Ghouls Gone Wild

by Victoria Laurie

Heath focused on his driving and glanced at an approaching street sign. “Crap!” he exclaimed, hitting the brakes hard.

  “Whoa!” I yelled, putting a hand on the dash and looking over my shoulder. “Heath, be careful! There could have been someone behind us.”

  “Did you really want me to turn onto that street?” he snapped as the tension got to both of us.

  I leaned forward again and looked at the street sign. It read BRIAR ROAD. My heart thumped hard in my chest. “I’m so sorry,” I said as he tried to do a U-turn in the narrow street hampered as he was by his cast while holding up traffic on both sides of the road.

  “It’s okay,” he said, grimacing as several cars honked at us. “I just didn’t want to get stuck there again.”

  I shivered for the second time since getting into the van. “I’m with you.”

  Heath finally made the turn, punched the accelerator, and got about half a block before I yelled, “Stop!”

  Heath stomped on the brakes again while shouting, “What?! What?!”

  “There!” I said pointing to his right. “Across the street. Do you see that storefront?”

  Cars began honking again, so Heath put on his turn signal and found a space to pull over and park. “You want to follow that lead about the witch’s descendant?” he asked.

  “I do,” I said, getting out of the car. “I really do.”

  We walked across the street to the small storefront with the words A PAWS SANCTUARY. The sign in the window said the place was open.

  Heath held the door open for me and I went in, immediately spotting a pleasant-looking woman with round cheeks, pale blue eyes, and wispy gray hair. “Good morning to you,” she sang as we came forward, her voice competing with the yips and the barks from somewhere in back.

  “Hello,” I said pleasantly. “We’re looking for Sarah Summers. Is she in?”

  The woman behind the counter beamed at me. “You’ll look no further to find her,” she said. “I’m Sarah.”

  I blinked. She looked nothing like her sister. “You’re Sarah?” I pressed, wanting to be sure.

  “Aye,” she said, her eyes taking me in quizzically.

  “And your sister is Katherine McKay?”

  “Aye,” she said again, and her face became concerned. “What can I do for you now that I’ve identified myself several times, lass?”

  I smiled again. “I’m sorry. It’s just . . . we met your sister yesterday, and well, you two look so different.”

  Sarah laughed and the sound was light and full of mirth. “Oh, you’re not the first person to wonder about that. I’m afraid that in our family when the good looks were handed out, Katherine got well more than her fair share.”

  I blushed and I tried to apologize again for the awkward conversation, “Oh, I didn’t mean to imply—”

  But Sarah waved her hand and said, “Now, don’t worry yourself over it. After fifty years of walking in my sister’s shadow, I’m more than a little used to it.”

  I had to admit that as suspicious as I wanted to be of this woman, her easy manner, her kind eyes, and the way her brogue turned “it” into “eht” all but charmed me. So I decided not to beat around the bush, and dive right in and introduce us. I thrust my hand forward and said, “I’m M. J. Holliday, and this is my friend, Heath Whitefeather.”

  Sarah shook our hands warmly. “Would you two be part of that American film crew that’s here looking for ghosts?”

  “We would,” I said.

  “Oh, then you’re the one who adopted the wee darlin’ pug from us!” she said, recognition dawning in her eyes. “I’ve got all the paperwork filled out for you. You’ll need it to get him through customs. All it needs is a signature, Miss Holliday, and he can be your little love for good.”

  I’d forgotten all about the paperwork, so when Sarah spread it out on the counter for me, I began scribbling my John Hancock on all the dotted lines.

  When I was done, I handed the documents back to Sarah, who put them into a neat little folder for me. “There ya are now,” she sang happily. “And thank you for the very generous stipend you’ve committed to, Miss Holliday. You’re helping our cause, you know.”

  I smiled and took the folder from her. “It’s my pleasure, Sarah,” I said.

  “And I never have to rent out another poor pup to that dreadful ghost tour ever again. Oh, but it tore up me conscience to do that! Though I suppose there was no way around it—we really needed the few quid we got to keep this place going.”

  I wanted to ask her about Rigella’s spirit being called up early, but her chatter was making it difficult to get a word in edgewise. I got my lucky break when someone from the back yelled, “Ma!”

  Sarah jumped and held up her finger. “Excuse me one moment, would you? My youngest daughter’s in back helping with the pups, and her condition makes it difficult to move the heavier cages.”

  Before I could ask her what she meant, Sarah ducked through a door and disappeared. Heath and I were left to stare around the front of the shelter, which was actually a store filled with all sorts of doggy supplies. I took advantage of the lull and started to sort through some of the toys that Wendell might like.

  “M. J.!” Heath said in a loud whisper to get my attention. I looked over at him and saw that he was pointing to a framed collage of pictures. At the top of the collage was a nice photo of Sarah, and below that were several photos of young ladies with varying styles of hair that I would have judged ranged from the midseventies to the late eighties.

  “What am I looking at?” I asked, crossing the room to him to get a better look.

  “I think these are Sarah’s daughters,” Heath said, and even though he was speaking quietly, I could tell he was getting excited.

  “Okay,” I said, still not following why this was cause for celebration.

  “Count them,” he urged.

  I did. There were seven. And the last girl looked really familiar to me. There was a name underneath each photo. The name listed under the last girl read Roisinn, which didn’t ring any bells. I was about to comment when the door opened again and Sarah bustled back out. “So sorry to have kept you waiting,” she said. “Rose is due any day now and I keep telling her to go sit and put her feet up, but she’s a restless lass.”

  I whirled around, openly gaping at Sarah. “Your daughter’s name is Rose?” I asked.

  “Aye,” Sarah said, then seemed to notice we were standing under the framed photograph of her family, and she laughed. “Oh, you’re not looking at that old thing, are you?” And she came over to us. With a sigh she pointed to the first girl. “That’s Marie,” she said. “My oldest and the bright light of my life, if truth be told. She died about two years after that photo was taken.”

  I bit my lip. “I’m so sorry.”

  Sarah touched the photograph with her fingertips lovingly. “Marie was the reason I started this shelter, in fact,” she confessed. “She had such a love for the animals, and she was always bringing home a stray here and there and finding homes for them. When she died, I felt such terrible sorrow, and I needed a purpose, something to get myself out of bed in the morning, so I opened this wee little shop and took in a few strays and it gave me back my life.”

  My heart went out to her. She seemed like such a lovely, kind woman. “And your other daughters?” I asked gently.

  Sarah chuckled. “Well now, let’s see,” she said, pointing to the next photo over. “This is Katherine, named after my sister, and the two couldn’t have turned out more alike. My Katie moved to London and she’s an artist now, restoring works for the Victoria and Albert Museum. Next there’s Heather, ah, such a lovely girl. She married an Irishman named Paul and they live just outside Dublin. They’re expecting their second child in a few months’ time. Then there’s Millie, she’s my bright one. She studied law at one of your schools in America and now she’s living in Hong Kong. I hardly hear from her anymore.

  “Next up is Beth. She’s more like me, a nurturer at heart. She went off to join the Peace Corps and she just sent me a postcard from Nigeria, where she’s nursing sick children back to health. And second to last is Christina; she’s in
school at Cambridge right now. She wants to follow in Millie’s footsteps, and I suspect she’ll do it, because she’s every bit as bright. And last is my darlin’ lamb,” Sarah said with a sigh. “Roisinn.”

  “Excuse me?” I gasped. “Did you say Roy-shin?”

  Sarah looked a bit startled by my reaction but explained, “Aye. It’s her given name. It’s Celtic for ‘baby rose.’ ”

  I wanted to slap my forehead. Roisinn wasn’t a boy’s name. It was a girl’s. I’d totally sent Gilley in the wrong direction both with how to spell the name and what gender to look for.

  Heath and I exchanged a meaningful glance, just as the door to the back room opened up and the very girl we were discussing stood there looking sweaty and uncomfortable. “I need your help again, Mum.”

  “I’ll be right there, dear,” Sarah promised. “Did you want to purchase those, Miss Holliday?” she asked me, indicating the toys for Wendell still clutched in my arms.

  “Um . . . ,” I said, caught off guard by Rose’s appearance. “Sure.”

  I followed behind Sarah as Rose gave Heath and me a disapproving look and disappeared into the back again. While Sarah was ringing me up, I mentioned casually, “We saw Rose at Cameron’s funeral. I’m so sorry for her loss.”

  For the first time since we’d come into the shop, Sarah’s genteel demeanor changed. “Oh, that cad,” she said with a flip of her hand. “Our Heavenly Father might not approve of what I’m about to say, but I’m not sorry he’s gone.”

  “Why not?” Heath asked, again sneaking a pointed look at me.

  Sarah placed the toys in a bag. “He was a horrible match for my Rose,” she said. “Horrible. He chased after her, you know, seduced her right under me nose. I didn’t come to find out about it until the poor thing was already with child. And even though my sister had already left the sorry sot, it still caused terrible problems between us.”

  “Have you mended fences with your sister?” I asked, hoping that Sarah wouldn’t feel I was overly nosy.

  She handed me the package and nodded. “Aye,” she said. “And she’s revealed a lot that’s helped me make sense of what my poor Rose has been through.”

  “You mean Cameron’s death?” Heath said.

  Sarah shook her head and leaned forward. Speaking low, she said, “No, that Camey was having another affair. He was cheating with a girl on the other side of town. And it was no wonder to me then why he wouldn’t marry my daughter, given her condition, the lying oaf. He wanted his cake and to eat it too.”

  I held a hand to my mouth, shocked by all that Sarah was revealing to us. If she knew why we were interested, she’d never tell us so much. “Did your daughter know about the other woman?”

  Sarah was about to answer when Rose stuck her head back out of the door again. “Mum!” she snapped. “Are you comin’?”

  Sarah’s cheeks tinted and she looked rather guilty as she bade us a good-bye. “Sorry to cut our chat short,” she said, bustling over to her daughter in the doorway. “Give that pug of yours a right big hug, if you would?”

  “I’ll do that, Sarah. Thank you.”

  She smiled broadly. “He was one of my favorite rescues,” she said. “Such a good pup. I just know he’ll make a wonderful addition to your own family.”

  I knew it too. “Thank you again, Sarah,” I said, waving my good-bye.

  When we got out to the street, I told Heath, “Let’s get back to the hotel and call an immediate meeting!”

  Heath was already sending text messages. “I’m on it,” he said. And we were off.

  Chapter 15

  We made it back to the hotel and hurried to the bar. Gilley, Meg, and Gopher were already there, but John and Kim were still missing. “They’re on their way,” Gopher explained with a hint of irritation. “They were in line buying tickets or something.”

  Heath frowned. “Sounds like they’re enjoying their vacation.”

  “I know, right?” Gopher replied. “I swear, if we didn’t need every member of this crew right now, I’d fire their asses.”

  “Fire whose asses?” Kim said as she and John joined us.

  Gopher was caught off guard. “Uh, the waitstaff,” he said. “They take forever to get your drinks.”

  Kim smiled and set down a pink flyer she’d carried in. The color caught my eye, so I read the large caption. Take a tour of Scotland’s most haunted locations!

  I squinted at the paper. “Is this Fergus’s tour?”

  Kim smiled and smoothed her hand over the paper. “Yeah,” she said. “It’s the talk of the town ever since rumors of the witch being back cropped up. John and I wanted to take the full tour last night to check it out for research—you know, to maybe see if there was anything on the tour that might help you guys out. Fergus only took us to the first part of his tour when we first came here to scout out locations. Anyway, we thought we’d pick his brain along the way and maybe get something that could assist us with the bust.”

  “But the tour was canceled due to the weather, so we caught a movie instead,” John said.

  I nodded and caught Heath staring at me impatiently. He wanted to discuss Rose and our theory. I got straight to the point. “We know who called up the witch,” I said.

  Gopher, Gilley, Meg, Kim, and John all stared at us with mouths agape and said, “Who?!”

  “Rose Summers.”

  No one seemed to recognize the name. “Who?” Gilley asked again.

  “Sarah Summers’s youngest daughter,” I clarified. “She was Cameron’s girlfriend.”

  “How could she have called up the witch?” Kim asked.

  “Sarah Summers and Katherine McKay are the witch’s descendants,” Heath explained. “Only someone blood-related could have called up the witch, and Sarah Summers was the seventh daughter of Allister McKay. A few centuries ago the McKays owned a castle where Rigella’s baby sister was taken after she was raped by the mob. She gave birth to a little girl who must have been adopted by the McKays and given their name to hide her from anyone still angry at the witch.”

  “It gets even better, Gil,” I said. “Rose’s Celtic name is pronounced Roy-shin, but it’s spelled R-o-i-s-i-n-n.”

  “No way!” Gil said, digging into his messenger bag for his notes. “I found that name early on in my research, but I didn’t think that’s how you pronounced it and I thought I was looking for a boy!” He showed me the small chart he’d drawn from the research he’d done that traced everyone back to the year the witch had died. “See?” I said, pointing to her name. “Roisinn is listed here. She married Peter McKay seventeen years after the witch was killed!”

  “So the McKays did bring her up,” Heath said.

  “And if we follow this thread,” I said, moving my hand carefully through the marriages and finally landing on Katherine and Sarah’s line, “we can see that these guys really are related to the witch!”

  “Tell him about the seventh daughter of the seventh daughter!” Heath encouraged. “You know the myth about how the seventh offspring of the seventh offspring is supposed to have magical powers?”

  By now, Gopher had gotten out his video camera to record our conversation, and I ignored him while I focused on Gil. “Sarah is the seventh daughter of her parents’ children, and Rose is Sarah’s seventh daughter. Rose is the seventh daughter of the seventh daughter!” I said, which won me another surprised look from the group.

  “That is freaky!” Kim said, leaning over my shoulder to look at the chart. “Oh, hey, Gilley! Your family intermarried with the McKays too!”

  Gilley frowned distastefully. “Yes, I know,” he said. “The traitors.”

  “And so did the Ericsons,” she added. “See? Right here. Pheona Ericson married Gabriel Gillespie! Then, their daughter Clementine married William Hill! I’ll bet that means you and Fergus are distantly related!”

  Again, that tiny, niggling thought at the back of my mind began to creep out of its hiding place, but I became distracted again by what Heath was saying. “We also learned that Cameron was cheating on Rose,” Heath said. “The poor woman is ready to give birth and her boyfriend is sleeping all over town.”

  “So she called up the witc
h to get even with him?” Gopher asked.

  I shook my head. “No, she called up the witch to cover up his murder.”

  “You really think she murdered Cameron?” John asked.

  I nodded. I knew it in my gut. “Yes,” I said. “I’m sure of it. You should have seen her at the funeral—she just looked totally guilty, like someone realizing they’ve done a terrible thing, but there’s no way to repair the damage.”

  Heath scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Something about her as the murderer doesn’t add up, though, M. J.,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Well, you saw Rose. She’s nine months pregnant. How did she kill Cameron and get him into the freezer, then pull him into the street so that Gilley’s van could run over him? Plus, how did she know where the brake lines were to cut them? Most girls I know barely know how to check for oil.”

  I decided not to take offense at that and focus on the question. Before I could answer, however, Heath added to the debate by saying, “And for that matter, how did she know we were coming? Cameron was killed over a fortnight ago, before Kim and John got here to scout out the location. Did you guys visit with a pregnant lady and discuss our plans to come here?”

  Both Kim and John shook their heads.

  “How’d you find out about this village anyway?” I wondered.

  John said, “All we did was plug European haunted locations into Google and came up with some choices. We hit on Fergus’s Web site, came here to check it out, and only stayed one night before we left early the next morning.”

  “So Rose couldn’t have known ahead of time that a Gillespie was coming to the village,” Heath concluded. He then offered another fly in the ointment. “Also, if Rose is responsible, why did she also murder Joseph Hill? I mean, the two murders have to be related, don’t they? I think she could probably have strangled him if she caught him by surprise, but there’s no way she alone could have strung him up in that tree.”

  “She must have had help,” Gilley said.

  “But what about Jack McLaren?” Gopher asked. “You know,” he said when everyone looked curiously at him. “The maintenance worker who died down in the close. Do you think he was murdered too?”