I’m making quite a bit of noise. Sorry about that.” Gino chuckled between catching his breath. “I would have made a lousy Indian scout.”

  Emma smiled at him. Gino was such a good-hearted man, but sadness ran deep in him and not just because of Vanessa. She could see it in his eyes, in the back, hidden from public view, and sensed it in his scent. Gino’s personal grief ran in the background, like malware on a computer. She wondered if this was why he had trouble in relationships, especially with his daughter and his wives. She knew deep grief could cause intimacy issues. She’d seen it with her mother. It had taken more than a decade before she fully returned emotionally to her family after Paulie’s death. Maybe Janelle’s death had put up a wall inside Gino. Phil had told her that Gino had become twice as prolific in his writing in the past ten or so years. He’d buried himself in his work after burying T’s mother.

  “We’ll have to get you out hiking more,” she told him with a pat to his shoulder. “Phil will have you used to it in no time, like he did me. I was used to running before we met, but trekking through the brush and over obstacles is a whole different skill set.”

  She consulted the map. They’d been walking in a crisscross path through the area assigned to them just outside the larger circle for more than an hour. Their journey had taken them through woods and small meadows, and back and forth across a small stream a few times. Their boots were muddy and their jeans wet from brushing shrubs and trees heavy from the rain the night before. They’d seen a few houses built in clearings, with long drives that lead back to streets, but not many. Damp below the waist, above they were warm from the exertion, and both had long since taken off their light jackets and tied them around their waists.

  They’d parked Phil and Emma’s rental car in a pullout on the edge of the wooded area and Gino had suggested they use the GPS feature on his phone’s map app to make sure they could find their way back to the car. He was consulting it now while Emma took a drink from the bottle of water she carried. Before leaving the bakery, Phil had purchased several bottles of water for each of them for the search, and Heddy had handed out small bags of apples she’d brought from home.

  “As the crow flies,” Gino said, looking at his phone, “we’ve only gone about two miles. But with all the zigzagging it’s probably been more like four or five.” They compared his map against the one Fran had given them.

  “We’re almost to the road that bisects this section of woods,” she noted. “Maybe we should go back and move the car to here.” Emma pointed to a spot on the other side of the highway. “And tackle that side.”

  “Sounds good,” Gino agreed. “We’ve about covered this section anyway.” He looked up. “Did you get any vibes from anything?”

  “Not a one,” she said with frustration. “Not a single ghost, let alone the Brown children. Let’s check in with the others and see how they’re doing.”

  “What about me?” asked a voice coming from near a tree.

  “Hi, Granny,” said Emma as the ghost materialized. “Where’ve you been?”

  “I’ve been working, that’s where,” Granny said with a jerk of her head. “I’ve been trying to talk to the Browns, but they are making themselves scarce. I think the murder in their house spooked them. Funny, ghosts being ’fraidy cats.”

  “Not really,” Emma told her. “They’ve gotten used to their way of life straddling here and the other side and don’t like strangers, especially with all the comings and goings now at the old house with the police investigation.”

  Emma glanced over at Gino. He was sitting on a fallen log and drinking water from his bottle, watching Emma converse with thin air. His eyes were bright and attentive as he absorbed it like a sponge and scribbled notes in his brain for access later.

  “This is all gonna end up in one of his books,” Granny said, eyeing Gino. “You just watch.” In response, Emma smiled and nodded to Granny.

  “I take it you guys haven’t found anything?” Granny asked.

  “Nothing yet,” Emma reported, “but we’re about to move to another section and try there.”

  “Do you really think those kids are still here locally?”

  “Yes, I do. We all do,” Emma answered.

  “Unless you need me to stay with you,” Granny said, “I’d like to go back to the house.”

  Emma studied her. “What’s up, Granny? You look concerned.”

  “I’m not sure,” the spunky ghost explained. “It’s just a gut feeling I have. I don’t trust that Leroy guy. He seems kind of squirrely to me.”

  Emma glanced at Gino, who was now reading messages on his phone. She lowered her voice. “I saw you follow him down to the guesthouse, Granny. Is that why?”

  Granny nodded. “Yeah, but so far he’s just played with his phone and worked on his computer. He made a few calls but I don’t think anyone answered. Oh, and he made himself something to eat up at the big house. In addition to being squirrely, he’s also pretty messy. I think he’s gotten too used to Marta cleaning up after him.”

  “Sounds like he’s doing what Gino asked him to do— research,” Emma told her, still keeping her voice barely above a whisper. “Why don’t you keep trying to reach Blaine or Abigail? And do pop back to the old house. Who knows, maybe William Otis will return.”

  Granny snapped a salute at Emma and left.

  Emma pulled out her own phone and called Phil. Like them, that group had nothing to report except for Howard flushing out a couple of rabbits. They agreed to report back in another hour.

  The walk back to the car didn’t take long. Along the way, Emma pulled out one of Heddy’s apples she’d stashed in her jacket pocket and quickly ate it down to the core. Finished, she tossed it to the ground.

  “Litterbug,” Gino said with a smile.

  Emma laughed and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “That’s not litter. That core is good eats for the critters out here.”

  “Frankly, I’d rather a steak or juicy burger about now.”

  Emma grinned at him. “Or how about fried clams and scallops?”

  “And onion rings.”

  “Definitely onion rings,” Emma agreed.

  Gino let loose with one of his hearty laughs. “When we’re done here, let’s head to Frank’s. If the others don’t want to come, it’ll be just you and me.”

  “It’s a date,” she said giving him a high five.

  When they reached the car, Gino gobbled down one of his apples, which he’d left behind, and tossed the core into the brush.

  “So tell me, Gino,” Emma said to him after she finished another apple. “How are you feeling today about ghosts and spirits and such? Are you starting to believe or are you still just along for the ride?”

  He pondered the question while drinking some water. “Still thinking about it all,” he said after putting the cap back on the bottle. “And still along for the ride. But you can bet I’m taking a lot of mental notes.”

  They took a few moments to lean against the car and study the beautiful and lively nature around them. Wind rustled the trees and unseen birds chirped happily. A squirrel dashed across the clearing in front of the car, quickly followed by another. Several cars drove by on the road, but traffic was light.

  “One thing is for sure,” Gino said. “You’ve either given me a whole lot of evidence toward believing in the spirit world, or this is some fantastic and complicated endeavor to screw with my mind.” He cocked his head and gave her a questioning grin. “Did Vanessa hire you to do that?”

  “You got me,” Emma responded, her hands up in the air in surrender. “It’s really some big conspiracy to hijack your mind and sell it to aliens. But it was T’s ide
a, not Vanessa’s.” They both laughed and got into the car.

  “You’re all right, Emma Whitecastle,” he said as she started up the engine and waited for a few cars to go by before pulling onto the paved highway. “I may not be one hundred percent on board with this whole ghost thing, but I am one hundred percent on board with you.”

  “Why thank you,” she said, amused.

  “No, I mean it. I knew from what T has said about you that you and Phil were good people, but you specifically surprised me.”

  “By presenting evidence about the existence of ghosts?” she asked. Instead of pulling onto the now open road, she turned to look at Gino.

  “That, too,” he admitted. “But I knew you’d been married to Grant Whitecastle and he’s a big celebrity and spawn of Hollywood royalty. Hell, his father was the legendary director George Whitecastle.” He glanced out the windshield and back at her. “And with you having your own TV gig, I guess I expected you to be more showbiz and less down-to-earth. It’s been a refreshing surprise, and Phil’s a great guy. He’s more rancher than lawyer.”

  “Phil is great, no doubt about that. I’m a very lucky woman.” She flashed a happy smile at Gino. “As for the showbiz thing, I never really felt like I fit into Grant’s world, so it wasn’t that difficult to leave it behind when we divorced, and my show is nothing like a big network show. If it was, I might not have agreed to do it. I think of it as more educational than entertainment.”

  Gino laughed.

  “What are you laughing at?” she asked.

  “I just keep thinking about those women at Frank’s and how excited they were about meeting you, and how Fran went all gaga when first in your presence. You are a star, Emma, whether you want to admit it or not.”

  She looked both ways down the highway again. Seeing it open, she pulled the car onto the road and headed toward the other half of their assigned area. “Maybe in some circles, but I assure you it’s with a tiny s not a capital S.”

  He laughed again. “You and Janelle would have liked each other very much. I’m sure of it. And you and my first wife would have gotten along great, too. In fact, the three of you would have had your own coffee klatch, you’re so much alike—smart, beautiful, and unpretentious.”

  “Why did you and your first wife split, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  Gino was quiet. “Barbara died. Ovarian cancer.” He said the words quick and sharp, like the jab of a needle to a vein.

  “I’m so sorry, Gino,” Emma said, glancing quickly at him. “I always thought you’d been divorced three times. Didn’t you say something about with Vanessa you’d be a four-time loser?”

  “Vanessa will make the third divorce, but I still feel like a four-time loser at love. Five if you count my relationship with Janelle, even though we never married. Funny thing is, my ex-wives are all alike, and the two women I loved and lost to the Grim Reaper are also very much alike. Maybe I go for the shallow beauties thinking I can hold on to them better.” He paused, then added, “And don’t go thinking ill of Vanessa. She was right yesterday. I’m not fun anymore. When we first married, it was all parties and travel with exciting people. Then I settled back into my writing, which is very solitary, and she was left to fend for herself and felt abandoned. It was the same complaint from the other ex-wives. Barbara and Janelle both understood the sullen, obsessive, and hermitlike behavior of a writer on deadline, and handled it well.” He looked at Emma. “Here I am dumping my truckload of regrets onto you, Emma. I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be, Gino. That’s what friends are for. I’m here to listen as much as you need me to.”

  Soon they passed the road that had split their territory. Gino glanced at the map and pointed straight ahead. “Here’s the place. I think I can see another turnout up ahead on the left.”

  Emma spotted it and made a left-hand turn, parking the car close to the edge of the woods. She gave Gino a small smile of encouragement. “Does T know yet about Vanessa?”

  He shook his head. “Not yet. I thought I’d tell her when she gets here Thursday. Maybe take a little father-daughter walk.” He sighed. “I’m not sure how she’s going to take it. She and Vanessa don’t like each other at all, but no father wants to flash his failures in front of his children.”

  Emma thought about Grant. He wasn’t a bad father to Kelly, but he wasn’t very sensitive to her feelings or concerned about what kind of role model he presented. She gave Gino high marks for being concerned about that. “Does T know about your first wife?”

  He shook his head. “No, she just knows that before I met her mother I was married a couple of times. And of course she’s heard the wild stories about me in my younger days.”

  “You should tell her about Barbara someday. You know how you said Leroy needs to leave his guts on the page? Maybe you need to show your daughter your guts and the pain that goes with them.”

  Gino didn’t look so sure. He opened his car door and started to climb out. “I’ll take that under advisement.” He stopped, then tacked on, “And I mean that seriously. It wasn’t a glib comment.”

  The remaining part of their assigned area on the map wasn’t as thickly wooded as the first section, and they made good time crisscrossing the land, taking it slow enough for Emma to pay attention to any spirits but fast enough to cover it in a reasonable amount of time.

  “We’re not all that far from Misty Hollow,” Emma said looking at the map. “It’s a few miles off in that direction.” She pointed through the woods, then went back to studying the map. “The lake is in our section of the map. It looks like it runs horizontally along this piece of land. According to this, the location of Job’s Arm should be almost straight ahead about a mile or two.”

  This area was sprinkled with more houses than the last section they’d searched, but still not thickly populated. Wooded areas separated most of the houses, affording them privacy. They encountered a few more disheveled stone fences, their boulders long fallen over and covered with moss.

  “These probably indicate property lines from a hundred or more years ago,” Gino noted after they climbed over one long one instead of going around.

  “Yes, and notice how the trees here are younger than those outside of the fence area,” Emma pointed out. “Phil told me that usually indicates that the side with the younger trees was probably once cleared.”

  “’Twas my home,” said a weak voice. “And you’re trespassing.”

  Emma looked around, but saw nothing. She held up a hand to Gino to indicate she’d heard something. She looked again, her eyes narrowed this time as they slowly scanned the area looking for any telltale signs of a spirit. On the third pass she saw him. The hazy spirit of a bent old man in rough homemade clothing was perched on one of the fallen stones not more than three feet away.

  Emma approached him with caution so as not to scare him off. “Good day, sir. My name is Emma and this is Gino. To whom am I speaking?”

  The bent over spirit eyed her up and down. “Name’s Dodd. Alexander Dodd,” the ghost said in a warbled but stern voice. “You’re on Dodd property and you don’t belong here.” He narrowed his eyes and looked Emma up and down. “You’re a right pretty thing, but you still don’t belong.”

  “We’re looking for someone, Mr. Dodd,” Emma explained. “Might my friend and I cross your property to do so?” Gino stayed where he was, looking on with his usual observant eye.

  “That fella can’t see me, can he?” asked Alexander Dodd, pointing at Gino.

  “No, Mr. Dodd, he cannot,” answered Emma. “He can’t hear you either.” Emma looked around but saw no other spirits. “When did you live here Mr. Dodd?”

  The ghost gave the question some thought. “My woman and I settled here in the early 1800s, right after we married. Had a small place right here. Built this stone wall with my bare hands.”

  Emma considered the age of the ghost at
the time of his death and asked, “Did you know the Brown family from over at Misty Hollow?”

  “The Browns? You mean Caleb Brown and his family?” Dodd asked.

  Emma nodded. “Yes.”

  Dodd thought about it before answering. “Yes, I knew Caleb. He had a right good house on that farm of his but was always talking about building another, grander place for his family. Not sure if he ever did it or if it was all bluster.”

  Emma and Gino exchanged glances. His was curious, wanting to know what was going on. Hers was one of thought. If the big house hadn’t been built yet by Caleb Brown, then Alexander Dodd hadn’t been alive when the Brown twins went missing. He might not even have been alive when they were born.

  “Mr. Dodd,” Emma said, “have you seen any children around here in the years you’ve been keeping watch over your property?”

  “I’ve seen lots of children,” he answered, scoffing. “Plenty of nice houses around here now with several little ones in each. They’re always running around my property, climbing on my wall.”

  “But how about children like yourself?” she pressed.

  “You mean dead young ’uns, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I mean the spirits of dead children.”

  The ghost scratched his chin while he gave it thought. “There have been a few passed through from time to time, but fortunately not many.” He started to fade as he used up his energy talking.