What's a Ghoul to Do? (24 page)

"Got it. Anything else?"

"Yes. There's a second ghost in this house. Her name is Maureen. Andrew keeps referring to either the letter M or someone named Em, like Emily. Nose around; maybe some of the locals know who this Maureen was and what her connection was to Andrew. Also, see if there's a link to an Em or Emily while you're at it, just to cover all the bases."

"I'm on it. I'll call you on your cell when I get something."

"Thanks, Gil. Hope the tush feels better soon."

I clicked off with Gilley and set the phone on the counter. What'd he say?" Steven wanted to know.

"He's all over it."

"Do you think he'll find out something?"

"I do. Gilley's a whiz at this stuff. Trust me."

Steven nodded, then pushed away from the counter he'd been leaning on and said, "Time to go."

I cocked my head at him and asked, "Where to?"

"The second branch off the path. I believe it leads somewhere. Remember the little orbitals?"

"You mean the orbs?"

"Yes, those too. They were leading us somewhere on the second branch before we lost them. I think we need to find out where it goes to in the daytime."

Steven and I exited the kitchen door again and searched for a bit at the edge of the woods trying to find the path, as it was well hidden. We finally located it and moved forward on the trail, passing the tree with the hidden door and continuing on deeper within the forest.

After about twenty minutes we could see a break in the trees ahead. I tugged on Steven's sleeve to make sure he saw it too, and he looked back at me to say, "I see it. Come; we're almost there."

We broke through the woods a few moments later and saw that we stood on a hilltop that overlooked a large open field. Immediately visible was a small house, down the hill and to the right.

The house looked like something out of a storybook, painted a buttercup yellow with bright blue shutters and a large blue door with a heart-shaped wreath over it. Window boxes bloomed with spring flowers on every sill of the house, and a white picket fence enclosed a small yard around the perimeter. A walkway led from the door to the gate of the fence and was also lined with flowers. To the right of the house was a driveway that dumped out onto a dirt road that headed south and disappeared at the end of the field to tunnel through more woodland.

At the back of the house little white huts dotted the landscape every five yards or so. I wondered what they were, but my attention was redirected by Steven, who nudged me and pointed a few feet to our left. I looked over and saw a tombstone, and it was then that I realized that the path we'd been on led directly to the grave.

We walked over and squatted down to take a better look, noticing fresh flowers at the grave. Steven read the engraving and my mouth fell open. " 'Maureen Emerson. Born nineteen twenty-seven. Died nineteen seventy-four.'"

"The woman from the photo," I said.

"Who was she?" Steven asked, and I shrugged my shoulders. I had no idea.

"Let's walk down to the house. Maybe we can get some answers," I suggested.

Steven nodded, and we both headed down the hill. I was a little self-conscious, as I realized we might be trespassing on this person's property. "Do you think we should have come by the road?" I said. "You know, so that these people don't think we've been snooping around on their land?"

"It's not their land," Steven said. "It was my grandfather's, which means that it's now mine."

We arrived at the house, and Steven opened the little gate for me and bowed, allowing me to enter first. I smiled at his theatrics and walked to the front door, giving it a hearty knock. We waited several moments, listening to the silence before I knocked again. Still no response, so I turned to him and asked, "Now what?"

"Let's check around the back," he suggested, and we went to the rear of the house.

The backyard was just as tidy as the front, with close-cut green grass and a garden lining the house. There was also a small sitting area with two metal chairs and a table. Everything looked freshly painted, planted, and well maintained. Steven headed over to a window and cupped his eyes to peek inside. "Steven!" I hissed. "Don't do that!"

"Why not?" he said, still doing the Peeping Tom thing.

"What if someone's
in
there?"

"Then they'll come to the back door and yell at me, and we can ask them about Maureen and why they're on my property."

"Maybe your grandfather rented them this house?" I offered.

"If he did, then he didn't tell me about it," Steven said, backing away from the window.

"So what did you see?" I asked, curious about what the interior looked like.

"Oh-ho," Steven said, smiling at me. "It's not okay for me to look in, but it is okay for you to ask me what I saw?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just tell me what you saw."

Steven thumbed toward the window. "That's the kitchen. Very neat and clean in there, just like out here. I am thinking that an older woman lives here, no kids and no husband."

"So now you're the psychic?" I said with a smirk.

Steven smiled broadly. "You do not need to be a psychic to put clues together and know about things."

"What kinda clues?"

"Well," he said, rubbing his chin, "there is one cup and one bowl in the dish rack. Curtains and the paper on the wall are … very female with lots of lace?"

"Frilly?" I supplied.

"Yes, that too. Also, there is no newspaper, just a book on the counter."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Men like the news with their morning coffee. Women, on the other arm, enjoy some romance with their tea."

I scowled at him. He was just too smug for his own good. "Great job, Sherlock, but while you were peering into windows, I was taking a gander at something far more interesting."

There was the smallest sag in Steven's smug smile as he asked, "What?"

I gave a thumb wave over my shoulders. "Behind us. Those little huts? Those are beehives."

Steven squinted in the direction of the hives. "Yes, that is important. Come on; let's go see them."

We approached warily as I counted twelve hives. As we neared them, we could see that at least six were active hives, and these were all located on the left side of the group. They buzzed with the energy of thousands of little yellow-and-black honeybees.

Steven and I kept a safe distance from them, and stood silently for a little bit as we listened in awe to their collective hum. Motioning with his head, Steven moved closer to the six hives on the right, which were silent and obviously abandoned.

Upon inspection, I noticed that these hives were also more weather-beaten. Their paint was chipping and the wood was warped. I wondered if they were older than the other hives. Perhaps they had been the original six and the other group had been built to replace them.

Steven continued to walk forward while I hung back a bit, afraid that there might still be a bee or two hovering about inside them, ready to sting me. I watched as he walked in a circle around the first wooden box, and lost him around the backside as he knelt down. "Find something?" I called to him when he didn't reappear right away.

I waited another beat or two, wondering what he could be doing back there, when he popped back into view and held something up for me to see. It looked like a large rusted funnel and a plastic hose, both very old and very dirty. "What
is
that?"

"Private property," I heard a woman's voice say from behind me, right before I heard the distinct metallic sound of the cocking of a shotgun.

Steven's eyes widened and his smile faltered just before he dropped the funnel and the hose and raised his arms above his head. I followed suit and turned ever so slowly around.

"State your business," a woman who looked very similar to Maureen's photo said, as she leveled the shotgun first at Steven, then at me.

"We're just looking," I heard Steven say.

"You're trespassing on private property," the woman snapped. "Give me one good reason not to shoot you."

"Okay, how about this. How about we're not trespassing," Steven said "I own this land."

I was watching the woman closely, and I saw the gun lower a fraction as she took her eye off the sight to stare up at Steven. The moment passed and she lowered her eye to the sight again. "What's your name?" she asked.

"Dr. Steven Sable. My grandfather was Andrew Sable."

My heart was pounding in my chest by now, the tension of having a large gun pointed right at me sending adrenaline zipping along my veins. The woman held her position another moment, and just when I thought we were going to have ourselves a little standoff, she abruptly lowered the gun. "I'm sorry about your grandpa," she said.

"Thank you," Steven replied, lowering his arms and coining over to stand next to me. "This is M. J. Holliday," he added, and seeing that my arms were still raised high above my head, he put a hand on my arm and lowered it. "You can put your hands down. I don't think she's going to shoot us."

The woman cracked a smile at me. "You're completely pale," she said.

I noticed suddenly how rapid my breathing was.
"Can you blame me?"

Steven wrapped an arm around my shoulders protectively while I focused very hard on getting it together. "So, who are you?" he boldly asked the woman.

She regarded us a moment before answering. "The name's Mirabelle. This is my house and my land."

"I am begging your difference," Steven said evenly.

I rolled my eyes when Mirabelle gave him a quizzical look. "He begs to differ," I translated.

"Yes, that too," Steven said impatiently. "My grandfather purchased six hundred acres here, and built the lodge in the middle. I believe you're on his land."

Mirabelle smiled, but it wasn't a friendly one. It reminded me more of a crocodile. "You are correct. This
was
Andrew's property. He deeded over twelve acres to my mother forty years ago. And when she passed on, Andrew made sure it went to me. You can check the county records if you like."

It was Steven's turn to smile tightly. "Why would he do that?" he asked. "What connection did your mother have to my grandfather?"

"Gin," Mirabelle said, the crocodile smile widening.

"As in rummy?" I asked, totally confused.

"No, as in bootleg. This section of Massachusetts used to be made up of dry counties for a couple hundred miles. Times were when you'd have to drive clear to Boston to buy a bottle of hooch. Andrew saw a need within the community, and he filled it via my mother, who made the best damn bootleg gin around."

"So I'm confused about this twelve acres," Steven said.

Mirabelle hoisted the gun in her hand to her shoulder, and the sudden movement caused me to jump. "Easy, there, girl. I'm not gonna hurt you," she said with a chuckle. "Why don't you all come in for tea and I'll explain it to you nice and slow." And with that she turned on her heel and walked away toward the house.

I looked at Steven with wide eyes and said, "She can't be serious."

Steven seemed to study her for a moment. "She seems to be."

"I'm not going in there with that crazy woman!" I hissed, keeping my voice quiet lest I upset the gun-toting luna-chick.

"Okay. I'll fill you up later," he said, and began following.

My jaw fell open as he walked off. "Damn it!" I swore under my breath. "This is a bad idea, M.J.," I muttered to myself as I caught up to Steven. "I see one body part in her fridge and I'm
outta
there!"

"Agreed," he said, and ruffled my hair.

The inside of Mirabelle's house was much like the outside. The decor was bright and springlike without overdoing it. She motioned us into her living room, which was painted a granny apple green with dark wood accents and patterned slipcovers. Steven and I sat side by side on the couch, he in a relaxed position, me on the edge of the seat ready to bolt at the first hint of trouble.

"I have Earl Grey tea; will that suit you?" she asked from the kitchen.

"That's fine," Steven said for both of us, then looked at me and whispered, "Will you relax?"

I scowled at him and held my ground on the edge of the couch. I looked around the room and something caught my eye. I could have sworn I saw movement in the hallway just off the living room. It was then that I noticed my energy was humming and I got a tugging sensation from my solar plexus. "Someone's here," I said quietly to Steven.

"Huh?" he said, giving me a funny look.

I didn't respond to him; instead I closed my eyes and reached out intuitively to the shadowy figure I'd seen in the hallway.
Hello? Can you hear me? I'm M.J., and I won't hurt you but I'd like to know your name.

Mirabelle 's mom…

My eyes snapped open. I turned to Steven and said, "Maureen is here."

Steven sat forward and looked into the hallway I indicated with a head nod. "I thought she was at the lodge?"

"They can travel quite easily," I said to him. "It's not that far away, after all."

"What's not that far away?" Mirabelle said as she carried in a tray of steaming tea and cookies.

"Nothing," Steven said, and gave me a look that said,
Shhhh.

"This is a lovely home," I commented. In my head I heard,
Thank you.

Mirabelle offered the tray of tea and ginger cookies first to me, then to Steven as she said, "Yes, it is, and quite popular these days."

"Pardon?" Steven said as he took the tea from the tray.

"There's a Realtor in town who says he has a couple from New York who want to buy it—lock, stock, and barrel—for a huge chunk of change."

Something about her statement made me feel worried. I puzzled over it, then asked, "How would a couple from New York even know about this place? I mean, it seems pretty far off the beaten path."

Mirabelle shook her head and made a tsking sound. "The past year or so all sorts of out-of-towners have been coming up this way and snooping around. They're all from New York, and they think they can throw their money around and us simple folk will jump to their every whim. In fact, that's who I thought you two were when I came home from my walk. I figured the gun was a good way to scare off any folks who thought they could wave a checkbook at me and get me to play nice."