The Spook in the Stacks_A Lighthouse Library Mystery

by Eva Gates

  I sucked in a breath. If Louise Jane dared to imply in front of all these people that the Lady or any other of her imaginary friends had caused the death of Jay Ruddle, I wouldn’t be responsible for my actions.

  As Louise Jane related the tragic tale of the post–Civil War bride, I glanced at Julia. Her face was in profile, but she showed no hint of distress. She leaned over and whispered to Theodore. Relieved at the interruption, he smiled at her. The Lady, Louise Jane told us, had been forced into marriage to a cruel, old lighthouse keeper, who kept her locked in the upper levels until she was driven mad and threw herself out the fourth-floor window. The very window, apparently, in the apartment where I now lived. Frances, according to Louise Jane, was not an evil spirit. As kind in death as she had been in life, she only wanted to help women she believed to be trapped as she had been.

  By helping, she tossed them out the fourth-floor window.

  “Are you okay with this?” Connor whispered to me.

  “Bertie will be furious that Louise Jane’s saying the building’s haunted, and I hope she doesn’t try to link the ghost of Frances to Jay’s death in public. But if you’re asking about me personally, I don’t mind her silly stories.” That was true. When I’d first come here, Louise Jane had tried to chase me away by repeating legends of hauntings of the lighthouse. I’d never once experienced anything even remotely threatening—in a non-human way, that is—and perhaps more to the point, neither had Charles. I froze.

  “What is it?” Connor said. “You’ve gone as white as a sheet.”

  “Nothing. Just a sudden chill. Don’t you feel it?”

  “If anything, it’s warm in here. Take my jacket.” He whipped off his suit jacket and placed it lightly around my shoulders. Charles meowed. I tried to give them both a smile. I failed.

  I had never experienced anything. Until this week. The ghostly horse, watching me from the mist. The candle lights in the marsh, beckoning to me to follow.

  “You’re freezing,” Connor said, his hands light on my shoulders, his voice low. “You need to sit down.”

  “I’m fine. Really. She’s almost done.”

  Louise Jane switched to a story guaranteed to bring tears to her audience. A lighthouse keeper’s small son, playing on the forbidden upper levels, climbing the rail, and plummeting to his death below. “To this very day,” Louise Jane said, “children visiting the library have reported seeing a boy, dressed in old-fashioned clothes, asking them to come upstairs with him and play.”

  “Ronald and Bertie aren’t going to be happy about this,” Connor muttered. “Hasn’t Bertie forbidden Louise Jane from repeating that story?”

  “To no avail, obviously. About the last thing we want is parents to be afraid to send their children to the library in case they’re lured away by a ghostly child.” The sudden chill had passed, and I was warm in Connor’s jacket. But I didn’t give it back. It felt very nice.

  Bertie was standing next to the shelf marked “Morrison–Proux.” She stepped forward, but Louise Jane ignored her. “The War Between the States saw the destruction of the lighthouse. It was rebuilt…”

  Bertie might want to wrap things up, but the audience continued to be enthralled. You could hear the proverbial pin drop when Louise Jane paused for breath and spread her arms out, inviting everyone into her circle. I had to admit, she looked (and sounded) marvelous, her voice deep and full of emotion as she stood there draped in shadow, wearing her tattered sailor’s suit, the model of the Rebecca MacPherson lit by the single light in the alcove.

  “The press have given up,” Connor whispered in my ear. “I saw a line of cars moving down the road.”

  “Good riddance,” I said.

  He slipped his hand into mine. My heart did that marathon thing again.

  At last, Louise Jane said, simply, “Thank you.” She took a deep bow, and the audience burst into applause.

  Bertie joined her at the front of the room. “Wasn’t that entertaining? You almost had us believing you for a few minutes there, Louise Jane. If anyone wants to learn about the real stories of the Outer Banks, Charlene, our reference librarian, would be happy to direct you to some good books.”

  Charlene waved to the crowd.

  People began gathering up bags and chatting to their neighbors, but before anyone could get away, Anna leapt to her feet, clapping enthusiastically. She swept to the front of the room and grabbed Louise Jane’s hands in hers. “Music! You need musical accompaniment, my darling. We will take this show on the road, yes? You can speak to the masses, and I will play my violin. I know the perfect score.” She let go of Louise Jane and lifted her arms. She imitated playing the instrument, eyes closed and body swaying, her face a study in concentration. I swear, I could almost hear the slow plaintive notes. Louise Jane stared at her, open-mouthed. Everyone in the room was frozen into place except for a few who fell back onto their chairs.

  Anna dropped the violin with a crash. “No! I have a better idea. We will call these spirits to show themselves. Now! You will call their names, and my music, playing the notes of the great Russian composers, will draw them forward.”

  “Who the heck is that?” Connor asked.

  “Julia’s mother,” I said. Julia had slithered lower in her seat and dipped her head, trying to turn invisible. Greg looked confused. Theodore looked terrified. Dave looked amused.

  “Okay … I guess…,” Louise Jane said. “I suppose that might be fun.”

  “Fun!” Anna cried. “We are not looking for fun. The mysteries of life and death are not fun. David! Where is David? I will send him to my hotel to get my violin. I will play now. The scene is set, the audience is waiting.”

  Dave got to his feet. “I didn’t drive—remember, babe? We got a lift with those people from the college.”

  “Then Gregory can go,” Anna said.

  “Not me,” Greg said.

  Bertie resumed her place at the front of the room. “I’m sorry, but the library is closing shortly. If you manage to get this act together, Louise Jane, please do let us know. Some of us might like to come if we are free that evening. Thank you, everyone, for coming, and good night.”

  No one made a rush for the doors.

  “You can keep the library open a while longer,” Anna declared. “I cannot play on the lawn. It’s damp, and my violin is too valuable to be exposed to the night air. Julia. Where are you? Tell your young man to go to my hotel. Quickly now.”

  Julia scrunched herself into an even smaller ball. From behind, I could see the tips of her ears turning red. Theodore, realizing Anna had referred to him as Julia’s young man, leapt to his feet, fear forgotten, clearly eager to stay in Anna’s good graces. Julia reached out a hand and pulled him back onto his seat. Bertie stepped in front of Anna. Anna feigned moving to the left, and then took a sharp swivel to the right, but Bertie was too fast for her, and the violinist was blocked again.

  “I haven’t seen footwork like that since I last played basketball,” Connor said.

  “The audience will no doubt have further questions for you, Louise Jane,” Bertie said. “Why don’t you take a place by the refreshment table?”

  “Uh … okay.” Louise Jane turned to Anna and said, “I love your idea. Let’s talk later.” She took a small bow, received another round of applause, and then left the stage.

  “A few cookies are still on the table,” Bertie said. People got the hint and stood up.

  “That was surprisingly entertaining,” Sam Watson said to Connor. “And I don’t mean just the encore.” He peered out the window. “Looks like the press has left.”

  “They tend not to like standing around in the cold and dark,” Connor said. “Good thing no one told them Josie had done the catering.”

  Watson laughed. “Anna will be disappointed to hear she missed them. What a flake she is.”

  CeeCee slipped her arm through his. “Ready to go, honey?”

  “I guess so. Night all.”

  “Good night,” we said.
r />   “I want to talk to Bertie for a moment,” Connor said to me. “How about a drink once everyone’s left?”

  “That would be nice,” I said.

  I noticed Julia getting up and hurried over to her. “I am so sorry. Are you all right? That must have been dreadfully embarrassing.”

  “My mother. What can I say?” Julia glanced over to where Anna was handing out business cards to a circle of what were probably classical music lovers. “It was a lovely evening—up until the end anyway. I loved hearing Louise Jane even more the second time. Thank you for inviting me, Lucy.”

  “Any time.”

  “Are we still on for tomorrow?” Charlene asked.

  “I wouldn’t miss it. I’ll be here at ten, as we arranged,” Julia said. “Good night.”

  “Night.”

  “Allow me…,” Theodore began.

  She put her hand on his arm. “You’re so kind, but I’ll go back to the hotel with Greg. I’m dreadfully tired all of a sudden.” She sighed. “I suppose we have to offer Anna and Dave a lift.”

  Not without difficulty, Julia managed to round up her mother and drag her toward the door. “I am at the Ocean Side Hotel,” Anna shouted. “Call me tomorrow, Mary Jane, and we can continue with our plans. Fortunately, my schedule is temporarily empty for the foreseeable future.”

  To which Louise Jane replied, “It’s Louise Jane.”

  Greg couldn’t help throwing a smirk over his shoulder at Theodore as he left the library with the fair Julia and her mother.

  “Nice to see Anna and her daughter getting on so well again, isn’t it?” Dave said to me before running after them.

  The library was thinning out, and I joined Louise Jane.

  “That went well, I thought,” Louise Jane said, waiting for compliments.

  I gave them. She deserved them.

  Bertie broke away from the circle of people she was chatting to and headed toward us. She didn’t look as though offering compliments was the main thing on her mind.

  “Will you look at the time?” Louise Jane said. “Public performances are so exhausting. I’ve got to run. I’ll be back tomorrow to get the Rebecca MacPherson. Bye all.” She dashed out of the library.

  Ronald and Charlene began gathering empty glasses and crumpled napkins, and I hurried to help them get the room back to normal. It took us a long time—all those chairs to carry up three flights of twisty, winding stairs—and when we finished, other than the library employees, only Teddy and Connor remained. I’d given him back his jacket, but he hadn’t put it on, and he was sweeping the floor, shirtsleeves rolled up.

  “Nothing I love more,” Charlene said, peering over the second-floor railing, “than a man with a broom.”

  We went down to join the others.

  “I’d say tonight was a big success,” Ronald said.

  “The audience loved it,” Bertie said. “But when I get my hands on that Louise Jane … Imagine, telling the story of the lighthouse keeper’s little boy!”

  “Is there any truth to it?” Connor asked.

  “Certainly not!”

  He held up his hands. “I don’t mean the ghost. I mean the boy falling.”

  “Like most legends, it has a basis in fact,” Charlene said. “The child didn’t die. He was where he wasn’t supposed to be and tripped and fell down the stairs. He didn’t go over the railing, but broke both his legs. This happened sometime in the 1890s. The boy took over as lighthouse keeper from his father, and he was greatly admired because the breaks left him with a lot of pain in his legs. He had trouble with the stairs, but he knew how important the light was to ships at sea, and he was dedicated to keeping it lit. Back in those days, the job involved climbing all two hundred and seventeen steps several times a day.”

  “I find that a more inspiring tale than a disobedient little boy plunging to his death,” Connor said.

  “But not for Halloween,” Ronald said. “I tell the true story to the children when I explain why we have a gate over the stairs leading up from the second floor that’s kept locked when the library’s open, and why adults have to ask permission to go up.”

  Charlene yawned mightily. “Time I was going. I enjoyed meeting Julia, Lucy. She’s very keen on naval history. She didn’t say so outright, but she gave me the impression she’s going to take control of the Ruddle collection herself. If we can’t have it, then I’m glad it’ll be in good hands. Did you notice the people from Blacklock getting mighty chummy with Julia’s mother?”

  “If they think Anna has any influence over Julia, they are going to be sadly disappointed,” I said.

  “Most certainly,” Theodore said. “Julia is a woman of independent mind. Highly admirable. Although, I suppose that means she’ll continue to employ the odious Greg.”

  “Odious?” Charlene said. “Why do you say that? I think he’s quite nice. Doesn’t hurt that he’s soooo good-looking either.”

  Theodore looked as though he were sucking on a lemon.

  “You can worry about that tomorrow,” I said.

  “Good night,” he said.

  “Good night,” we chorused.

  “See you all tomorrow.” Ronald walked out with Charlene and Teddy, and Bertie went to her office to get her purse. Charles, who’d managed to disappear while the cleaning up was in progress, jumped onto the wingback chair by the magazine rack.

  Connor smiled at me. I smiled at him and shifted my feet uncomfortably, trying to control my blushing.

  Bertie was soon back. “Connor. Something came up earlier, and I’ve been wanting to talk to you. Why don’t you give me a lift into town, and we can discuss it. I can get Ronald to pick me up in the morning.”

  “I…” Connor took a quick glance at me.

  Heat rose into my face. Charles meowed.

  Bertie looked at Connor. She looked at me. “Never mind. Just remembered. Appointment in the morning. Need my car. Another time.” She sprinted for the door.

  I absolutely love living in the lighthouse, but sometimes it can get a bit uncomfortable residing at what is also my place of work. Hard to keep secrets.

  Not that my relationship—or whatever it was—with Connor was a secret. Although whatever it was still seemed to be a secret from me.

  “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable, and I’ll run up and get a bottle of wine,” I said, once we were alone.

  “That would be nice. So, Charles,” Connor said as I slipped up the stairs, “did you enjoy the evening? You’d tell us if there were ghosts in here, wouldn’t you?”

  I grabbed a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc out of my tiny fridge, took two long-stemmed glasses off the shelf, and ran back down. Connor had not yet been in my apartment, and I wasn’t ready to suggest we go there. Even if nothing happened, it would take our relationship (that word again!) to a whole new level. A level I wasn’t ready to climb to yet.

  I was no longer worried that he was planning to dump me. Not tonight anyway. He’d been giving me little smiles during the lecture, and placing his hand on my shoulder or taking mine in his.

  I stopped on the second-floor landing and looked down. Connor was bent over the Rebecca MacPherson, examining it carefully. Charles sat beside the model ship, also studying it. Looking for tiny skeletal mice, I thought with a smile.

  I had to get over my former boyfriend, Ricky, the man I’d dated for almost as long as I could remember, the one I’d left Boston to get away from. Not over in the sense that I still had feelings for him, because I didn’t, but over in the sense of realizing that exciting things awaited me if I’d only open myself to them. I’d been raised in a moderately wealthy, stable family environment. My parents’ greatest expectation of me had been that I do the accepted thing. I’d been with Ricky since I became aware of what boys were (other than annoying older brothers). My big act of rebellion had been to go to Simmons for a master’s degree in library science. Not exactly on the level of running away to sea to become a pirate, but my mother seemed to think so. In the nick of time, I
’d realized how incredibly bored I was with my life, and I left Ricky on bended knee (diamond ring in hand, champagne chilling, restaurant patrons gaping) and fled into the night. I was working at Harvard, and I loved it there, but Harvard meant Boston and the social whirl of the Richardson and Lewiston families, so I quit and came to the Outer Banks.

  Here I was, happy and content. Now, it was time to make another leap.

  Although not literally. I walked down the stairs, moving quietly in ballet flats. Connor continued to be engrossed in the model ship. I came up behind him and wrapped my arms around him. I leaned my cheek against his warm, strong back.

  “Nice.” He turned and kissed me. The bottle and glasses were in the way, and the kiss was nothing more than a peck, but the joy in his eyes settled all my doubts.

  He took the bottle, and I put the glasses on the table. Connor twisted the cap off and poured. We silently toasted each other. “This is quite the model ship,” he said. “The detail is amazing. Every time I look, I notice something I missed earlier. Did you see this?” He indicated a black creature, crossing the deck near the bow. “I’m sure that wasn’t there earlier, but Charles pointed it out to me.”

  Charles groomed his whiskers.

  “That cat does seem to move around,” I said. “I’m positive that man there—I assume he’s the captain by the trace of gold on what’s left of his epaulettes—was looking to the left earlier. It’s almost as though he’s watching us.”

  “I wonder where Louise Jane got this.”

  “I don’t know. She just showed up with it last week.”

  “Let’s sit,” he said.

  I took the wingback chair, and he pulled the office chair out from behind the circulation desk.

  “Any updates about the election?” I sipped my wine. “You said the last polls were promising.”

  “They still are. It didn’t reflect well on Doug when his campaign manager started spreading rumors that I’d been responsible for the death of Will Williamson and Doug lost a lot of support over that. But I’m not counting my chickens yet. I learned very quickly that nothing is as it seems in this racket. I’ll be glad when it’s all over and I can forget about the campaigning nonsense and simply be the mayor. Or, if that doesn’t work out, go back to my dental practice full time. I’m fine with either of those options.”