Ghost Walk

by Cassandra Gannon

  “It’s mine. Ours.” He beamed at her, looking every bit the pirate he’d always be, no matter what century they were standing in. “You just found my missing treasure map!”

  Epilogue

  I realized that JMR is the only one of my beaus who never assures me that we’ll one day marry, or tells me that he loves me passionately, or swears that I’m the only girl for him. Isn’t that refreshing? It’s no wonder he’s my favorite.

  Both of us know we’re waiting for other people.

  Final Entry from the Journal of Miss Lucinda Wentworth

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” Jamie leaned on the shovel and blew out a tired breath. “I donea remember it being this much work to bury the damn thing.”

  “Well, you were nearly two and a half centuries younger. Also you’d been drinking a lot of rum.” Grace arched a brow at him. “I just hope you weren’t completely drunk when you drew the map.”

  He made a face at her. “I’m never so drunk that I can’t draw a map properly. In fact, we’re lucky I made it and not some amateur like Ned Hunnicutt. We’d probably be recreating the Panama Canal looking for the treasure chest.”

  “Just keep digging.”

  “You’re a bit of a taskmaster, love.” He picked up the shovel and resumed work. “It can be quite a trying trait. …Outside of the bedroom, anyway.”

  “You know what else is trying? You not having a social security number or birth certificate to take downtown and get a wedding license.” She retorted. “If we want my greedy techno-nerd of a nephew to make them from you, we’re going to have to pay him with something other than magic beans. Trust me. Magic beans are not worth nearly what you’d think they’d be worth.”

  “That Justice lad will use magic to make me the needed documents and then we can wed?” Jamie stipulated, wanting to be sure of the fine print.

  He’d been living in the twenty-first century for two weeks now and Grace was still not his wife. All the rules of the modern world seemed designed to vex him. Serenity had promised to host a lavish reception for them and he was ready to get on with it. Grace’s aunt had taken quite a shine to him, if Jamie did say so himself. She said that it was a crime against nature that someone who looked like him had been invisible for so long, which he thought was a grand compliment.

  “Justice isn’t going to use magic to make your phony documents. He’s going to use Photoshop, but basically yeah. That’s the plan. We’re going to pay him several thousand dollars and he’s going to make Jamie Riordan a bona fide citizen of America.”

  “I’m already a bona fide citizen. I was here when the country was founded.”

  “Trust me, it would better if we didn’t have to explain that part to Homeland Security. Let’s go with Justice’s fake IDs and save ourselves from a trip to Area 51.” She wrinkled her nose. “Although, I do think he could’ve offered us more of a discount, considering I singlehandedly changed the family’s fortunes with that financial tip to Loyal. You realize that this is the first time ever we haven’t been broke?”

  Jamie couldn’t argue with that. Loyal had eventually figured out that a cotton gin had nothing to do with liquor and invested heavily in the machine. The Riveras weren’t nearly so reviled now that they were the richest family in Riveraburg.

  Personally, he wasn’t at all sorry that Harrisonburg had been renamed after Grace’s great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather. Maybe Loyal had used magic and money to achieve his ends, but at least Gregory Maxwell wasn’t governor anymore and Ned Hunnicutt had been booted back to England. The next time Jamie saw Loyal, he planned to thank the man.

  In truth, all his zany in-laws were growing on him. Jamie had never had a family before and he appreciated the novelty. Besides, he saw how much the Rivera clan loved Grace and how much she loved them in return. He could tolerate foul-tasting potions and misfiring spells forever to make her happy.

  …Although, he had to wonder how long they’d hold onto their new-found respectability, as they were already nagging Grace about troll powder, again.

  Grace crouched down next to the hole that Jamie had dug. “How deep did you bury this treasure, anyway?”

  “I’ve no idea. As you delight in reminding me, I’d drank quite a bit of rum that evening.”

  “Maybe someone else came along and found it.” She theorized. “It’s been a long time.”

  “Aye, but the spot is isolated. T’was why I picked it in the first place.”

  Luckily, the stretch of water and shoreline had become seabird sanctuary seventy years back, so it had never been filled up with hideous condos and boxy vacation homes. No one came to this spot except gulls and pelicans. …And maybe an ex-ghost, his lovely fiancée, and their professional-grade metal detector, of course.

  His gold was still under the ground, waiting for them. Jamie could feel it.

  He glanced up at Grace, who looked adorable in her camisole top and breezy white skirt. A straw hat covered her head and she smelled of ocean and sunscreen. He fully planned to have his way with her on the sand before they left. “If my treasure was stolen, I’ll just have to hire some bonny detective lass to track it down for me, again. Any idea where I could find one?”

  She grinned, optimism shining from her eyes. “I might have a couple of suggestions.”

  Like magic, crime-solving was in the girl’s blood. She’d never be happy with any other job. Working for the police department might be too much for her, now that she’d discovered her gifts, but there was no reason for her give up her passion, altogether. Jamie had come up with the idea of Grace becoming a freelance investigator. That way she could pick the cases she wanted to pursue and focus on saving one person at a time, instead of the whole world.

  Besides, he quite liked the idea of being married to a private detective. It brought to mind those Film Noir movies he’d watched in the 1940s. God, when motion pictures had been invented, he’d spent decades inside theaters, watching them flicker by. He’d thought films were the closest he’d ever get to connecting to someone.

  He’d been wrong.

  Jamie smiled at his Partner. His bride. The reason his heart beat and his soul was full of love. She was why he had a second chance at life and he intended to live every second of it beside her. He wouldn’t have changed one magical hair on her fay little head for all the treasure maps in creation.

  Except for the fact that the woman was stubbornly fixated on ignoring her own talents.

  “Perhaps our first case should be discovering what happened to poor Robert.” He suggested, because it just never got old that the bastard was gone and that Grace’s incredible magic had been the thing to send him away.

  No one had seen a wanker-y trace of the wanker since the basement, but the police had a warrant out against him for striking Grace. Like the law-abiding girl she was, she’d dutifully reported that he’d attacked her in the museum and she had the bruises to prove it …though her version had Robert escaping out a window and not poofing off to who-knew-where. The police had been quite conciliatory towards a member of Riveraburg’s first family and promised to track him down soon. They had men watching his house, just in case he showed up.

  Jamie had a feeling they’d have better luck searching the outer rings of Saturn.

  Grace might not care for spells, but the lass had a true knack for casting them. The magic inside of her glowed brighter each day. Given a bit of time, he was sure he could convince her to fully embrace her power. It was a part of her, after all. Already he could tell she was more interested in the idea that she was ready to admit.

  “Wherever Robert is, I hope he stays there.” Grace said staunchly. “And what is this about our first case? I don’t need a chaperone, Jamie.”

  “I know that, love!” He splayed a hand across his bare chest as if he was offended she’d say such a thing. “Why I’d never suggest otherwise. I was merely thinking I could be your glamorous, occasionally sarcastic, sidekick. Someone to bounce your brilliant ideas off of.”

/>   …And help to keep her out of trouble. The woman needed him, after all.

  “Wearing the crazy clothes you do, you’d frighten away everyone who came to the door.”

  Jamie looked down at his vividly patterned shorts and shrugged. He’d adapted to modern-style clothing quickly enough, but he still liked a bit of color in his wardrobe. “I’m a fashionable fellow, regardless of the century.”

  “You’re a raving lunatic, regardless of the century. In fact, I don’t trust you not to rob all our customers, just for the thrill of it.”

  Well, he was a pirate…

  Jamie grinned. “Come now, lass.” He cajoled. “Riordan and Riordan Investigations has such a lovely ring to it.”

  “Riordan and Rivera Investigations.” She corrected.

  Jamie pretended to ponder that for a beat and shook his head. “Doesn’t trip nearly so easy off the tongue.” He didn’t care what modern customs allowed, he wanted her to have his last name. The woman was his and everyone should know it.

  “If you don’t like the company’s name, you could always get your own job. But I’d better warn you, pirates in this century just bootleg DVDs.”

  Jamie snorted. They’d see about that. “Riordan and Rivera-Riordan.” He offered, focusing on one battle at a time. “Triple R Investigations.”

  “What are we? A dude ranch? There’s no way…”

  The shovel clanged against metal, cutting her off. Jamie and Grace’s eyes met for a beat and then he was hurrying to clear away the sand covering the treasure chest.

  She leaned over the side of the hole, trying to get a better look. “Do you see it? Is it there?”

  “I see it! It’s here!” Jamie beamed at her. “I told you it would be!” He leaned up to give her a smacking kiss.

  “You know we’re going to have to give some of this to the government.” Grace warned, one hand on her hat so the force of his kiss didn’t knock it right off her head.

  “Bullshit! I stole most of it before Virginia was even a state.”

  “And you buried it on public land. They’re going to want a cut of everything we find.”

  That was preposterous. “It wasn’t public when I buried it. I think it belonged to the Indians.”

  “It’s ‘Native Americans,’ now. And none of that is going to matter to the nice IRS auditors.”

  “No one else even knows it exists, Grace.”

  “That’s not the point. Honest people report financial windfalls.”

  Jamie snorted at that idea. “Fuck it. We’re pirates and pirates donea share our treasure. Everyone knows that.”

  “I’m not a pirate, Jamie.”

  “Of course you are! Pirating is in your blood, lass, same as magic and investigating. No sense in pretending to be normal, at this late date.” He winked at her. “Besides, I fought against taxation in the War. I’d be a hypocrite to start paying them now.” He pried the lid open with the shovel, laughing with glee at the sight of his gold.

  “That is absolutely not why the Revolution…”

  She trailed off as her eyes took in the mountain of golden coins, emerald necklaces, ruby broches, silver chalices, diamond pendants, and sapphire rings shining up at her from the box.

  Freed from their wooden tomb, the treasure glistened in the summer sun with a magic all its own. It was a large enough haul to see them set up for the rest of their lives. Large enough that even Jamie was impressed and he was the one who’d stolen it all.

  Jamie smiled as Grace’s lips parted in astonishment at the fortune he’d just uncovered. “There’s you engagement ring, love.”

  “Oh my God.”

  “I thought you’d like it.” This treasure had belonged to Grace long before she was even born. He’d always meant for it to provide security for his wife and family. Every cent had been gathered for this very moment.

  “It’s really ours?” She got out, still gazing down at the pile of gold and jewels.

  “Aye. No more need for peaceful green cornfields to feel safe.” He climbed out of the hole to cradle her face between his palms. “It’s azure blue waters, now. You and me and a pile of money, doing whatever we wish. Now and forever.”

  She tore her eyes away from the treasure to meet his gaze. “You make me feel safe, Jamie. I don’t need peaceful green cornfields or azure blue waters for that. And I don’t need a treasure chest full of gems as an engagement ring. I’d marry you if we had to spend the rest of our lives giving Ghost Walks every night.”

  Jamie adopted a considering expression. “Those dreadful tours you hosted would be a great deal livelier with me lending a hand. I could help you get the stories straight.” He kissed the top of her head. “Or at least I’d help you concoct better lies.”

  She gave him a playful swat. “You really are a scoundrel.”

  “That I am.” He slung an arm around her shoulders. “And so are you, at heart. Now, do you really want to pretend we’re some dreary normal folks? Hand over our scads of riches to people who had no part in winning them?” He arched a brow. “Or do you want to take our loot, set sail for Jamaica, and spend our days looking for mermaids and solving crimes?”

  A huge grin spread across Grace’s face. Just as he knew she would, his uptight Sunday school teacher of a bride threw her lot in with the odd-ducks and scoundrels of the world. The lass would never be normal, thank the Good Lord.

  “Fuck it.” She said happily and his heart filled with joy. “Let’s be pirates!”

  Author’s Note

  I’ve been on ghost walks all over the US. New Orleans, San Francisco, Arlington, Cape May… It seems like every city I visit has some “haunted” tour that promises to tell you all kinds of scary tales and I always end up buying a ticket. Few live up to the spine-tingling hype, but I would always recommend visitors give these kinds of tours a try. Even the bad ones usually have something fun about them.

  This book was inspired by a particularly unmemorable ghost walk I took in Williamsburg Virginia. My mom and I were there one summer and bought tickets for a nighttime tour. Our guide tried hard, but the tour was not particularly scary and the temperature was about 100 degrees, so no one had much fun. As I stood there, watching fireflies dance like fairies and waiting for it to end, I got the idea for this story.

  The fictional town of Harrisonburg is directly based on Williamsburg, which is a fully restored Colonial town. There are indeed shops that show you how paper, wheels, and guns were made, which is actually more interesting than Jamie would have you believe. I found the wig maker’s shop especially fascinating. (As a side note, a great many people in the eighteenth century wore wigs. By the 1790s, younger, more fashionable men were going without them, though, and Jamie is thankfully a fashionable guy.) Williamsburg also has houses to tour, lovely museums, a hedge maze behind the governor’s mansion, an armory full of muskets on display, and, on July 4th, a spectacular fireworks show. Although this book might suggest otherwise at times, I truly have nothing but positive things to say about the place.

  For various reasons, I took creative license with some of the historical details used in this story. I never intended for it to be a textbook. It is not a completely accurate account of the social mores, technological capabilities, and/or vocabulary used by post-Revolutionary Americans. If you’re interested in the reality of the 1700s, though, Williamsburg is definitely a place you’ll want to visit.

  To my knowledge, there have never been any serial killings on Williamsburg’s picturesque cobblestone streets. The murders in this book are entirely a work of fiction. America’s first documented serial killer was actually H.H. Holmes in 1893 Chicago. He built a hotel that was really a house of horrors and killed his unsuspecting guests in sadistic ways. (I briefly mention Holmes in Not Another Vampire book, for those interested. And if you’d like more detailed information about him, I recommend reading The Devil in the White City: Murder, Magic, and Madness at the Fair that Changed America by Erik Larson.) Holmes came just a few years after Jack the Ripper te
rrorized Whitechapel in England. That said, I am of the opinion that there were almost certainly serial killers before the late nineteenth century. Urbanization just made their grisly work simpler, with strangers living in close proximity, and the growing media made it easier to document.

  In response men like Jack the Ripper and H.H. Holmes, the early twentieth century saw police forces become more professionalized. In fact, I would argue that modern forensic investigation owes something to those early sensationalized murders. The public wanted something done to stop madmen and the police responded by developing new techniques for solving crimes. For instance, Jack the Ripper was the first case to have a criminal profile drawn up and, by 1901, England had developed a system for classifying fingerprints. It’s sad to think how many old crimes will remain unsolved forever because they did not have the technology we have today. But, on the other hand, it is partly because of those crimes that there was a push to develop more scientific investigations.

  In case you’re wondering, Luminal can indeed detect very old blood. When sprayed at Lizzie Borden’s house, for instance, the floor joists below the murder scene still glow over a hundred years after her parents were killed. Also, it is possible to use an infrared lens to photograph blood spatter that’s been painted over. As far as I know, no Revolutionary era crime scenes have ever been Luminaled or UV photographed, but I’m taking an educated guess that it would work.

  DNA testing has been performed on blood evidence from historic cases like Jack the Ripper and even the Lincoln assassination, usually with mixed results. DNA degrades over time. In this book, it is likewise assumed that old DNA evidence would be of little investigative value for Grace, but that there would still be traces of blood soaked into things like wood and fabric. Lifting fingerprints with Mothwort would not be possible in real life, though, as the herb is entirely a product of my imagination. For the record, so is troll powder, regardless of what the Riveras might believe.