“Well, aren’t you?” Milo asked.
I thought about that for a minute. The truth was I was scared to go near that house. I’d had a few rough experiences with ghosts in my youth, and didn’t relish having a fresh encounter. “Tell you what,” I said, trying to bargain, “I’ll ask Theresa if she knows of anyone local who can help us out. I mean, I’ve only read up on the subject, I haven’t exactly helped a ghost cross over.”
Dutch looked at Milo and winked, “Somebody’s scared,” he sang.
“You know what, Dutch?” I said, getting snippy. “I couldn’t help noticing how fast you bolted out of that basement the moment that woman disappeared today. Since she obviously likes you, maybe you should be the one to help her cross over.”
“What the hell do I know about it?” he complained a little too quickly.
Milo and I chuckled, and I said, “So maybe calling in an expert is the right way to go?”
“Yeah, that might be best,” he said, as Milo and I laughed again.
Later that night after I’d helped Dutch get settled on his couch, I crawled upstairs and called Theresa from Dutch’s bedroom. “Hello?” a male voice answered.
“Brett!” I said, excited to hear Theresa’s husband’s voice.
“Abby? Hey! How the heck are ya?”
“I’m great pal, Happy New Year to you,” I said, suddenly realizing how much I missed my old friends.
“And to you. You looking for Theresa?”
“Yeah. Is she around?”
“No, sorry. She’s at the studio doing some of the promos for the show.” Theresa had been lured to California with the promise of a television career. Currently she was in preproduction for a local cable show based on her amazing talent, with the promise that the show could be picked up nationally if local response was positive.
“Would you pass along a message for me?” I asked.
“Sure.”
“Can you tell her to call me the moment she gets a chance? I have something kind of urgent I need to talk to her about.”
“Is everything okay?” he asked, sounding worried.
“Oh, sure. Everything’s fine.” Liar, liar . . . pants on fire . . . “I just need her expertise for something.”
“Good to know. I’ll make sure she gets the message. She won’t be home until about ten our time, is that going to be too late for you?”
I looked at the clock and thought about how tired I was. “Yeah, I’m afraid that might be. Ask her if she has any time over the next day or so to give me a call on my cell.”
“Will do. It was good to hear your voice, Abby,” he said, his own voice kind. “We miss you.”
“Ditto, Brett. On all counts. I’ll talk to you soon.”
We hung up and I sat back on the bed, melancholy settling into my tired bones. Theresa and I had been best friends and business partners for four years before she moved out to California. It had been a big adjustment getting used to her not being around. And with a three-hour time difference between us and our busy schedules there seemed to be little time for phone calls. The sad truth was that we talked less and less.
Just as my eyelids began to feel heavy the phone rang. “Hello?” I answered, picking up the line.
“How’s your boyfriend?” my sister said.
“Hey there, Cat,” I said perking up. “He’s recovering well, thanks for asking.”
“Least I could do. And how’s our little investment coming along? I’m assuming the closing went smoothly?”
Uh-oh. I’d forgotten to bring her up to speed on the haunted house. “Uhhh . . .” I began. “We’ve run into a tiny snafu.”
“What kind of snafu?” she asked, tension creeping into her voice.
“It’s nothing huge,” I said, trying to reassure her. “Nothing we can’t overcome.”
“Abby what are you talking about?” she demanded.
“The thing of it is,” I said, pausing to think how best to explain this weird development concerning our investment property, “it appears the house is haunted.”
“Oh, is that all?” she laughed, relief filling the airwaves. “God! For a minute there I thought you were going to tell me something awful, like we couldn’t get the work permits or something.”
Only my sister would think not getting a work permit was worse than dealing with a haunted house. “Yeah, well it scared the hell out of Dave,” I said, trying to impart the seriousness of the situation.
“Oh, pish-posh,” she said dismissively. “You tell him I said get back to work and stop acting like a sissy-girl!”
“Gee, Cat. That’s so sensitive of you,” I said woodenly.
“Oh, come on, Abby! You cannot seriously expect me to be sympathetic to a little ghost sighting! What harm can one little Casper do? After all, it’s dead!”
I didn’t want to argue with her anymore so I simply said, “Listen, I’m beat, so I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
“Fine,” Cat replied. “But you tell Dave to quit being a baby and get back to work.”
“I hear ya, gotta go, good night,” I said.
We hung up and again I lay back on the bed. No sooner had I closed my eyes than the phone rang again. “Hello?” I asked tentatively.
“Hey sweethot,” my favorite baritone said in his best Humphrey Bogart voice. “What’cha wearing?”
“Dutch?” I said sitting up in bed. “Where’re you calling from?”
“Downstairs. I’m calling from my business line.”
“What’s up?” I asked.
“What’cha wearing?” he repeated, his voice a husky whisper.
I giggled and said, “My new necklace.”
“Anything else?” he asked playfully.
“Nope . . . I’m naked.”
“Oooo,” he said, his voice growing thicker. “Want to come down here and give me a fashion show?”
“What are you doing?” I asked, in a tone that was just a smidgen more serious.
“Lying on the couch talkin’ to my girl.”
“No,” I said patiently. “I meant that the doctor told you to take it easy for the next several weeks. That precludes any hanky-panky.”
“Can’t I just have some hanky?” he asked.
“I’m hanging up.”
“Okay, okay,” he said, “but if you get scared and need someone to hold you in the middle of the night, you’d better be naked.”
“Good night,” I sang and hung up the phone.
As I curled myself around Eggy and finally closed my eyes, I couldn’t help but wonder about the woman we’d seen at the bottom of the stairs. What was her story and how had she come to such a tragic end? I shivered as I thought about the prospect of having to deal with a ghost. I’m really scared of them. But if I wanted to get out of this mess I’d have to figure out a way to un-haunt my investment so that I could get my handyman to finish the job. I was the one stuck making the payments, so unless we solved the mystery and got back to work, I’d be paying for it for the next thirty years. And, I had a little less than a month to take care of it before I’d have to head back to the office and my busy reading schedule, so I didn’t have any time to waste. I made the decision right then to head down to the library first thing in the morning and search through the papers to see if I could find a news story about the tragedy. Something was telling me though, that this wasn’t going to be as simple as that. If I’d only known then that that wasn’t even the half of it.
Chapter Four
“Excuse me,” I said to the woman behind the counter at the Royal Oak Library’s information desk.
She looked up and focused her attention on me. “May I help you?”
“Can you tell me if you know of any local newspapers other than the ones listed here?” I’d been at the library since it opened and for the past three hours I’d been going over reel after reel of microfilm from every local paper I could think of, trying to find any mention or note of 172 Fern Street.
“Hmm,” she said as she looked over
my list. “Let me just double-check.” She began typing on her computer. After a moment she squinted at her computer screen, then quickly scanned over my list again. “Nope. You have them all here.”
“I was afraid of that,” I said, my shoulders slumping in disappointment.
“Can’t find a particular article?” she asked.
“Yeah. See, I just bought this house in town and I wanted to research its history, but I’m not finding anything on it.”
“I see.” She squinted again in concentration. “Have you checked the county’s title registry?”
“The what?”
“Sometimes there are interesting things to be found on the property’s title. You can research who the property belonged to and if there were any significant liens on the title.”
“Hmmm,” I said, silently slapping my forehead. “Now why didn’t I think of that?”
“Happy to help,” she said as she returned to sorting some periodicals.
“I’m happy you helped too, and by the way, congratulations,” I added, feeling a particular buzz in her energy.
“Congratulations?” she repeated. “For what?”
“Your engagement.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re engaged, right?”
“No.”
“But you have a steady boyfriend, correct?” I persisted, convinced I wasn’t wrong.
“Yes, but—”
“And your boyfriend has a connection to Canada, right?”
“Yes, he’s Canadian, but how—”
“And he’s into cars, like he fixes up cars that have dents in them, right?”
“Uh . . . yes, he owns an auto body repair shop . . . how do you know all this?” she demanded, clearly spooked.
I smiled wisely at her, then reached into my purse and pulled out my card, which I handed over to her. “He’s going to pop the question any minute, and he’s just waiting for the perfect moment. There’s some sort of family reunion or birthday party or something coming up, and my guess is that’s when he’s going to make the announcement.”
“Ohmigod!” she squealed. “We’re headed to Windsor this weekend for his mother’s birthday, and he’s been acting all weird lately! I thought he was getting ready to break up with me!”
“Nope. He just doesn’t want you to guess what he’s up to.” I suddenly felt sheepish for spoiling the surprise. “Sorry I spilled the beans.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful!” she said, coming around the counter to give me an impromptu hug. “I would have been completely caught off guard if I hadn’t known, and I probably would have made a fool of myself in front of his family. Thank you so much!”
“Happy to help.”
As I walked out of the library the back pocket of my jeans began to vibrate. Reaching behind I pulled out my cell phone and flipped it open. “Abby Cooper,” I announced brusquely.
“Hey, girlfriend!”
“Theresa!” I exclaimed, hurrying down the steps of the library as a brisk January wind whipped my hair wildly about my head.
“I got your message yesterday, but this is the first chance I’ve had to call you back. It sounded urgent, what’s up?”
“Something freaky—even for us,” I explained as I got into my car, relieved to be out of the cold.
“Do tell,” she said. I mentally pictured her sweeping her curly chestnut hair behind her ear as she focused on our conversation. Although I hadn’t seen my best friend in six months, I knew her well enough to remember every small habit.
“It appears I’ve just purchased my very own haunted house.”
“The one you mentioned in your last e-mail?”
“Yep. And this ghost appears to have a violent streak.”
“Are you okay? What happened?” she asked, sounding worried.
“I’m fine,” I assured her, and then went on to explain the strange events of the day before.
When I was done, Theresa said, “You’re right, that is freaky, even for us. Do you want my help?”
I smiled broadly. “Thought you’d never ask. Do you have time now?” Theresa was offering to attempt to connect with the deceased energy inhabiting my investment property.
“Sure do. Got something to write with?”
I reached into my glove compartment and extracted a pen and a notepad, “Check. Fire when ready, Captain.”
Theresa giggled. “Great, give me just a minute here . . .” I waited patiently for her to collect herself and get into mode. “Okay, I’ve got your grandmother, Margaret, here. I’m asking her about this new house and the first thing I’m picking up is that there’s something about a French connection here.”
“French?” I repeated, remembering my vision of the café and the French flag waving from the doorway.
“Yes, did you already pick up on that? Because Margaret is giving me the feeling that this isn’t news to you.”
I laughed and said, “Yeah, when we first bought the house I had a vision of a little café with a French flag waving from the doorway.”
“Cool! So we’re definitely in sync. The next thing I’m getting is that there’s a World War II connection here. And I feel like you also got this already too.”
“Right on the money, girlfriend,” I confirmed.
“Great. Now I’m getting the name John . . . no . . . wait . . . Paul. Abby, do you know if there was someone living there named John or Paul?”
“Unfortunately, I haven’t snooped around that far yet. I was on my way over to the county clerk to research the property’s title, but I’ll make a note of the names.”
“Good. It’s weird because I keep hearing a ‘J’ for John and then a ‘P’ for Paul. Maybe they were brothers?”
“Hmmm. That could be. Dave told me that the house was owned by a man whose grandfather had willed it to him. Maybe he has a brother.”
“Okay, I’m also getting an ‘L’, like Lisa, but this is weird. In my head it sounds like ‘lie’ and then ‘sa,’ so I believe there’s a Lisa or Liza connection.”
“Got it,” I said writing down both names.
“I’m going to try and reach out to this Liza woman. I think she’s the one you and Dutch saw at the bottom of the stairwell.”
“Can you do that?”
“I can try, hang on a minute.”
I sat still as a statue, waiting excitedly to hear if Theresa could make a connection to the woman. Maybe we’d get lucky and she would tell us what happened to her. After a few minutes Theresa said into the silence, “Damn. Abby, I’m sorry, but this energy just won’t come forward. I can feel her hovering there, and your grandmother is working really hard to bring her through, but this woman doesn’t trust us. All I get is that there’s some sort of a connection to World War II. There’s also some theft or someone stole something really valuable and that’s what is keeping her trapped between the two planes. I feel like she tried to take back something that belonged to her but wasn’t successful, and she won’t leave it, whatever it is. She’s watching over it and won’t move on until she knows it’s safe. There’s also something more sinister here, and I want you to be very careful in that house because whoever stole this thing of value is still in there.”
“You mean, someone’s coming in when we aren’t there?”
“No. This person isn’t alive. There’s a very dark energy connected to the house. Whenever I try and reach out to it, this energy sends some seriously negative vibrations. I would venture to say there’s someone evil still prowling that house. It’s definitely male, and there’s a connection to John or Paul and he’s also looking for this thing of value. I get the feeling he’s hunting it and trying to protect it too.”
“Bizarre!”
“Extremely.”
“So what’s the connection between these two energies?” I asked.
“All I keep getting is this reference to World War II.”
“This gets stranger by the minute,” I said, leaning back in my seat.
“I know. Listen,
they’re all pulling their energies back, so I’m going to cut the connection . . . wait . . . your grandmother has one more message for you.” Theresa paused while she listened intently. After a moment she said, “Abby, you need to be very careful of the twins.”
“Twins?”
“Yes. The twins. She is insisting that you be careful of the twins.”
“My nephews?” I asked, not getting what she meant and coming up with the only twins I knew.
“No, definitely not them. But that’s all I get. She keeps repeating it, ‘Be very careful of the twins.’ ”
“Okay,” I said, shaking my head not knowing what else to say.
“That’s it. She’s pulled her energy back.”
“Wow! Now I have more questions than I did before I called you,” I said, trying to make light of the tension that had suddenly entered the conversation.
“I’ll bet. So, you’re going to take Margaret’s advice, right? You’ll be careful?”
“I’d love to take her advice, but until I meet John and Paul, who I’m guessing are the twins she was talking about, I don’t know how cautious I can be.”
“I could try again for you later on if you’d like?” Theresa offered.
I smiled. I knew what it cost Theresa every time she reached out her antennae to an energy that had crossed over. As a medium, she tends to tire far more easily than I do, and I knew that thanks to her private sessions and the taping of her local television show she must be doing a lot of readings. “No, that’s okay, honey. You’ve already done more than your share. But I do have a question. Do you know any ghost busters?”
Theresa laughed. “As in, ‘Who ya gonna call?’ ”
“Something like that.”
“You’re still scared of the dark, aren’t you, Abby?”
“Terrified.”
“Well, as a matter of fact I do. I got this woman’s name from a client of mine. I hear she’s pretty pricey, but you may want to check her out.”
“Cool, how do I reach her?”
“Hold on a sec while I get my address book out . . .” Theresa said as I listened to paper shuffling. After a moment Theresa said, “Here it is. Her name is M. J. Holliday, and her cell number is five-five-five, six-two-g-h-o-s-t.”