A distraught Caleb Bingham was quoted as saying he didn’t know how he could go on without the woman who’d had given him so much. He claimed she had been his whole life. Below the story was a small picture of a man’s body hanging from a tree, and two lines stating that Rachel Bingham’s killer had been found and executed.
The article following the gruesome account of Rachel’s murder stopped him short. This one declared that Caleb Bingham had been brutally murdered.
If Jared thought the story about Rachel’s murder was macabre, he found the account of Bingham’s death well beyond that. According to the story, one of the ranch hands found what was left of Caleb’s body in the barn the night after Rachel’s death. The shaken man was quoted saying his boss had been torn apart by devils.
“Something tells me it couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy,” Jared mumbled aloud. “That was one crime scene I would have happily ignored.” He amended that thought. No, he would have investigated the case if only to learn who, or what, had committed the crime.
He stood up and stretched his arms over his head to relax the kinks in his shoulders before he walked to the front of the house.
“Where would you like me to put those books?” he asked Clara.
“I’ll take care of them, dear,” she assured him with a warm smile. “Were you able to find what you were looking for?”
More questions. “I think so. Thank you.”
“Come again, anytime.” Daisy smiled at him.
Jared started to open the door, then paused and turned around. “Do you have any idea why there weren’t more newspaper stories about Caleb Bingham’s wife? I saw stories about ladies’ meetings and parties, with a listing of who attended, but her name was never mentioned. There wasn’t even anything said about parties given at the ranch. Anything written about Bingham was only about him or the property.”
“I’m afraid we only have other people’s accounts to go on when it comes to information about the residents’ social lives,” Daisy explained. “We were lucky to obtain quite a few ladies’ diaries that had been written back then. They are a wonderful source of information about life in the area. I recall that one woman wrote she felt Caleb Bingham kept his wife a virtual prisoner out at that ranch,” Daisy confided. “She wasn’t even allowed to come into town for church, to attend any of the church socials or even to do any shopping.” She tsked and shook her head. “Everything she required was ordered through catalogs. He did bring her into town for the annual Christmas pageant, but that was more to show her off to the townspeople. Nowadays, she would be considered a trophy wife. I don’t think the poor dear had a good life out there. Then to die so young…” She shook her head, a sad expression on her face.
Jared felt as if a block of ice was planted right smack in his middle.
“Murder is never good,” he murmured.
“I don’t think she had an easy life with that man,” Clara said. She leaned forward as if confiding a huge secret. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn’t the one who killed her.”
“That is nothing more than a vague rumor,” Daisy pointed out. “Some pieces of history about the town aren’t as well known because many would prefer they be forgotten. Leading citizens in this town don’t want people to know about the skeletons in their closets, or their less than favorable background. I’m sure you understand.”
His attention was well and truly caught. He walked back to where they were sitting on the love seat. “What about Caleb’s skeletons?”
“As I said before, it was widely known that Caleb cheated and murdered for his land,” she said in her gentle voice. “And that he used less than admirable means to keep what he had. It was even said that he dabbled in some sort of witchcraft or old magic. Perhaps that’s why there have been rumors that it’s haunted out there. But that doesn’t mean the land is tainted. With you living out there now, the rumors of the house being haunted and a treasure buried out there can finally be laid to rest.”
Jared grinned. “You make it sound as if I need to have the house and land blessed or something.”
“Are you married?” Clara asked.
“No, ma’am.” He feared where this conversation could be heading. Didn’t he have enough problems as it was?
“I think the best thing you can do for that house is give it what it truly needs,” she said.
“And what is that?” The words left his mouth before he could call them back. The gleam in the woman’s eye was very dangerous.
“Simple, my dear. What you need to do is fill that house with love and children,” Clara said.
“I’m not exactly marriage material.” He held his hands out from his sides. “Crazy job. Even crazier hours.”
“Everyone is marriage material,” Daisy told him. “All they need to do is find their soul mate. I found mine more than seventy years ago, when we were in school. We’ve now been married sixty-three years.”
“I have a lovely granddaughter. She’s a stockbroker in Chicago and she’s coming out to visit me in a few weeks,” Clara stated, with a matchmaker’s glint in her eye.
“I’m afraid I’ll be back to work then, and with my hours, well, I can’t commit myself to anything. Thank you again for all your help,” he said hastily, making a quick exit before Clara was ready to announce an engagement.
He returned to his bike and climbed on. There was no reason to hurry back to the ranch. Since he’d never seen Rachel in the light of day before, he doubted he would today.
He looked down at his bike, thinking of what he had to do in town today and all the chores he still had to tackle back at the ranch. He started up the engine and drove off.
As always, before long his thoughts returned to the woman who occupied his house. “What’s the real story, Rachel?” he muttered. “Maya’s is that you two are ghosts, which I find pretty hard to believe. But if she’s speaking the truth, why are you haunting my house?”
She had no idea what time it was. Time had no meaning for her when she was on this plane of existence. She “saw” Jared talk to Maya and watched him ride away on his motorcycle. She couldn’t hover close enough to listen in on their conversation, but she sensed they were talking about her. The tense expression on Jared’s face worried her.
She sensed he didn’t want to believe what he’d seen when she’d disappeared at dawn. She hated it happening in front of him, but she had no control over it. She never had.
She was aware of Harley following her from room to room. She wasn’t used to anyone or anything having the ability to sense her during the day. Maya might talk to her as she moved through the house and did her work, but there were times when she would be in one room talking and Rachel would be in another.
Right now, the oversize puppy was staring intently at her. His head was cocked to one side and occasionally a soft whine would escape his throat, as if he was trying to catch her attention. He turned when he heard a rumbling sound approach the house. He spun around and ran toward the front door, which had been left open as Maya stood outside, sweeping the front porch.
“Dios mío! What is that?” Maya’s voice sounded shocked.
Rachel drifted closer to the door. She knew she could go no farther. Too many times she’d tried to escape the house’s boundaries, only to be pushed back inside. It was as if there was an invisible shield covering the place, keeping her a prisoner inside. She gazed out the doorway.
Instead of his motorcycle, Jared was climbing out of a large, shiny black vehicle that had four tires instead of two. She could see that the motorcycle was secured in the back of the truck.
“With all the stuff you have me pick up, I realized it was more than the Harley can handle,” he said, walking up to Maya. Sunglasses covered his eyes. He pulled them off and tucked them into his T-shirt. “Having the pickup will save me truck rental fees. Plus I’ll need something sturdier when winter comes. I’ve gotta say, for someone who’s working for me for free, you’re sure costing me a lot of money.” He grinned to tak
e the sting out of his words.
Jared wasn’t angry that he’d had to spend a great deal of money. Not the way Caleb would have been. Caleb complained so many times that too much money was spent on food for the workers, or that Rachel needed to learn her proper role in his household was, one of them being finding ways to save money. He’d wanted her to understand that his money was meant to expand the ranch. No one, and nothing else, mattered. She was expected to look the part of a prosperous rancher’s wife, but only when important people came to call.
She noticed that Jared’s expression was affectionate even when he looked at Maya, as if he was looking at a cranky aunt. Rachel knew he would never admit it, but he liked Maya. And by the look on the old woman’s face, she enjoyed his teasing and liked him, too, even if she wouldn’t admit it under the threat of death.
Rachel wished she could communicate with them. She worried how Jared would act toward her when night fell and she reverted to her mortal form. She knew he would have many questions for her. But would she have the answers? She’d never had to explain herself to anyone before. And she knew Jared wouldn’t accept anything less than the full truth. Except she knew she couldn’t reveal some of that truth. How could she explain about the key in relation to her curse, when she didn’t fully understand it herself?
The minute Jared entered the house he caught the scent of jasmine in the air. He glanced at Maya.
“Not exactly your fragrance,” he said.
“Someone gave her a bottle of jasmine perfume,” Maya explained, detecting his unspoken question. “She always wore it.” A strange smile touched her lips. “He didn’t like it. He said it was too exotic. He only wanted her to wear expensive perfume that came from France, so she would smell like a successful rancher’s wife. He always wanted her to look beautiful so men would envy him for having her.”
Jared’s stomach twisted at the idea of the delicate Rachel having anything to do with the harsh-featured man he’d seen in the photograph. Jared tamped down the idea immediately. He rejected the possibility that she was a ghost. Yet he couldn’t think of one logical explanation to support the theory that she’d lived over a hundred years ago.
“Maybe you spray jasmine air freshener everywhere,” he muttered.
Maya scowled at him for daring to doubt her words. “One day I heard something on your radio that would describe Señor Caleb. It was his way or the road.”
Jared nodded at her mangled phrasing. “You mean ‘or the highway,’” he murmured. “I would think you could sense her all the time because…”
“Because I am like her?” Maya shook her head. “We are very different. Niña Rachel has her place and I have mine.” She looked past him to the truck. “Did you bring what I asked for?”
He groaned at the idea of unloading the pickup. “Every single thing.” He whistled for Harley. The dog immediately ambled after him.
Maya smiled as she watched them through the open door. “He has trouble believing what he saw, but deep down, he knows it is the truth. He is a good man, hija.”
Yes, he is a good man. And he didn’t run away when I disappeared. I only hope he won’t run away when I reappear after dark.
Jared deliberately stayed outside until it was completely dark. He thought about how he only saw Rachel after sunset. Would she be there when he walked into the house? Or was she now gone for good?
Harley looked toward the house just as twilight faded into night, and uttered a soft whine.
She’s back.
Jared dismissed the thought the moment the words sounded inside his head. He wasn’t waiting until evening fell to see if Rachel would be there. He looked down at the dog, who was straining to reach the house. His tail wagged so hard Jared thought it would fall off.
How had he missed it before? Come to think of it, every evening Harley acted the very same way. Jared had put it down to the pup being hungry for his dinner. But he also knew that Harley was slavishly devoted to Rachel, and not just because she sneaked him treats under the dinner table when she thought Jared wasn’t looking.
Could that have something to do with the times Jared had seen the dog sitting and staring at one spot in an empty room during the day? Did he sense something there that Jared couldn’t see?
“Are you telling me you know where she is all the time, fella?” he murmured, scratching him behind the ears. “They say dogs sense things humans can’t. For all I know, you might even see her.” He started slowly back to the house, then stopped, stunned at his own words. “Now I know I’ve really lost my mind. I’m talking to the dog as if he understands every word I say, and I supposedly have two ghosts in my house. But I swear, Harley, if you start talking back to me, I’ll be in real trouble.”
Chapter 6
Jared entered the kitchen and found Rachel standing by the stove with her hands clasped loosely in front of her. He didn’t miss the tension radiating from her body as she stared at him with wary eyes.
He knew his own expression wasn’t much better. He considered himself grateful she hadn’t just popped up in front of him the way she’d disappeared.
“I never had a woman go to the lengths of literally disappearing in front of me just because I tried to kiss her. You could have just said no and I would have backed off,” he drawled by way of greeting. He walked over to the sink and turned on the faucet, taking longer than usual to wash his hands. “You know, you look pretty good for a ghost. Here I thought you all were transparent and walked shrieking and moaning through the house in the middle of the night, maybe rattle a few chains to scare people off. Or is that what you did in the past to keep people out of here? When I was a kid, we all talked about the house being haunted. I wonder what people would think if they knew they were right. I bet I could even make a few bucks renting the place out at Halloween. Do you think Maya would be willing to help spook people? Not that it would take much on her part. She wouldn’t even have to wear a costume.”
“I do not understand,” Rachel said, clearly uneasy around his dark mood. She hadn’t moved from her spot, as if afraid to draw too much attention to herself.
He kept his back to her, even though he’d finished washing his hands, and now stood staring at the water flowing from the faucet.
“It doesn’t make sense, you know. There’s all sorts of explanations for what happened. Maybe I was just tired this morning after being up all night. Or maybe I closed my eyes for more than a few seconds and you went upstairs to your room. I could have even just fallen asleep and dreamed the whole thing. People just don’t disappear into thin air. Not unless there’s a magician or an alien ship nearby,” he said sardonically. He turned off the faucet and braced his hands on the counter’s edge. “Of course, that would only make sense to me if I’d spent half the night drinking at The Renegade. Maybe it’s something else—chemicals leaching into the well water, perhaps—and you’re nothing more than a figment of my imagination. Now that makes sense.”
Rachel moved forward with her hand outstretched as if she meant to touch his shoulder, but drew it back to her side before she made contact. “That very first time you saw me, would you have believed me if I told you I died in 1888?”
The muscles in his arms stood out starkly as he pushed himself away from the sink. He still hadn’t turned around, as if he didn’t want to look at her. “No, I wouldn’t. I would have figured you for a loony tune and found you a nice quiet room with padded walls.”
“I—I do not understand.”
Jared thought for a moment, so he could come up with a term she would better understand. If she wanted to believe she had lived in the 1800s, so be it. “A shrink. A psych ward. Mental case. What did you call it back then?” he muttered to himself. He snapped his fingers. “An asylum.”
She gasped with true horror. “No! They are horrible filthy places where poor demented people are treated no better than animals!”
“Trust me, we’ve come a ways since then.” He took a deep breath and turned around, crossing his arms.
“Just so we have things straight, why don’t you tell me who you are exactly.” He was curious to hear her story and how it compared with what he had learned at the historical society.
“I am Rachel Weatherly Bingham of Atlanta, Georgia,” she said in a formal voice. “I was born in 1865.”
He did some mental arithmetic and came up with the realization she’d been born long before his great-grandfather had been a twinkle in his own ancestor’s eye.
“How?” Jared drew in a deep breath. “What I mean is, how did you end up still being here? When people die they’re supposed to…well, die. Be gone. If you’re really dead, why didn’t you move on?”
“I don’t know.” She gestured toward the table. “Maya left dinner. I do not think you want to eat cold food.”
“Where is she?” He looked around.
“I do not know how to explain,” Rachel said softly. “It’s very complicated.”
“I may not have all the college smarts like some of the other detectives, but I can understand complicated,” Jared said sarcastically.
Rachel’s cheeks flushed a becoming dark pink. “I was not trying to insult you. I meant I do not understand it all myself. Would you please eat your dinner before it gets cold?” she pleaded, striving for a hint of normalcy. At least, considering the circumstances, as normal as possible.
Jared wanted to tell her the last thing he felt like doing was eat anything cooked by an alleged ghost, even if he’d been doing just that for days, but he stopped before one word escaped. Maybe it was the stark look on Rachel’s face or the hint of tears in her eyes. It didn’t matter. If he lashed out at her now it would be the same as harming a kitten. He knew he couldn’t do that.
Rachel filled a plate and brought it to the table. She set it in front of Jared. He looked at the two grilled lamb chops, herbed potatoes and green beans. He looked at the much smaller helpings Rachel took.
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