Alex glanced up at him. “You okay, man? You were really quiet on the drive over.”
Ian blinked, then shook his head. “Yeah. Go ahead and pull up that EVP. I want to take a quick shower.”
“You don’t look like a guy who just got some insane evidence of the paranormal,” Alex observed with a frown. “In fact, you look depressed. What gives?”
“It’s nothing,” Ian snapped as he went into the bathroom.
“Bullshit,” Alex called through the shut door. He sighed and went back to downloading the EVP, knowing his friend would talk when he was ready. At that moment, he was brooding and Alex knew better than to bug him. Not unless he wanted the business end of the bull to take him out.
In the bathroom, Ian tossed his toothbrush aside and rested his hands on the counter. He let his head fall and shut his eyes, needing a moment to collect his thoughts. Part of him desperately wanted to get the hell out of Massachusetts, to get away from that house and away from the woman that lived there. The heavy feeling he’d felt in the house had followed him, hanging over his shoulders like a dark, gloomy cloud. He wanted to shake it off, to chase it away, but he couldn’t seem to.
Just as he couldn’t get the image of her misery out of his mind. What had happened to Dr. Grace Sullivan that marred her that way? He didn’t want to care, didn’t see how it was any of his business. But for some reason he couldn’t let it go.
He decided he needed to speak with her alone. He had to find out what she knew about the house that she wasn’t telling him and why those photographs were so precious to her.
Once he knew, maybe he’d also learn the reason for that storm cloud she carried around with her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Grace grabbed a mystery novel and made herself at home on the front porch. She had to drag the chair from the back around to the front of the house, but it was worth it. She was sick of looking at the harbor.
Something about that dock bothered her. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but it made her uneasy. It felt like something bad had happened there, something long ago. Which was completely ridiculous. What the hell could have possibly happened on a dock that was so malevolent?
Regardless, she felt happier on the front porch. Less distracted. At least for the time being.
Soon the ghost freaks would be back, and she’d have to stay out of their way while they set up strange cameras in her house and ran wires everywhere. Alex had called her that morning to explain the details, how they would come by for a couple of hours to set up and take a few more readings, then they’d go home, get some sleep, and be back fresh the next night at nine o’clock to start the investigation. He also asked her to write down what little she knew about the house, including some of the names she’d read on the backs of the photographs from the basement.
She was also supposed to pick out the photographs she felt most “connected” to and leave them on the dining table for the guys to use as trigger objects. She wasn’t sure what it felt like to be “connected” to an inanimate object, so she’d just grabbed the first few photographs from the stack and boxed up the rest.
She’d humor them for now, but that didn’t mean she believed in what they were doing. Though she did make sure to leave the photograph of the little girl in the stack. Despite her skepticism, she believed her father had seen the girl. He may have been intoxicated—though he didn’t drink—or high on painkillers, which was doubtful. But if Nellie was telling the truth and he had admitted to seeing a ghost, then it must be true.
Her father had never been a liar. He may have not always told the whole truth, but he never lied. If she had discovered the house while he had been alive and approached him about it, he would have confessed to her. How could he not? He had the worst poker face. That’s what made him such a compassionate doctor. He was never cold, distant, or aloof. He felt each and every death, illness, and diagnosis as though it were his own.
It was a skill she’d always tried so hard to emulate. Unfortunately, she was a natural cynic. She got it from her mother, who was a pessimist of the worst degree. Everything was always going to hell in a hand basket in her mother’s eyes. That was why her parents had made such a strong couple—her realism balanced out his idealism.
By contrast, Grace’s ex-fiancé Rick was a hardcore realist. He claimed to see everyone exactly as they were—no fluff, no circumstance. Just people. The good, the bad, and the ugly. And then he’d gossip about them. He thrived on dissecting the ins and outs of peoples’ lives. That’s why he’d gotten into psychology. He was fascinated by the demons that lived within people’s hearts and minds.
He was especially fascinated by Grace. She never really discovered why, but he was always trying to interpret her. To read her. To know her. It was the most frustrating and exposing thing she’d ever been through.
Unfortunately for her, his obsession with the human mind took him into the arms of another. She could only prove the one indiscretion—the time she walked in on him sleeping with her whore of a friend Veronica—but she was sure there were others. Hell, he may have been cheating on her the entire time. That wasn’t really what bothered her, though.
The kicker was that he betrayed her on the day of her parents’ funeral, while she stood at their grave, turning the engagement ring he’d given her over and over on her finger, desperately wishing he was there. What a fool she’d been. What a stupid, pathetic fool.
But that was over with. Yes, she wasn't as trusting these days but who wouldn't react the same way? She’d been betrayed by the one person who was supposed to save her.
Now the plan was to somehow pick up the pieces. The key word being somehow…
She woke from her reverie as the black van pulled up to the curb in front of her house. She let out a breath to steady herself, fighting back the nasty feelings of loss and regret that flooded through her. Determined not to show any of it, she slipped on a wry smile and nodded at Ian as he stepped from the van.
“I forgot to ask which one of you is Dan Akryod and which one is Bill Murray,” she called out, her feet casually propped up on the porch railing. She leaned back in the chair, cozy with her book.
Ian shook his head as Alex rounded the back of the van. “There’s no question. I’m definitely Bill Murray.”
“How the hell are you Bill Murray?” Ian asked as he opened the back doors to the van.
“He’s the cool one. Ergo, that’s me.” Alex accepted the duffle bags Ian handed him and made his way up the small pathway toward Grace.
She felt blinded by that smile of his, but was getting used to it. Did that guy ever have a bad day? Though she had to admit, his optimism was oddly infectious.
“I agree, you’re definitely the cool one,” Grace told him with a wink as he passed by with Ian in tow.
Ian gave her a long look and a sly smile. “You just don’t know me well enough yet, Doc.”
Her eyebrows shot up at his comment as he went inside, and she stared after him curiously. “Is that an invitation?” she murmured.
He was most certainly an asshole, but then again, so was she. She was also not in the mood to deal with another man. Much less a man who believed in Big Foot and the Loch Ness Monster and who knew what other wild things created for scaring five-year-olds.
With a sigh, she got to her feet. That cocky smile of his was a distraction she really didn’t want. At least, she didn’t think she wanted it.
She followed them into the kitchen where they were spreading out equipment on her butcher block island and dining table. A part of her winced at seeing the butcher block covered in something other than fresh vegetables, but she beat back the urge to jump down their throats. She had to try and play nice.
For now, anyway.
“I see you found the photographs,” she said conversationally. She crossed her arms and leaned against the doorway to the kitchen.
Ian thumbed through the stack. “How long did it take you to pick these ones out? Two seconds?”
“Hey, I spent
a lot of time looking through those,” she lied. Was it that obvious? “Those are the photos that spoke to me.”
He glanced up, amused. “Is that right?”
“Totally. That one of the old man sitting on the porch. He’s definitely a relative.”
“Funny, I don’t see that photo here. You must’ve shoved it back in the box with the others.” He flipped through the stack again, then set the photos aside. He leveled his gaze with hers. “Look, I know you feel this is all ridiculous. Maybe it would be better if we went somewhere you don’t feel so defensive so we can talk.”
Oh great, another man who wanted to analyze her. Grace was immediately affronted. “I’m staying right here. Ask whatever you want while I still have the patience.”
“There’s a diner down the road. Let’s go there.”
“Why?” Grace asked, stiffening. “What do they have there that we don’t have here?”
“A decent cup of coffee. A burger. I don’t know. What kind of shit do you like to eat?” he asked exasperatedly. Why was she being so stubborn?
“Things they don’t sell at a diner.”
“I see. So, you’re too damn prissy to eat at a diner?”
“No, but up until recently I was a very strict vegetarian. I may have a weakness for Nellie’s beef stew but I’m not prepared to scarf down a burger dripping with hundred-year-old diner grease.”
He shook his head. “Whatever. C’mon, we’re going to get coffee.”
“You’re not my boss.”
“No, but I want to get to know you better.” He enjoyed the shock that flashed over her face with a cocky smile. “Does that surprise you?”
She recovered, feeling like a complete moron. Like hell if she’d show it, though. “Nope. Not at all. I’ll go get my purse.” She stalked off, leaving Ian feeling triumphant.
Alex looked up from unpacking camera equipment. “You think she’s cute.”
“Shut up. I’m only doing this to smooth over the investigation.”
“Hey, you don’t have to explain it to me. I’m not judging.”
“Just shut up.” Ian left without another word and went to wait in the van for Grace.
* * *
Nora’s Diner was a packed little building on the best corner in town. It had cemented itself as a town landmark after over thirty-five years in business.
A large neon sign above the roof flashed all day and night in fluorescent pinks and blues. White stucco walls covered the outside, cluttered with wide windows and the town bulletin board. Any and all news related to the happenings in Mad Rock Harbor were displayed proudly there, mostly put up by Nora herself. She was a short, capable woman with a ready smile and the town’s biggest heart. If anyone in town had a problem, Nora would gladly lend an ear or a shoulder to cry on.
The one time Grace had met her, she’d tried her hardest not to like the woman. Making friends was not high on her priority list, and yet she couldn’t help but be fond of the woman’s smile. She reminded her a lot of Nellie, only softer, kinder. Then she’d learned that Nellie and Nora were sisters, and suddenly it all made sense.
Nora was busy behind the counter when Ian and Grace strolled in. She glanced up and shot them a sunny smile and a wave, which Grace attempted to awkwardly return. She wasn’t used to the small-town treatment yet. In the city, life was fast and anonymous. In Mad Rock Harbor, Grace found the world relaxed and welcoming. And everyone noticed when there was a new face in town. The man beside her was no exception.
“Great, they’re all going to think you’re my boyfriend or something.” Grace scowled as she noticed the curious stares they were receiving from all corners of the room.
“Why do you care what they think?” Ian asked, settling into one of the white and red vinyl booths by a window.
She sighed as she sat down across from him, eyeing the cars that passed by outside on the highway. “I don’t know.”
He draped his arms over the backrest with a hard smile. “I can tell you haven’t been in this town for very long, Doc. What’s your story?”
“I don’t really see how that’s relevant.” She folded her hands in her lap and avoided his eyes.
“It could turn out to be the most relevant thing in the world,” Ian insisted, interrupted as Nora came by to take their order. They both ordered coffee, black. As Nora walked away, Ian turned back to Grace. “If you don’t want to tell me the whole story, I get it. It’s not my business. But at least give me something to go on. I need to know if there’s something about you that brought these spirits out. Nellie says she experienced nothing in the house until you arrived. Ergo, you are in some way, shape, or form, the crucial piece of the puzzle.”
Grace’s eyes flicked to his with a cold stare. She fell back on her old defenses, not wanting his pity, his comfort. She didn’t want him to know just how broken and damaged she really was. And so, she decided to lie. Or, at least, not tell the whole truth.
“I came out here for a vacation and for some alone time. That’s all there is to it.”
“I get the feeling that you’re running from something,” Ian ventured as Nora dropped off their coffee. He took a sip from the ivory white mug, eyeing her in that intense way he had.
Grace laughed and passed her own mug back and forth on the table between her hands, not in the mood to drink it. “Just what do you think I’m running from? Since you seem to know so much about me already, surely you have it all figured out.”
“I think you’re running from yourself.”
She blinked, then rolled her eyes and drank some coffee to hide the tremor that shot through her at his words. “You make this sound like a Lifetime movie.”
“Something bad happened to you, Grace. I don’t know what it is, but you have it written all over your face.” His humor faded as sincerity replaced it. “The cloud that hangs over you may be what’s attracting these spirits. They’re drawn to you because you’re in a weakened emotional state.”
“Weak,” she scoffed, insulted and stunned at the same time. Could it be? “You make it sound like I’m having a mental breakdown.”
“Aren’t you?”
She started laughing, then brushed aside her bangs in an attempt to shrug off the acknowledgment that she actually was as fragile looking as she felt. If a complete stranger who had only been in her presence for a number of hours could read her like a book, then what did that say about her?
Overwhelmed, she said her next words without thinking. “I heard the little girl last night after you left. She said, ‘I am the sparrow.’ What does that even mean?”
A tear escaped her eye and she wiped it away, hoping he didn’t notice. She cleared her throat and tried to laugh off her admission. “But that’s stupid, right? You have to use that recorder to hear ghosts. If they even exist. Which they don’t.”
Ian stared at her intently and leaned forward in his seat. “She wants you to hear her. And so you have.”
Grace frowned, her head spinning. “This is ridiculous. I can’t believe I’m even humoring you.”
Anger flashed in his eyes. “You’re humoring me because even though you say you don’t believe it, part of you does. That denial you carry around like a shield is only going to get you so far. Eventually you’ll have to accept the impossible.”
“Accept the impossible?” she repeated, darkly amused. “Who has time for that? The world is a scary enough place as it is without believing in goddamn ghosts.”
He sat back in his seat and sipped his coffee. “You should try it on for size, Doc. It’s a lot less damaging than you think.”
“Yeah, right.” Grace sighed, toying with her mug again. Suddenly, she felt a tap on her shoulder.
“Excuse me.”
Grace turned around and eyed the dark-haired woman behind her irritably. “Yes?”
The woman’s teeth flashed in a serene smile. “The man next to you would like you to pass the pepper.”
Grace’s eyes narrowed as she looked back at Ian, who shrugge
d. Deciding the woman was probably out of her mind, she ignored her and returned to her coffee.
She heard the woman sigh sadly. “He’s been waiting fifty years for someone to pass him the pepper. Poor soul.”
The woman turned back around and left them alone. Grace snickered, not sure if she should feel sorry for the woman or prescribe her some antipsychotic meds. When Ian suddenly got to his feet, Grace nearly spilled her coffee mid-sip. “Where are you going?”
“One sec.” He brushed past her and took a seat across from the crazy woman. Grace whirled around and watched as he struck up a casual conversation with her as though they had known each other for years.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Grace muttered, facing forward again. She tried to eavesdrop, though it was difficult to hear over the peppy Motown music playing on the radio.
“That’s amazing,” she heard Ian say, an odd sort of eagerness to his voice. Grace felt jealousy rise up and take a bite out of her chest. Who the hell was he to ask her out for coffee and then just abandon her at the first sight of some strange hussy?
She was so busy cursing men for being bastards that she missed the rest of the conversation. Seconds later, Ian returned to her booth and had brought the crazy woman with him.
“Grace, this is Jackie,” he introduced, beaming like a second-grader at recess.
Grace pretended to be too busy taking a sip of coffee to shake hands. “Hi.”
Jackie smiled and her hand lifted in a little wave as she settled into the seat beside Ian. “Greetings. Oh, what a divine scarf you’re wearing.”
Grace stared down at her gauzy white and gold scarf with a dispassionate grunt. She hadn’t even paid attention to what she’d grabbed on her way out the door. “Thanks, I guess.”
She glared at the woman, taking in her draping, colorful clothing and layers of beaded jewelry. Wild waves of rich, ebony hair fell around Jackie’s shoulders, a few strands woven into braids. Skin the color of dusted gold covered an exotic, gypsy face, complete with warm, dark eyes and full, unpainted lips.
“Jackie is clairvoyant. A medium,” Ian explained, ignoring Grace’s irritation. “She says there’s a ghost sitting right next to you.”
So Fell The Sparrow Page 9
