The Spook in the Stacks_A Lighthouse Library Mystery

by Eva Gates

  “Do you have any political ambitions after being the mayor?”

  “Absolutely not. To be honest, Lucy, I hate it. I don’t mean I hate being the mayor. I enjoy the job, and I do it because I care about the future of Nags Head and its people, and I like to think I have something to contribute. But I hate the political part of it. Would I consider moving up the political stage to state or federal level?” He shook his head firmly. “Never.”

  Charles curled up in my lap and purred. Connor and I drank our wine and chatted comfortably, enjoying each other’s company amid the quiet of the library at night.

  I offered Connor a second glass of wine, but he put his glass on the table and said, “Much as I’d like to, I’d better not. I have yet another day of campaigning tomorrow.” He stood up, and I also got to my feet. He took me in his arms, and we met in a long, deep kiss, which seemed to go on forever.

  But nothing lasts forever, and he eventually pulled away. “Good night, Lucy.”

  “Good night, Connor,”

  “Do you know,” he said, glancing at the Rebecca MacPherson, “I’m pretty sure the captain’s moved.”

  Our chairs were on the other side of the alcove table from where we’d earlier been standing to admire the model ship. Connor was right: even though we’d moved, the sailor’s head was still turned toward us. The empty holes where his eyes should be stared into mine. I felt their black depths calling to me.

  “The cat too,” Connor said. The small black figure was now on the quarterdeck, next to the captain.

  Charles jumped onto the table. He swatted at the model cat, and it toppled over. It made no attempt to get up, and the captain didn’t react. Once again, the Rebecca MacPherson and her tiny crew were nothing but a toy.

  “Charles has been fooling around,” I said. “But I have to say, there’s something creepy about that ship. I’ll be glad when Louise Jane picks it up tomorrow.”

  “It’s almost midnight,” Connor said. “What do they say about Halloween? The night when the veil between this world and the next is at its thinnest.”

  He’d begun to turn away and didn’t see me shiver.

  “Good thing I have the mighty Charles.” I tried to keep my tone light, although my throat had gone dry.

  At the door, Connor bent and gave me a light kiss and then walked into the night. It had been bright and clear earlier, the air cool and crisp with the hint of winter soon to come. A fog had come up while Connor and I were talking, rising out of the marsh, drifting across the white face of the moon. The mist swirled around Connor’s legs, and it looked as though he were floating.

  He unlocked his car, turned, and gave me a wave. I waved back and watched until the rear lights were disappearing down the long driveway.

  The mist was thick at the edges of the marsh, but overhead the moon was still visible. The great light far above me went into its twenty-two-point-five–second dormancy as I took a deep breath of salty air. It stuck in my throat, and I was suddenly chilled to my very bones.

  At the edges of the marsh, the mist swirled and separated. A shape stood there. It tossed its long, graceful white neck, and its strong front legs pawed the ground.

  It was the white horse. And it was watching me.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Come. Come and ride me.” Unbidden thoughts swirled through my mind. “We can ride across the seas. We can be free. Come.”

  I ran into the library, slammed the door shut, and twisted the lock. Eyes fixed on the door—did I see the door knob move?—I backed into the room, gasping for breath, my heart racing.

  What had Connor said about the veil between the worlds? That Celtic legend is the origin of Halloween. People traditionally dressed in costume on the night before All Saints Day to scare away spirits who were able to move among the living when the veil was at its thinnest.

  I almost leapt out of my skin at a crash from the alcove. I whirled around. A group of skeletal sailors lay in a jumble on the floor. Charles jumped off the table and came to me. He twisted himself around my legs.

  I bent down and picked him up. Something was in his mouth. “What have you got there?” He dropped the model cat into my palm.

  “You eat that,” I said, “and Louise Jane is not going to be happy with you.” He didn’t appear bothered by the threat in the least. He jumped out of my arms and headed for the stairs, telling me it was bedtime. I gathered up the fallen sailors and laid them on the table, and then I tossed the throw kept behind the circulation desk, in case it gets cold, over the Rebecca MacPherson. “That,” I said to Charles, “should keep them from wandering.”

  Instead of turning the lights off before going upstairs, as I usually did, I went around the main room, switching them all on. Not that I expected the sailors to get up to anything. But it was the night when the veil was thin, and the horse was out there.

  * * *

  I also kept my bedside light on, but I needn’t have bothered. I slept well, comforted knowing that Charles lay peacefully at my side. If Charles wasn’t afraid of skeletal sailors or ghostly horses in the marsh, then I had no reason to be either.

  I rose early the next morning. The only daily chore I performed was to fill Charles’s bowl with fresh water and to lay out his breakfast. Then I pulled on track pants, a sweater, and sneakers and hurried downstairs. I glanced at the throw on the table as I passed, but nothing had moved in the night. I opened the front door and stepped outside. The sun was rising in a clear sky, and the breeze off the sea was soft and cool. Two cars were parked at the edge of the lot, hikers or birders getting an early start on the day. I crossed the grass to the edge of the marsh and began searching. It didn’t take long to find what I was looking for: the imprint of hooves in the wet ground. The depression was round, with a triangle in the center. I’d done a lot of horseback riding when I was a teenager, and I recognized this as an unshod hoof. Highly unlikely to be a horse that had escaped from a stable offering beach rides to tourists. I snapped a couple of quick pictures with my phone and returned to the lighthouse, full of thought. I’d seen something. And that something had been out there on Saturday during Louise Jane’s lecture, Monday morning, and again last night. But was it a ghost horse?

  Did ghosts leave hoofprints?

  What else could it be?

  An escaped wild horse? A figment of my overactive imagination? And then there were the strange lights I’d seen in the marsh and the moving figures of the Rebecca MacPherson’s crew. I consider myself to be a practical woman. I do not have visions or hallucinations, and I am not subject (I think) to being overly impressionable. Ghosts, equine or otherwise, do not exist. Model pieces do not move on their own. And that is that! I went upstairs and called the police to let them know a horse was loose on the marsh.

  The operator told me they’d had no reports of one missing, but she would pass my information on. I then set about getting ready for my day. The weather report was for temperatures in the low sixties, so I decided on a black and white striped dress worn with a thin black belt and a black shrug. I laid out the clothes and hopped into the shower. The phone rang as I was drying my hair. Wrapped in a towel, I made a dash for it.

  “Lucy, its Louise Jane.”

  “Good morning,” I said.

  “What’s Bertie’s schedule for today?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “I’m coming in to get the Rebecca MacPherson, and I’d rather avoid her if I can. She seemed to be awful cross last night.”

  “I wonder why that would be, after you expressly disobeyed her orders and told tales about the lighthouse.”

  “As everyone keeps telling me, Lucy, honey, I’m not a library employee. Bertie is not my boss; therefore she cannot give me orders.”

  “True,” I said.

  “I’m wanting to avoid any potential … shall we say, unpleasant words.”

  “Fair enough. She knows where you live if she’s in the mood to hunt you down. She has meetings all morning at the library in Man
teo and isn’t due in until after lunch.”

  I heard a click. Louise Jane had hung up without thanking me.

  I should have lied.

  * * *

  Today was November 1st, All Saints Day, and the veil between the worlds had closed. Sunlight streamed in through the east windows, and dust mites danced in the beams. Feeling rather foolish, I switched off most of the lights before pulling the throw off the Rebecca MacPherson. In the clear light of morning, it was nothing but a model ship, albeit somewhat unusual. I placed the captain on the quarterdeck, the cat at his feet, and arranged the sailors as though they were performing their duties.

  Louise Jane burst through the door the minute I opened up, a box in her arms.

  “Good morning, Louise Jane,” I said. “Looks like it’s going to be another lovely day.”

  “You’re sure she won’t be back until this afternoon?”

  “That’s what her schedule says.” I cleared my throat. It wouldn’t kill me to be gracious. “Your presentation last night was very good. Everyone enjoyed it.”

  She preened and with great effort forced the words over her lips. “Thank you, Lucy.” She began packing the Rebecca MacPherson into its box. None of the sailors or George, the ship’s cat, tried to escape.

  The door opened again, and Julia and her ever-present entourage came in. “Hope I’m not too early,” she called, “but I’m so excited to talk to Charlene again, I couldn’t keep myself away any longer. Is she in?”

  “She isn’t due until ten,” I said.

  “No problem. I can wait. No better place to wait than a library.”

  “I said that,” Theodore announced proudly. Greg grumbled. I wondered if Julia was starting to feel a mite crowded with those two always tripping over each other in an effort to help her. Perhaps she enjoyed their support while things were so difficult for her.

  Today she’d added a splash of color to her usual browns and tied a blue and yellow scarf around her neck. She smiled at me, and I could see that some of the darkness had been lifted from behind her eyes. “As long as I’m here, I plan to take total advantage of this library. I got a call from Detective Watson first thing this morning.”

  “Good news?” I asked.

  “My grandfather’s body will be released soon, and I’ll be allowed to take him home.”

  “So you’re not under suspicion any longer?” I said. “That is good news.”

  “He didn’t quite say that. He did tell me that I need to keep him informed of my movements, but I think it’s a promising step, don’t you?”

  “Definitely.”

  “My lawyer’s already packed and heading for the airport,” she said.

  Only Teddy didn’t look pleased at the news. I gave him an encouraging smile. Julia had to go home sometime. It would be up to him, and to her, if they were to keep in touch.

  “I loved your lecture yesterday, Louise Jane,” Julia said. “Perhaps I can talk to you some time about legends of the Outer Banks. Charlene is going to tell me the history, and you can tell me the myths.”

  “I’d be happy to,” Louise Jane said. “I’m looking forward to making plans with your mother. I sense a kindred spirit. We’ll use the music of the spheres to—”

  Julia cut her off. “Please don’t get your hopes up about touring with her. Anna is somewhat … that is, she can be sporadic in her enthusiasms.”

  Louise Jane tried not to look too disappointed. “I didn’t mean plans as in working with her. I prefer my lectures to be unaccompanied by cheap theatrics. Much more impressive that way, don’t you agree, Lucy?”

  “Me? Oh, yeah, totally.”

  “I’m not a showman, but a scholar of the supernatural world.”

  “Speaking of myths,” I said, “I was talking to … uh … Mrs. Fitzgerald last night. She started to tell me something about a ghost dog that’s sometimes spotted in the area around Coquina Beach. We were interrupted before she could finish. I don’t think any of your stories feature animals, do they, Louise Jane?”

  I tried to approach the topic obliquely, knowing that if I came right out and asked Louise Jane if a ghostly horse or corpse candles had been seen in the marsh, she’d say yes. She’d never admit that there might be a supernatural presence she (or her grandmother or great-grandmother) didn’t know about.

  “Dog?” she said. “Oh, yes, that dog. It’s a minor story. The dog, so the story goes, came off a wrecked vessel, and some say they hear it when the wind is strong from the south, howling for its lost master.”

  This morning, as the sun filled the room with light, and the scent of the coffee I’d put on to brew wafted in, Louise Jane’s ghostly tale had no impact. It was just the story of a lost dog.

  “I know of a handful of stories of animal spirits like that one,” Louise Jane said with a dismissive shrug, “but my grandmother taught me that humans trapped here on earth are more deserving of my attention. And”—she turned her eyes on me—“more dangerous to the living.”

  I smiled to myself. I could foresee Louise Jane scurrying off to another library branch to start a search for ghost dogs.

  “I find the idea of spirit animals terrifying,” Julia said. “In a story, I mean. Look at the ghostly horse in Bracebridge Hall. That’s the part that chilled me to the bone. Even more than the Flying Dutchman or the tale of the Wild Huntsman.”

  “All this nonsense about ghosts makes for a fun way of scaring children, but I don’t have any time for it.” Theodore tried to sound firm, but his voice shook slightly.

  Greg threw him a glance, and the edges of his mouth turned up in a grin. “I’m not so sure, buddy.” He quoted Hamlet: “‘There are stranger things in heaven and earth.’”

  Charlene arrived, takeout cup from Josie’s in her hand, and earbuds in her ears. “Is this a private party, or is anyone welcome?”

  “Good morning,” Julia said. “I’m so excited about getting into your books and papers, I came in early. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Charlene pulled the buds out of her ears. “Don’t mind a bit. Believe me, after all the work I do with bored high school students and college kids taking compulsory courses and hating every minute of it, I’m delighted to have someone who’s actually interested. Would you like a coffee or something first?”

  “No thanks—I had an early breakfast.”

  “I’m heading back to the hotel,” Greg said. “I’ve some business calls to make. Phone me when you’re ready to be picked up, Julia. Coming, buddy?”

  “I need to talk to Lucy,” Theodore said. “Library business.”

  The curator gave the book collector a long, dark look, but he could hardly say he’d changed his mind and decided to stay.

  Everyone headed off in their own direction, and soon Teddy and I were the only people in the main room. “What sort of library business?” I asked.

  He put his fingers to his lips and tiptoed somewhat theatrically to the door. He threw it open and peered out. No one was standing there, ear to the door or otherwise. Julia and Charlene’s faint voices drifted down from the upper level. We had no children’s programs scheduled until after school. The library would be quiet this morning, and I’d been looking forward to it, thinking it would give me the chance to get caught up on paperwork and do some research into next year’s book purchases.

  “I found something important,” Theodore said.

  “What’s that?”

  “You notice how interested Julia is in talking to Charlene about North Carolina history?”

  “What of it? It’s fascinating stuff.”

  “Greg doesn’t seem to share her enthusiasm, but he’s supposed to be some sort of hotshot historian. Julia’s considering taking over management of the collection herself. It’s possible she told him he was going to be surplus to requirements once they left the Outer Banks.”

  “That’s nothing but speculation.”

  “An educated guess. I’ve been … ahem … spending a lot of time in his company of late. He’s shifty.
He doesn’t seem to have much money. He takes all his meals at the hotel and charges them to his room.”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “The hotel bill is being covered by Jay’s accounts. Probably through Julia. He didn’t even pay for a round of coffee at Josie’s.”

  “I wouldn’t read much into that. Maybe he likes having his expenses paid. I know I would.”

  “As a gentleman and a scholar, I would never stoop so low. The facts will eventually speak for themselves, but in the meantime, I’m concerned for Julia’s safety.”

  “You mean from Greg? Surely you’re joking.” Judging by the intense look on his face, Theodore was deadly serious.

  “If someone killed Jay to get the Ruddle collection,” he said, “Julia might be next.”

  “Your logic isn’t working, Teddy. Greg isn’t going to get the Ruddle collection in any event.”

  “We don’t know the contents of Julia’s will.”

  “No, we don’t. Nor are we ever going to. Drop that line of thought before it gets you into trouble.”

  In asking Theodore to help me with the investigating, I’d made a serious mistake. Watson had accused me of having a predetermined conclusion—that Julia was innocent. But Theodore was far worse. He’d decided, for his own reasons, not only was Julia innocent, but Greg was guilty. And nothing would dissuade him from that fact.

  “Why don’t you have a word with Detective Watson about Greg, Lucy?”

  “Sure. I’ll call him right away. Soon as you’ve left.” I had no intention of doing any such thing. Watson would take Teddy’s fingering of the culprit as seriously as he’d take Charles’s.

  “Good. I’ll pop upstairs to see how Julia and Charlene are getting along. Unfortunately, Outer Banks history isn’t one of my areas of study, so I am unable to offer much help. Perhaps it is time I learned.”

  While we were talking, Charles had taken his place on a nearby shelf to best follow the conversation.