She started crying again, and I felt even more concerned. What should I do? How could I save her? Then I had a brilliant idea. Or at least I thought it was brilliant. “You can’t die, Tallulah. I asked Bridget to cast a fairy spell on you. You will live forever now. You’ll just have to hang yourself and then dangle from the rope until someone finds you.”
“You know there are no such things as fairies, much less fairy spells. Please go now, Trinket, so I can end my miserable life!”
“What if I’m not lying? What if she did cast a spell on you? And what if Percy’s letter is already at the house? Please come down. Things will change. You’ll see. You can’t give up, Tallulah.”
She slid the poorly tied noose around her neck, leaned forward against the tree branch and hugged it like it was her only friend. “I’m going to do it, Trinket. I am going to cast myself down from here and snap my neck. I want to die!” She let a panicked sob escape her lips. I wanted to sob with her, but that would solve nothing. I let her continue. Perhaps she merely needed someone to talk to. “I cannot marry that boy. He is disgusting. You saw him! I can’t!” She sobbed and cried, and I sat in the scant grass below the tree. “Why did he leave me here, Trinket?”
I knew it was Percy she referred to. I sighed and said, “To obey Father, I suppose. But he won’t be gone forever, Lula. He won’t be! In fact, he’ll be home in two weeks. That’s what Mrs. Potts told the miller when he stopped by this morning. Just two weeks! How sad he’ll be to know you died while he was gone. I think you will break his heart, Tallulah. And who loves you more than anyone in the world?”
“Percy?” she whispered hopefully. “It’s Percy. But I love you too, Trinket. Never think that I don’t. It’s just different for us because we’re—well, we are…”
“I know, I know. You are twins. I understand, Tallulah.” I tried to sound like the admission didn’t hurt me, like I was as mature as my fifteen-year-old sister. We sat for a while, and she didn’t come down, but I could tell she was thinking about it. She’d quit crying, and we heard someone calling us in the distance. “You know, if anyone could make him come home earlier, it would be you.”
She took the noose off her neck and rubbed her pale skin. The rough rope had reddened it. “What do you mean?”
“You should write him. Tell him what happened today and ask him to talk to Father for you. If anyone can help you, it would certainly be Percy. I tried to speak for you, but no one listens to me.” I folded my arms across my chest and felt sullen. She started climbing down the tree, her blue dress threatening to trip her. I was happy to see that she’d left the rope up on the branch. Later I would come and steal it away so she didn’t change her mind and sneak back here when I wasn’t about.
“I listen to you,” she said as she sat down beside me, holding out her arms.
I flew into them and put my arms around her neck. Now that she was down and safe, I cried on her already red neck. “Please don’t leave me, Tallulah.”
“Shush now. I am here, see? I won’t leave yet. I am going to write to Percy and tell him Father’s horrible plan. He will come home and stop him, I know he will. Everything will be as it once was, dearest. Shush now.” Tallulah held me for a few more minutes, but eventually we would have to heed the call from the house. Together we rose from the grass and walked toward Idlewood. I held her hand, refusing to let it go, as if she would run back at any moment and throw herself from the tree. At least I stopped her that day. How was I supposed to know she would try again? I should have told someone. I should have told Mother about the rope. I should have asked Bridget for the fairy spell I threatened Tallulah with.
I did none of those things, and now Tallulah was dead. Even worse, she would always be forgotten, her name never to be uttered in public or in private. And the banishment would force her lovely face from our memories forever.
And it was all my fault.
Chapter Six – Rachel
I walked into Idlewood with a polite smile and offered the man waiting for me a handshake. “Hi, Mr. Taylor. I’m Rachel. We have met before, at the Stuarts’ office when you came in to sign the paperwork for the house? I am sorry Carrie Jo isn’t with me. She’s off acquiring something for your house, no doubt. When we were here this morning, there was no electricity at all.”
“Yes, I remember you.” Desmond Taylor was not the kind of guy who wasted time on pleasantries and such. Not that he was necessarily rude. I think the word I was looking for was “professional.” Extremely professional. He’d insisted that someone come to the house, probably because he wanted to let us know he wasn’t happy that we hadn’t come out of the box like gangbusters. Unlike Ashland, who enjoyed the slow, steady process of the restoration, Mr. Taylor was all about the bottom line. The sooner we could get this place ready for use in his wife’s party planning business, the better. I could just about read the man; he reminded me of my own father. As far as he was concerned, every day without progress forward was a day walking backwards. Or that’s what he liked to tell us.
“Well, Rachel, I stopped by at the beginning of the week and everything was working perfectly.” As if to prove his point he walked to the front door and flipped the noisy light switch. With a click, the horrible, cheap-looking light flicked on the wall near the door. He flipped it a few times like a pushy kid, and I swore to myself that I would not tell him off.
“Well, I’m not sure why it wasn’t working this morning. I haven’t heard of any reports of outages or anything else. But it’s on now, and that’s all that matters. Despite this minor setback, we did get the doors labeled, and I can go ahead and set up our computers. Did your wife receive the list of suggested paint colors for the four parlors?” I smiled as I sat behind the only table in the place. The computers were boxed beside it. This wasn’t the room we’d planned on working in, but I could tell that I needed to look busy.
“So you say you’ve walked through the house already?”
“Yes, I have.” I continued to smile like a demented clown. “We’ve also completed some video documentation already (shoot, why did I mention that?) and marked the doors with signs to direct the contractors. Enjoy these quiet moments now, sir, because this place is about to be rocking.”
He peered at me and said, “Come with me. I want to show you something.” My smile faded quickly. I didn’t feel threatened or unsafe, but his voice had that familiar you’re in trouble, young lady sound to it that I’d heard from my father. Fortunately for me, he was out of the picture now.
“Sure, let me grab a notebook.”
“You won’t need it,” he called back to me. He was halfway up the stairs already. For a sixty-year-old, Desmond Taylor had ninja skills. He was slightly bowlegged, had a head full of salt-and-pepper hair and was probably fifty pounds heavier than he should have been. His wife was twenty years his junior, and I liked her. So far. Things could change at any moment, though. Especially if she insisted on choosing paint colors that weren’t on the list I sent. People always showed their true colors during a renovation. I’d discovered that from experience, although working for Carrie Jo and Ashland was my dream job. I knew they were just regular folks, but time and time again they’d proved how big their hearts were.
“I walked around looking for you two earlier, and that’s when I found this. Is this someone’s idea of a joke?” He pointed to one of the taped signs. There was a small, bloody palm print on the bottom of it, right where you couldn’t miss it. The red liquid had dripped down the dirty wooden door.
“What? How did that get there? I swear, Mr. Taylor, that wasn’t here earlier. No way would I do something like that. Ever.” I tugged at the tape and pulled the sign off the door, and then I smelled the handprint. It didn’t smell like paint or anything else. What did blood smell like? “Are there more?” I didn’t wait for an answer but walked up and down the hall. I found that there were no more. At least not on this floor.
“Then how did it get here? Was this part of your video marketing? Becaus
e if it is, you should stop. That is not the kind of image we are going for here at Idlewood.”
“Oh, gosh no! We don’t do stuff like that. We are historians, not paranormal investigators, Mr. Taylor.”
“I don’t like this, Rachel. There has been enough said about this house over the years. I won’t tolerate séances, ghost tours or anything like that. I heard a rumor today that your boss’s company was involved in some supernatural goings-on at Seven Sisters. I repeat, I don’t want anything like that here at Idlewood.” I didn’t say anything, just held the gross sign while he lectured me. “I’m sorry to sound like a mean old fart, but that’s how I want it. All right?”
“Right, well, that’s what we plan to do, sir. This is all a big misunderstanding.”
“I hope what you’re telling me is the truth. If your boss was here, I’d be telling her all this. But since she isn’t, you get to hear it. Not such a fun job now, is it?” He relaxed a little but eyeballed the sign like he didn’t believe me.
“I’d like to throw this away before it drips everywhere. Unless there is something else you’d like to show me, sir?”
“No, that’s it. I don’t mean to come off like a beast, but I just want to be clear. How am I going to rent this place out if people are afraid to come here? I hope that makes sense.”
“Yes, sir. It does.” I smiled again, and we walked down the wide stairs together. “I’ll get to the bottom of this. Someone’s idea of a prank, I suppose.” Speaking of pranks, now was as good a time as any to ask about our earlier visitor. “Which reminds me, did you hire an electrician named Angus?”
“My wife and your boss have taken care of all the hiring. There could have been an Angus in the bunch. Why?”
“Oh, just curious. Thanks for stopping by, Mr. Taylor. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“Nope. I’ll head out, since everything is working here. Too bad I didn’t get to see Mrs. Stuart. Well, maybe tomorrow. I’ll stop by then.”
“She might be here, but I don’t think I will. Tomorrow is Saturday.”
“Oh yeah. Well, I’ll see you ladies on Monday. If there’s anything else you need, just let me know.”
“Will do, sir.” I smiled at him as he left out the front door. I breathed a sigh of relief. Nope. CJ didn’t pay me enough to handle angry homeowners—and bloody handprints. I shoved the paper in a plastic bag. Gross. Who would do such a thing? Not me. Not CJ. Was there any possible way that Angus character could have done it? Who knew? I sure didn’t.
I tore my eyes away from the plastic bag and tossed around some ideas. The thing to do now was take my mind off of it, but I’d have to stay a little while. I wouldn’t put it past Desmond Taylor to come back for round two. I’d sure as heck be out of here before dark, though. I didn’t care if the pope himself stopped by. I decided to set up the wireless router. Imagine having Internet run in a place like this.
Just to be sure, I went back to the light switch and flipped it a few times. Yep, now everything was golden. So weird that it wasn’t working earlier. I looked along the baseboards of the front room to see if I could trace the DSL line. Not in here. That was good. We’d planned on working in one of the front parlors. I walked to the right and noticed a business card on the floor. I bent down to pick it up. Just a plain old business card with a name and phone number on it. No bloody fingerprints, thank God.
Angus McGarrity.
Well, how many Anguses could a girl meet in one day? I rubbed my finger over the name. So he wasn’t a ghost. He was as real as I was. That was a relief, but I wondered why he disappeared earlier without so much as a “Goodbye, y’all.” I shoved the card in my pocket and went back to work. What a day, and it wasn’t even lunch yet! I got busy moving the table in here. I dragged the heavy thing, hating the noisy sound it made. The echoes were unbearable in here. I hated echoes now.
La-la-la… I hummed in my head. I wasn’t going to think about that voice. Nobody was repeating my words because I refused to say anything. What did Mr. Taylor expect? That I would stay here all day by myself? Was he coming back by?
Oh my God! I was here by myself! La-la-la…not going to think about it.
Just then I heard the familiar child’s voice. It came from above, no. It was behind me. No! All around me!
Rachel Kowalski…
“Who’s there?” No response. The stillness was almost as bad as hearing my name on the lips of an invisible spirit. Oh my gosh! This thing knew who I was!
“Is this some sort of joke, Carrie Jo?” No way was it her, but I had to try and calm my mind. I dug in my pocket for my phone. Now who would I call? Carrie Jo was sleeping. The rest of the team wasn’t scheduled to be here until next week. It was just me and the echo. I could call Chip and fake an IT question, but then he’d want to come over. I couldn’t handle that. He would definitely assume that any contact from me was my way of asking him to come back. I’d rather let the ghost kid get me than do that. I liked Chip, but his mother? Not so much. The both of them together was just too much. I felt the card in my pocket. I read the phone number and called Angus McGarrity.
It was worth a shot. Anything was better than being at Idlewood alone.
“Hi? Angus? I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m Rachel. We met earlier at Idlewood. Right…Katie Holmes…” Hmm…minus ten points for the Katie Holmes reference. “I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind coming back out.” Now what did I tell him? I couldn’t just say, “I’m afraid of the echo.”
Suddenly, as if it read my mind, the light switch began to pop off and on. The noisy clicking sound echoed through the bare foyer. “I’ve got an electrical short, I think…” I stared at the switch, watching it flip off and on. How in the heck? “Yes, now, please. It’s kind of important. Okay, I’ll see you soon.” I hung up the phone, and the clicking stopped. I couldn’t run out the front door, because that was where the switch was. Instead, I slowly made my way toward one of the French doors in the parlor behind me. At least that had been the plan.
Until the shadow swept by me, sending a chill over me. Then I ran to the front door with all my might.
Chapter Seven – Carrie Jo
“Where is she? Where is that homewrecker? I’m going to…”
“Whoa, CJ! She’s gone, and she’s not coming back. There is no home wrecked here. I’m sorry you had to see her act like that. I swear she’s never done anything like that before.”
“Sure,” I said, rubbing the lump on my head.
“All I wanted to do was surprise you—not like that, of course.”
I swung my feet over the side of the couch and caught the damp washcloth that fell off my head. It wouldn’t do any good for a possible concussion, but that was Ashland’s universal medicine: ice packs and damp cloths. “Surprise me by bringing another woman into my house?” I wasn’t sure I was ready to let this go. It all seemed so strange. So surreal.
He said slowly, as if I had lost my senses, “She helped me bring in the stuff I picked up for my surprise dinner for you. I had some boxes, a few gifts I got you. I had no idea she was going to lay one on me.”
I rolled my eyes at the idea of him giving me gifts. That seemed to be Ashland’s go-to move when he knew I was ticked at him. Another trait I normally loved, but not so much today. “No idea, huh? And I’m the bad guy when I asked you earlier if you two discussed our marriage.”
“And we never have. Sure, she’s asked a few nosy questions, but I never gave her any information about us. I guess she assumed that because she and I had been spending so much time together, because I’ve been away from home so much recently, I wanted her. But I don’t. I want you, Carrie Jo. I realize I’m not the guy I used to be—I mean, we’ve taken a beating financially—but it’s going to get better, I promise.”
I gave him a wimpy smile. Ashland sounded so vulnerable, so lost. It wasn’t until that moment that I realized how much his identity had been tied up in his financial status. And his old name. He’d lost most of his money
(or rather, given it away) recently, and his family name had surely been tarnished. But I didn’t care about those things. Surely he knew that. “I love you, Ashland. You, not your name or your money.”
“I know that,” he said, but I could tell I struck a nerve. He reached for my hand and held it for a minute. “I had no idea I was married to such a thug,” he added with a small smile.
“Ha! Not much of one. I’m the one that got knocked out.”
Now it was his turn to laugh. “She’s the one that ran out the door. I think she was worried about what you’d do when you woke up. But you do have a nasty lump, babe.”
“Ugh, I can feel it. What is it about new house projects that makes me want to knock myself out. It’s getting kind of old. Maybe I should become a Tupperware saleslady or something. Who knew historians led such dangerous lives?”
“Seriously, CJ. I need to take you to the hospital or at least to an urgent care. You might have a concussion. That was a nasty fall.”
I liked how he put that. A fall. Not a punch in the face. “Oh, great. What does my face look like?” I went to the mirror in the entryway and examined myself. I didn’t see much on my face, just a small bump on my forehead that I could easily hide with my bangs. And I had a few scratches on my arms. I couldn’t believe for the first time in my life I was involved in a “catfight.” Boy, Detra Ann was going to get a kick out of this.
“Her face was worse than yours. I can’t believe all this happened. I’m really sorry, babe.”
“Oh my God! The baby! What time is it?”
“I’ll go get him. And then we’ll go to the urgent care.” He was out the door before I could argue with him. I barely had time to fill my ice pack when someone started banging on the front door. I wasn’t expecting anyone.
“Ma’am. Please open the door. This is Officer Stone from the Mobile Police Department.”
The Ghosts of Idlewood Page 6