Little Secrets (21 page)

Peg didn't have an answer for that, at least not one that came out of her mouth. Ginny's sister's thoughts rolled over her face in a series of twitches and glances that required a lifetime of interpretation to understand. Fortunately, Ginny'd known her sister for her entire life. Peg didn't believe Sean was trying to drive Ginny crazy, but she didn't quite believe Ginny's stories, either.

Ginny frowned and got up to dump her cooling cocoa in the sink. “I don't care if you believe me or not. I'm telling you, weird things are going on in this house.”

“Maybe you should have Father Simon come over.”

Ginny turned, brows raised. “What? Why… Oh, Peg. Really? Look, I know you're trying to get me back into the fold and all that, but this is a really crappy way of doing it.”

Peg had the grace to look guilty, but then defiant. “It wouldn't kill you to get a little religion.”

“I don't go to church. Period. Why on earth would Father Simon come over to investigate my missing mug?”

“He'd just come over to talk to you, that's all. If you and Sean are having issues…”

“I'm not taking marital advice from a man who's not only not married, but will never be married and in fact has never, in all likelihood, ever even had sex,” Ginny added. “And besides that, it's not his business if Sean and I are having problems. I didn't say we were having problems!”

She rinsed her mug and put it in the dishwasher, refusing to look at Peg. Her sister's mug scraped on the table. Then her chair skidded on the floor.

“It was just a suggestion,” Peg said.

Ginny turned, not wanting to fight with her sister. “I know.”

“I'm not saying you're having problems. Just that it wouldn't be a surprise if you were. I mean, this is a stressful time. A move, new house, you're not working. The baby,” Peg said quietly. “I wouldn't be surprised at all if it was affecting your sleep or making you susceptible to strange ideas.”

“Did Sean tell you that? That I haven't been sleeping?”

Peg looked caught. “He said he was worried.”

“I'm fine. And it's not my lack of sleep, I'm not imagining these things, and we aren't having any problems.” Ginny scowled. “I can't believe you're going to believe him over me anyway.”

“Because you think he's gaslighting you? Oh, Ginny. Really? Sean?”

Ginny stabbed a finger in the air. “I don't want to believe it, no! But knowing he went and talked to you behind my back about how crazy I am only makes that seem more likely, doesn't it?”

“I'd believe in a ghost before I'd believe your husband was trying to drive you crazy.”

“Aha!” Ginny cried triumphantly. “Yes! You see what I'm talking about?”

“I'd also believe you were crazy before I believed you had a ghost.” Peg smirked and took her cup to the dishwasher. She studied her sister up close, seriously. “Talk to Father Simon, Ginny. Do it as a favor to me.”

“Do
me
a favor and stop trying to foist him on me.”

Peg sighed and closed the dishwasher. “Fine, fine. Whatever. But don't ask me to do that devil board with you, and get rid of it. Don't have it in your house. Even if you think it can't do anything bad, it's a bad influence. And don't do it by yourself!”

“Oh, like in
Witchboard
?” Ginny hadn't thought about that, she'd been focused on the idea that two people were required to use it.

“I don't know what that is, but it sounds bad. Promise me you won't use it alone. That's how the demonic influences get inside you. Promise me!”

Peg seemed so serious that Ginny nodded. “I promise. Of course. Fine. I'll toss it in the trash as soon as you leave. I promise, Peg.”

Peg eyed her suspiciously, but then nodded. “Good. Call me later, okay?”

“Fine. Yes.” Ginny ushered her sister to the door, accepted her hugs and more advice, because that was what her sister did. But when the door closed, she didn't call her sister's priest to come over for dinner, and she didn't dump the Ouija board in the garbage either.

It wasn't the first time she'd broken a promise.

Chapter Thirty

Candles were supposed to be romantic, Ginny thought. But when the power went out and your husband had misplaced the rechargeable flashlight and blamed you for it, candlelight was only annoying. In the kitchen she'd lit a series of tea lights in every single holder she could find. In the living room she'd lit a couple of jar candles, and in the dining room, collected in the center of the old, scarred table on a porcelain platter, she'd lit three huge pillar candles. The scents—pine needles, vanilla, cinnamon and something called Misty Memories—warred with one another. With her stomach too.

The light was pretty, golden and flickering over the old, polished wood. It hid all the flaws in the plaster, the dust in the grooves of the carved wood. It made shadows, though. Moving, deceitful shadows.

Ginny looked at the board in front of her. She should put it away, get in the car and go anywhere until the power came back on. But she didn't have the strength to face the Christmas mall crowds, frenzied by all the sales. She wasn't hungry and didn't want to sit by herself in a restaurant. And coffee shops had soured for her. Besides, Sean would be home in an hour or two and by then she'd be ready to eat. He could take her out to dinner if the electricity wasn't back on. Buy her a new rechargeable flashlight. Hell, a generator, if this was the sort of thing that was going to keep happening.

For now, she studied the board in front of her. Her fingers curled and pressed the cool plastic. She closed her eyes and drew a breath, anticipation tingling in her fingertips as she waited for the planchette to move.

Nothing.

Maybe she had to say something. Some sort of greeting? “Hello.”

Still nothing. She inched her fingers toward her and the planchette moved easily enough on the little felt pads at the ends of its legs. No friction or resistance. Ginny moved it around in a circle, then a figure eight, but she could tell it was her making it go. Not spiritual forces.

“Is there…anyone here?”

For a second it seemed like the planchette twitched, but as she waited, breathless, nothing else happened. With a frown, Ginny sat back and stared at it. In the flickering light, the shadows beneath the planchette made it look like it was wiggling, just a little, but when she touched it, she could feel nothing.

She tried again, letting her fingertips rest so lightly on the plastic she was almost not touching it at all.

“Caroline? Caroline Miller. I'm talking to you.” Ginny hadn't meant to let her voice drop so low and growly, but speaking at full volume seemed silly. She took a breath and held it for a second before letting it seep out through her nostrils. The smells of the melting wax made her want to sneeze.

The Ouija board did nothing. Frustrated, Ginny thumped her fist on the table. The planchette jumped and skewed a little, the pointer facing her.

“C'mon. I know there's someone here. I know you're in this house. Caroline,” Ginny said. “I have your suitcase. With your things in it. With your diary. I haven't read it yet, out of respect, but maybe…maybe you want me to read it? Why did you put those things up there in the closet? Why didn't you want anyone to find them?”

That was a dumb question, she realized. Of course Caroline wouldn't want anyone to find her box of secrets. Ginny wouldn't have wanted anyone reading her diary when she was thirteen or fourteen either. She thought of her own little secrets. She wouldn't want anyone knowing of them now, though hers had been much more easily hidden and erased.

But not forgotten.

“Do you want me to read this journal?” Ginny put her fingertips back on the planchette. “Will it tell me what happened to you?”

The candles flickered as though someone had blown a breath across the flames. Ginny froze, catching sight of motion from the corner of her eye. She turned, slowly, slowly and saw only shadows growing longer and shorter as the candle flames moved. Still, there was a presence here. She felt it, didn't she? The weight of someone's gaze. She strained to hear the sound of breathing, the creak of floorboards. The back of her neck prickled.

She whipped her head around, preparing to scream at the sight of some ghostly figure floating toward her with its mouth yawning wide to eat her up.

Nothing.

With a shuddery sigh, Ginny pushed the board away from her. Maybe Peg had been right. It was dangerous to do this alone, if only because of the things it made her imagine.

She was sliding the box back into its place on the shelf in the living room when the lights splashed across the front windows and tires crunched in the drive. She pulled the curtain enough to peek out, then met Sean at the door, opening it wide and stepping back out of the way so he could come in.

“Creepy.” He unwrapped his scarf and hung it on the coatrack, then set his briefcase at the foot of the stairs where he'd forget it repeatedly until she bugged him about it.

“What's creepy?” Ginny rubbed her arms against the chill breeze he'd brought in with him.

“The way you opened the door, like nobody was there.” He leaned to kiss her, but absently. “What's with the candles? Did I miss something? It's not our anniversary…”

“The power's out.”

He grinned at her, his teeth flashing white in the dim light. “You're kidding, right? Here I thought you were planning some romantic dinner surprise. I got excited there for a minute, thinking about heart-shaped meat loaf.”

“I couldn't cook anything without power.” Guilt groped at her like a drunken prom date. It had been a long time since she'd surprised him with anything like that. The fact she hadn't even thought about it felt worse than the fact she hadn't done it.

Sean looked over his shoulder. “How long's the power been out?”

“About an hour.”

“Well…” he shrugged and gave her a confused look, “…are you sure? I mean, did you check it?”

“It's dark outside, Sean. I think I'd notice if the lights suddenly came back on.”

“No, I mean…did you call the electric company or anything? Because everyone else on the street seems to have power.”

This first stunned her, then annoyed her. She went automatically to the wall switch, already squinting against the flare of light she expected when she flipped it. But, like the Ouija board's reluctance to perform, the lights didn't respond either.

She couldn't keep the triumph from her voice. “No. See? Out. Just like all those other times.”

“Shit.” Sean reached around her to flip the switch on and off several times. “The whole rest of the street's lit up. Nobody else is dark. Must be another fuse.”

“Of course it is.”

“Still, why'd you sit here in the dark?”

“Because the last time I went downstairs to look at the fuse box you told me I shouldn't. So I didn't,” Ginny said carefully. So carefully.

Sean said nothing.

“I'm getting really tired of this, Sean.”

He rubbed her arms gently. “Yeah, yeah. I know.”

“I mean, the power goes on and off if a squirrel sneezes in the yard. It's winter; it's dark a lot earlier and cold.” She was getting ramped up and wanted to stop, but couldn't. “It's ridiculous, Sean! We just bought this house; we paid more for the extra-detailed home inspection. Why does this keep happening?”

To give her husband credit, he took her near hysteria in stride. He pulled her close and pressed his lips to her hair. With her cheek against the front of his jacket, the heat in her face faded. She fisted her hands in the material and closed her eyes, willing herself to remember this was not that big a deal.

“I'll get an electrician in here.”

“We can't afford it,” she muttered against him. “Those guys charge an arm and a leg just to come through the front door, not to mention, God forbid, he finds something wrong.”

Sean's back straightened. “I wish you'd quit worrying so much about money.”

“I wish we had more,” Ginny said. “Then I wouldn't worry.”

For a moment, his hands tightened around her. Then he let her go, stepped back and headed for the kitchen. Ginny followed.

“I know you don't want me picking up a part-time job—”

He stopped in the kitchen so fast she almost ran into him. He turned, and even in the shaky, dim light from three-dozen tea lights, she could see his look of scorn. “Ginny, get real. Get a part-time job? Like that?” He gestured at her jutting belly.

“Pregnant women work all the time.”

He put his hands on her upper arms, but unlike the soft caress of earlier, this time his fingers pinched a little too hard. “I don't care.”

“You're hurting me.”

He softened his grip and rubbed to take away the sting. “I'm sorry.”

She knew he hadn't done it on purpose, but moved away from him anyway. “I've always worked part time during the Christmas season. And it would help, Sean. A lot.”

“I don't want anything to happen to you. That's all. Can't you understand that? Jesus,” he added so suddenly, so fiercely, she jumped. “I can't believe we even have to go over this again.”

“I understand why you wouldn't want me to work doing what I was doing. I get that. But a few shifts here and there at the bookstore, or—”

“I'm going to check the fuse box.”

“Fine.” Ginny pushed past him and into the dining room, ostensibly to get her now-cold tea, but mostly to avoid snapping at him. She braced herself for the question about the flashlight, already biting her tongue, but all she heard was the thud of his shoes on the basement steps.

A couple minutes after that, the lights came on.

The sudden brightness stung her eyes, the perfect excuse for tears. Ginny blinked them away, went to the kitchen to pour her tea in the sink. She wet a paper towel and dabbed her face with it too.

“It was a fuse again,” Sean said from behind her.

She hadn't heard him come up, and startled, a hand on her heart. “God. You scared me.”

He had the flashlight in one hand, unlit now. “Sorry.”

“Where'd you get the flashlight?”

Sean gave her a funny look as he ducked out of the doorway, presumably to hang it back on the nail and plug it in. “What do you mean?”

“It was gone.” He had to remember the argument. Or maybe he didn't. Sean had a way of pushing things to the back of his mind that he didn't want to remember.

“I just figured you put it back.”

“I didn't.”

Sean sighed, looking weary. “Ginny, I'm starving and exhausted. Can we just…not do this now?”

“Do what?” Tears threatened again. Knowing it was pregnancy hormones didn't help. She hated this up and down, this constant topsy-turvy. “Talk? Discuss how this is the same flashlight that went missing and you accused me of taking it, or, what, I don't know, hiding it from you or something, but when it was my mug that was gone, you wouldn't even—”

“Enough!” he cried too loud. “Christ. Just…enough. Okay?”

“Fine.” She looked away from him and breathed in. Somehow, she found it within her to reach for his hands, to link their fingers. She looked at him, her husband, the man she'd bound herself to until death did them part. “Want me to make you something to eat? I can heat up some pot roast. I know there's some in the freezer. Why don't you go take a hot shower and I'll make dinner. Then maybe we can watch a movie or something?”

“I have some homework…” He hesitated. She let go of his hands, but he grabbed hers back. “No, pot roast sounds good. And a movie. That sounds great.”

He went upstairs, and Ginny went into the kitchen to pull leftovers from the freezer and put them in the microwave. She hesitated before pushing the button, but this time the lights stayed on. No blown fuses.

She rinsed the empty Brownie bowl and held it to the light for a moment. She hadn't filled it for a few days because she'd been meaning to pick up some of the licorice treats Sean liked, but hadn't remembered the last time she was at the store. She did have some wrapped butterscotch candies—Sean didn't like them, Ginny thought with a small smile, but maybe the Brownies did. They were in the pantry, and she steeled herself out of habit before she went in.

Ginny had avoided the pantry closet since the baby shower, unloading her weekly loads of groceries and cleaning supplies as fast as she could or making Sean do it. Every time she went inside it, she couldn't stop her skin from crawling with the memory of the flies swarming all over her. Worse now was the fact that the closet was so narrow—with her increased bulk she could go in but could barely turn around enough to get out without backing out.

It was hot, as usual, though, thank God, the smell had gone away and there was no evidence at all of flies of any kind. Still, Ginny kept a foot propped against the door to keep it from swinging shut as she reached for the bag of candy on the shelf. It was right where she'd left it. But there was something else too.

A red collar with a jingle bell.

With a cry, Ginny clutched it, mindless that the door shut behind her. She pressed it to her heart. “Oh, Noodles.”

The cat had gone, and unlike the folk song, it didn't seem like she was coming back. But there was this, at least. Ginny closed her eyes against tears for a moment. Then she opened them. She kissed the collar and rubbed the soft leather for a moment, making the bell jingle. Then she tucked it away inside an unused kitchen crock and tapped the lid gently.

Sean wouldn't understand. He might even think she put the collar there, which would raise uncomfortable questions about where the cat had gone. What had happened to her. What part Ginny had played in her disappearance.

“Thank you,” Ginny said aloud. “Thank you, Caroline. And…please…keep Noodles safe with you. Love her a lot…for me.”