by K. J. Emrick
Jasmine squeaks her excitement and actually topples me to the bed with a bear hug that sets us both to laughing. “This is going to be the best trip ever.”
“Sure,” I agree half-heartedly. “Er. After we do our part for this wild goose chase can we maybe go back home? I’m not sure that I feel safe in Blue Laguna anymore.”
“It’s a deal, then.” She’s already up and heading for the bathroom, getting ready for the day that has started all too early, in my opinion. “Tell you what, Dell. Next vacation, you get to pick where we go.”
I sit on the edge of the bed and silently agree with her. Next time, I’m going to pick, and it’s going to be somewhere without any murders, or mysteries, or secret messages in bottles.
Now, I wonder where that would be?
Actually… it sounds kind of boring.
Chapter 4
Coming to the McGowan Mansion was a mistake.
It took me exactly thirty seconds to realize that. It was easy to find, once Google Maps directed us to Pith Street. The house was still there. That wasn’t the problem.
The problem, as I quickly figured out, was that no one lived here.
It was kept as a shrine, sort of, with a low cinder block wall all along the front curb, and a metal plaque declaring that this was the residence of Mabel and Orville McGowan. There was even a short version of the story Halloway had told us. This one skipped over the part about them fighting all the time. Our heroes always shine brighter when we don’t look at them too hard.
Jasmine slowed the car at the break in the wall where the driveway led from the road to the house. There was a yellow chain dangling from one side that was probably supposed to be hooked to the other, to keep people from doing exactly what we were doing right now. There wasn’t anything stopping us from going in, and there was an old pickup truck parked up near the front of the house, so we figured it was okay to go in.
And that’s when we saw that the place looked abandoned.
The small lawn has been mowed recently enough that I could smell the cut grass. Might be the last mow of the season, if those gray clouds overhead meant freezing rain like I thought they did. Being on the coast like this, winter was bound to find Blue Laguna before other parts of Tasmania.
Even so, there were vines crawling up the side of the two-story residence. In its day, I could see how the square house with its tall chimney and its wraparound porch would have been considered a mansion. In today’s world it would just be an overpriced, modest one family dwelling in need of a lot of work. I mean, a lot of work. Like, tear it down to the bones and start over. The roof was falling apart at the corner. The siding, where it wasn’t being claimed by the vines, was collecting moss and bird droppings. The windows had been wiped down but not given an actual cleaning. It wasn’t cared for, so much as it was kept. The beat-up truck fit right in with the rest of the scene, old and chipped and weathered.
So, if we were expecting to find the last of the McGowan family sitting at their kitchen table, sipping lemonade and waiting to answer our questions, we were out of luck.
But that pickup truck still had to belong to someone.
Jasmine clucks her tongue as we park in behind the truck. “Oh, nuts. I can’t believe they don’t take better care of this place. This should be a national monument.”
“I’m not sure I’d go that far. I mean, the McGowan’s story is a nice piece of local color but it’s hardly nationally known. I doubt you could find two people outside of Tasmania who’s ever heard of them.”
“Besides me, you mean.”
I smile over at her. “Yes, besides you. All right. Well, we’re here, I suppose we can at least go and see if there’s anyone about.”
We had all day to look around, I supposed. We weren’t going back to the hotel. We’d had enough of Blue Laguna and its mysteries. Or rather, I had. Jasmine was still stoked to find we had a missing piece of McGowan history in our grasp. As for me, I’d had more than enough of people sneaking into my hotel room to try killing me. It was time to go home. At least there when someone tries to kill me, it’s from the comfort of my own home.
Before I got out of the car, I made sure the manila envelope was carefully tucked into the glove box, and that it was locked. Jasmine’s car had that feature and I was glad of it. The envelope was a complimentary one from the desk drawer of our hotel room back at the Moonlight Resort. It still had the hotel name printed on it. I didn’t want to fold the note from Orville McGowan’s bottle for fear it would destroy the ink or tear the paper. So first I laid it flat, and then I dried it with the hair dryer from the bathroom, and then I slipped it into the envelope.
It had been a bit of a risk, not knowing what it would do to the note, but one of the videos I’d found online had suggested that technique. Seemed worth a try. Another one had said to bake it in an oven between sheets of waxed paper but since I didn’t have an oven handy, or waxed paper, the blow dryer was the best option.
Imagine my surprise when the blow dryer actually made the words a little easier to see.
“…going where I can be…you don’t know…how much gold…can find…”
Still not very informative, but it was starting to look like Jasmine was right. Orville just might have been on to some sort of treasure. That’s all aces and such, and more power to him for that, but right now I don’t want treasure. All I want is some way of proving Zacron the night clerk tried to kill me. If that means finding out if this fabled treasure is real, then it would have been worth talking to McGowan’s descendants after all.
Except that there doesn’t seem to be anyone here to talk to.
“Should we knock on the door?” Jasmine asks.
I think she’s being sarcastic.
Just as I’m about to suggest that we should leave, and start back for Lakeshore, a man comes strolling around the corner of the house.
When he sees us, he stops dead in his tracks, obviously surprised to see anyone at all here, let alone two women who look completely lost. He must belong to the pickup truck. They have the same sort of look about them. Sturdy and dependable, but just a little worn down. The truck with that bald tire, and him with those clothes and that limp.
He’s tall and browned from lots of time spent out in the sun. A mole on his left cheek wrinkles with a frown. His straw hat is frayed at the brim and the blonde hair poking out from underneath is washed out. The Socceroos logo on his jacket is the only bit of color on him anywhere, actually. The rake and shovel he’s carrying mark him as a gardener, or some kind of groundskeeper.
“Uh, sorry to intrude,” I say, rather than just standing there silently staring. “We were looking for someone to talk to us about the McGowan family. I take it they don’t live here anymore?”
“Don’t live anywhere,” he says, his face smiling even though his voice is gruff. “Orville and Mabel didn’t have any kids. There was a cousin in the family, old coot, but he died three years back. That was the last living member of their family.”
“Then who,” Jasmine asks him, “are you?”
His smile never changes. Neither does his voice. “I work for the town of Blue Laguna. Take care of the beach, and this place, and a couple others. You’re kind of keeping me from doing my job. Think the two of ya should be going.”
For some reason that shovel in his hand makes me nervous. “Sure thing. We’ll be leaving, then.”
“No, wait,” Jasmine says, holding up her hand. “Can’t you tell us anything? See, we found a note in a bottle and we’re sure it came from Orville McGowan. It might be the last note he ever wrote to his wife. We’re trying to find someone who can help us understand what it means.”
“Er, Jasmine?” I whisper, trying to get her attention. “Maybe we should just let the nice man go about his work?”
My hand goes up to the unicorn necklace I always wear, like a talisman for good luck. Something about this guy is worrying me.
“Wait, ladies,” he says, his whole attitude changed. “A note ya
say? A note from Orville McGowan? Got it here, do ya?”
He dropped the rake, and the shovel, and I can’t tell you what kind of a relief that was to me. I’d been holding the little wooden unicorn so tight that its horn was digging into my thumb. I had been picturing, quite vividly, the metal end of that garden tool smacking me upside my head. Or digging a hole to drop us in. You might think that’s me being paranoid, but remember me mentioning how crazy my life can be at times? Yeah. It’s like that.
Jasmine didn’t notice my attempts at being careful around the Socceroos fan with the blunt metal instruments lying at his feet. She smiled at his interest in the note as if the two of them had just become kindred spirits. “Yes, we have a note. Interesting, right? We just found it on the beach. It has to be important. We don’t know how yet but we thought if we found one of McGowans still around and kicking they might fill us in, you know? Are you sure there’s no one we can talk to? No McGowan family members left at all?”
The man actually licks his lips, before trying to hide the motion behind a hand. Was everyone in this town crazy for this McGowan history stuff?
“No, I’m afraid there’s no one left. See, the cousin I mentioned… the one that died three years back? He was a friend of mine. He left the mansion to the town, but he made sure to leave a proviso for me to remain the caretaker of the place. Yup. That’s how old Gimble Harris got this job. There’s nobody in Blue Laguna knows more about the McGowans than I do. I’ve got it all up here.”
He tapped a finger to the side of his head, his shaggy hair was dark with sweat under that hat even though the day was cooling rapidly. I’m not sure how much information ‘old Gimble’ has inside that skull but he certainly seems to think he’s our only hope of finding any information at all.
He might be right. This might be our only way of knowing if there was or wasn’t a treasure to be found, and where it even might be after all this time. That was still the best way of keeping us safe from that madman Zacron. If he was willing to break into our room to get at that note, then I could be sure we hadn’t seen the last of him. Hoping for the police to arrest him seemed to be hoping for far too much, based on how Officer Halloway had practically blown us off.
Seeing my hesitation, Gimble rubs his hands together. “Can I… can I see the note? I mean, I could help make sense of it. I know all about the McGowans. See, people thought they were just so in love with each other, until the truth got found out. Love’s just a fairy tale anyway, am I right?”
I want to tell him no, but I don’t want to start an argument that will keep us here any longer. True love exists. I’ve had it in my own life. It’s people who’ve never known it themselves who think it can’t be real.
When we don’t seem to share his sense of fair play and love, Gimble continues, “Orville’s treasure hunting was pulling them apart, ya see. Heard about that, did ya? See, Orville was sinking all their fortune into his treasure hunt with nothing to show for it.”
Jasmine clucked her tongue. “Just like a man.”
“So let me have a go at the note,” Gimble presses. “Just because he never brought anything home, doesn’t mean there was nothing there. Those of us in the know, like me, we believe he found what he was looking for. There’s a treasure out there, waiting to be found. There’s clues in all his notes. Every single one. Willing to bet the one you’ve got has the final clue.”
“Absolutely,” Jasmine tells him immediately.
At the same time, I say, “No, I don’t think so.”
Jasmine turns her blinking eyes toward me, finally catching my hesitation. “Dell, this is our chance to learn something about the note. He may be the last person left in the world who knows anything of use to us.”
I take her by the hand and pull her a few steps away. “Jasmine, we don’t know anything about this guy.”
“Yes, we do. He was friends with the last of the McGowan’s. He’s in the will, for the love of Pete. This is the guy, Dell. This is the guy to talk to. We should let him see the note.”
My eyes wander over to Gimble, standing there picking dirt out of his fingernails, very studiously not looking at us. He doesn’t look like much. For all I know he’s another McGowan fanatic like Zacron, someone who’s so caught up in the idea of a treasure hunt that they would be willing to do anything to get at the note we found. That shovel is still at his feet…
I let out a loud sigh and tell myself to slow down. I’m being paranoid again. Not everyone I meet is dangerous. Plus, Jasmine is right. We need someone to help us.
“Fine.” I might as well give in. What could the harm be? I mean, unless Gimble decides to try and burn the note. Or steal it. Or eat it. If he does anything like that, then I can always pick up that shovel and hit him over the head myself. “Stay here, I’ll go and get it.”
Jasmine flips me her keys for the glove box. Leaving the door of her car open I plop into the passenger seat and go through the keys one by one. This one is the ignition key. That’s for her house, I think. I’m not even sure what that one goes to. There. This is the one I want…
I freeze when my gaze sweeps across the rearview mirror.
There’s someone sitting in the back seat. A pair of hazel eyes stare back at me with an intense curiosity.
I nearly wrench my back turning in the seat, only to find there’s no one there after all.
A chill runs down my spine. My hand goes up to the unicorn necklace, and I hold my breath for a count of five. I know what I’m going to see when I look back at the rearview mirror.
Sure enough, the eyes are still there, still watching me.
Ghosts are only visible from the corner of your eye, sometimes. Other times, you can only see them in shadowy rooms where bad things have happened. Then there’s times when you can only see them in reflections.
If there’s rules to the world of ghosts, I haven’t figured them out yet. Like the way Lachlan Halliburton’s spirit can change his appearance whenever he feels like it, but my other ghostly friends can’t. Oh, Jess can change her wardrobe from dresses to jeans, or change her hair color, but sometimes it’s completely involuntary and based on her mood. Each ghost I’ve seen is different. An echo of their living self. Unique. Peculiar.
And this ghost isn’t done showing me just how unique she is.
She blinks, and when she does, a message appears in the rearview mirror in looping cursive. The words blaze like reflected light and form a woman’s graceful handwriting. The ghost’s message to me is very clear.
“Don’t show that note to anyone.”
I swallow against a dry throat and try to read the message again even as the words are disappearing. The eyes are still there. The ghost is staring at me, expecting me to understand. She was telling me to hide the note from everyone else. Why was she telling me this now? Why not when I first found it? Why here, why now?
The answer came to me as the ghost’s eyes turned to look wistfully out at the McGowan Mansion. The house. This is where the ghost is appearing to me, because this is where she has the closest ties to the world of the living.
This was her house.
I was speaking to the ghost of Mabel McGowan.
“Why?” I ask her quickly, now that my fright is passing. “Why can’t I show it to anyone?”
She blinks, and when she does, more writing appears.
“Orville died hating me. No one else needs to die.”
The letters burn across the mirror and disappear without leaving a trace of their passing. They scroll at exactly the speed I’m reading them, and then they’re gone.
When I look for Mabel McGowan’s eyes again, they’re gone, too.
Message delivered, her spirit had gone back to wherever it had been resting. Maybe back into the deteriorating halls of the McGowan Mansion. Wherever she went, she certainly made an impression on me.
I leave the glove box locked up tight. Standing up with one foot in and one foot outside the car, I motion to Jasmine to come over. She shakes her head ju
st a little, rolling her eyes in Gimble’s direction. Of course, she couldn’t have seen the ghost. Even if she’d been sitting in the car with me, she wouldn’t have seen the apparition in the rearview mirror like I had. That’s an ability I was born with, and very few other people ever have. It’s a talent I tried to ignore for years because, hey, who wants to be the crazy lady who sees ghosts?
I don’t try to ignore it anymore. The ghosts in my life have saved me any number of times. They’ve saved the lives of the people I love. I wouldn’t want to trade being what I am for a ‘normal’ life. Not ever.
This ghost told me not to show the note to anyone. I’d be a fool not to listen, even if I don’t fully understand.
There was already a man in our hotel room last night trying to kill me. Who knows if Zacron will try again? I can’t put Jasmine’s life in danger like that again. Not to mention my own.
So I motion for Jasmine to come to the car again. This time she points toward Gimble, using her body to hide the motion, and pulls a frown. She’s not leaving here without knowing what Gimble knows about Orville McGowan’s treasure. She’s not taking my hints, and I can’t exactly blurt out in front of Gimble that I’m about to leave him in the lurch without ever seeing this smudged and faded piece of paper. All I want is to keep me and Jasmine safe.
Well. If she won’t come over to the car just because I asked her to, then I may have to give her a little incentive.
I get back into the passenger seat, and slam the door closed. It takes a little doing to lever myself up and over the center console without getting my leg caught on the shifting lever, but then I’m in the driver’s seat, putting the key into the ignition, and starting the motor.
The shocked look on Jasmine’s face is comical, and under other circumstances I might have found it worth a laugh. Her hands fly up. Her eyes get huge. She takes a step toward the car, and then a step back, and then a step toward the car, before finally stopping in her tracks to turn and give some sort of apology to Gimble.
I’m not waiting to see how that turns out. We’re leaving. Right now.