“How long?” she asked, her shoulders hunched and her weeping intensifying. “No, no! That simply won’t do!”
I bit my lip, still undecided about making my presence known, and a second later it no longer mattered because Mrs. Hollingsworth hung up abruptly and moved quickly to her room without a backward glance.
I stood there for another second or two, and then I made a decision. I moved to her door and pressed my ear against it. Faintly I could still hear the poor woman crying, but whether she was on the phone again I had no idea.
I raised my fist and knocked gently and the sobs from inside the door abruptly stopped. I waited, but she didn’t come to the door or answer my knock. “Ma’am?” I called softly. “Are you all right?”
Mrs. Hollingsworth didn’t reply and my chest felt tight for the poor woman. I imagined her stifling her tears while she waited for me to leave. Not wanting to cause her another moment of distress, I simply said, “I’m leaving now. I hope you’re all right.” I then went to my room, took care of my personal business in the bathroom, and called down to the front desk. Mr. Crunn answered the call and I asked if I could possibly order up some tea for Mrs. Hollingsworth. “Please put it on my tab, Mr. Crunn. And if you have any of those delicious scones still on hand to add to the order, would you do that for me?”
“Of course, Miss Holliday,” he said. I could tell he thought the request to order some tea and scones for my neighbor a bit odd, but he was too polite to ask about it.
I then left my room, determined to find Mrs. Hollingsworth in the morning and give her a reading whether she wanted one or not. Maybe there’d be someone on the other side who would have some advice for her that she’d actually listen to. Maybe a deceased loved one could help see a clear path for her to get away from that awful man she was married to. One way or another I vowed to help her.
Having made that decision, I went off to meet my date.
* * *
Heath and I got back to the castle fairly early for a date out with each other. This had less to do with hormones and more to do with the fact that the Welsh are a rather proper lot, with a relatively low tolerance for those foreigners playing a little nooky under the table.
After being kicked out of not one but two restaurants, we decided to bring the nooky out from under the table and move it to the bedroom.
It was quite dark as the taxi pulled to a stop and let us out at the drawbridge, and it could have been my imagination, but I had the feeling the cabbie didn’t exactly like being asked to drive out to Kidwellah. Maybe he’d heard the rumors or maybe he was just familiar with the local ghost stories, but the minute Heath paid him, he sped off with a squeal of the tires and nary a backward glance.
Still, it wasn’t enough to dampen our mood. In spite of the embarrassment of being asked to leave, Heath and I had enjoyed ourselves (and not entirely in the way you’re thinking. . .) and we were giggly and flirtatious with each other for a change.
It had been ages and ages since we’d had a chance to go out as a couple, and I’d really missed my sweetheart’s playful side.
We held hands as we made our way onto the drawbridge, and I noticed that Heath subconsciously stuck close to the middle. We’d gone only a few steps onto the planks when we heard it. A sound that was so odd and out of the ordinary that it stopped both of us in our tracks.
“What was that?” I whispered.
“It sounded like something pounded on the underside of the drawbridge,” Heath replied.
“I think we need to get across,” I said, hurrying forward again.
Heath came right with me, but the moment we were in motion, the pounding on the underside of the bridge picked up; only this time it felt like it was right underneath my feet. I could even feel the vibrations of the blows as I trotted forward, and after the shock to my shins from the night before, these bursts of pressure to the planks under my feet did not feel good.
Abruptly, I stopped and held Heath back too while I hoped the pounding would carry on away from me down the planks. Instead, the moment I came to a stop—so did the pounding. “It’s right underneath my feet!” I whispered to Heath.
He looked about nervously. The drawbridge was well lit, which should have bolstered our courage, but I will be honest here—the pounding, which was thump for thump in step with my footfalls, was incredibly unnerving.
“Come on,” Heath mouthed, lifting his feet slowly and carefully so as not to make any noise on the planks.
He took two steps away from me, and there was no sound from below. Encouraged, I took a step on tiptoe, but the moment the pad of my foot landed, there was a thump so hard and so loud that I felt the vibration up through my knee.
I gave a loud shriek and bolted. I ran as fast as I could, but with each step a loud whack bumped the planks from the underside of the drawbridge. Even when I tried darting to the side, the corresponding pounding found the underside of my footfall every time. Soon it felt like the whole bridge was vibrating and I couldn’t move fast enough to get across and away from the sensation. Heath was right next to me, and he even reached out, grabbed my arm, and pulled me with him. Stride for stride we tore down the drawbridge before we both leaped the last few feet toward the stone of the courtyard.
With Heath’s grip on my arm, I was pulled a little too far to the right and I landed oddly and tripped, stumbled, then fell to the ground, tearing my jeans and skinning both my knees, but I didn’t even pause to consider the pain. Instead I jumped to my feet and whirled around to face the bridge. . . but the pounding had ceased the moment we’d leaped to safety.
Heath moved to my side and placed a hand on my leg. “Damn, Em! Your knees! Are you okay?”
My chest was heaving with fear and exertion. “I’m fine,” I said before pointing at the bridge. “What the hell, Heath?”
“I don’t know,” he replied. “And I don’t know that I want to find out. Come on. Let’s get inside and get you cleaned up.”
Heath turned away first, but my eyes lingered on the bridge. And that’s when I saw him—Inspector Lumley, soaking wet and standing on the drawbridge with his arms stretched out to me pleadingly. At first I was too stunned by his sudden appearance to move. Where had he come from? But then I realized that he was also wearing a metal collar with a long chain extending from a ring at the side all the way down to the ground and over the edge of the drawbridge.
My eyes darted from Lumley’s pleading face to the chain and back again until a grim understanding took hold. “Inspector!” I cried in the same moment that the loose chain was pulled violently and Lumley was cruelly jerked to the side. He staggered, attempted to straighten up and fight against the chain, but he lost the battle and went into the water with a loud splash.
I stood frozen in shock for several seconds until I heard Heath call my name. “Em?” When I didn’t answer, Heath hurried back to my side. “Hey, babe, what is it?”
I opened my mouth to try to explain it to him, but it was as if my vocal cords wouldn’t cooperate. No sound came out and all I could do was raise my hand and point at the spot where the inspector had just been standing.
Heath looked from me to the side of the drawbridge and said, “You saw something?”
I nodded.
“Okay,” he said, beginning to take a wary step in that direction. I realized he was going back out onto the bridge to take a look and I latched hard on to his arm, finally finding my voice. “Don’t!”
Heath turned back to me and placed his hand over mine. “What did you see?”
“The. . . the. . . inspector. He. . . he. . . he. . .”
“He what, babe?”
“He was dead. The Widow got him.”
Heath rocked back on his heels, his eyes wide. “You’re sure?”
“Yes,” I whispered, stunned, frightened
, and surprisingly affected by the realization that the inspector had perished. “He was wet and. . . and. . . he was wearing a chain around his neck! Just like Merrick and Lefebvre!”
Heath’s lips compressed and it was as if we both had the same thought at once. We’d seen no sign of police or ambulance, and as we’d only been away from the castle for a couple of hours, we knew the poor inspector hadn’t been reported missing or discovered drowned at the castle. . . which could only mean that he’d somehow fallen victim to the Widow and his body was likely floating in moat as yet unnoticed.
Heath took my hand and steered me around to face the castle. “Come on,” he said. “If there’s another body floating in that moat, I don’t think we want to be the ones to find it.”
We ran to the door of the castle and pushed it open, finding a very weary-looking Mr. Crunn behind the desk, just putting away his registration book. “Mr. Crunn!” I yelled from the doorway. “Please call the police immediately!”
The poor gentleman flinched at both my raised voice and likely my request. “Oh, no,” he said. “Please. . . don’t tell me. . .”
I hurried over to him. “It’s the inspector. I believe he’s fallen victim now too.”
Crunn’s face turned so pale it became ashen. “Not Jasper!”
I nodded grimly. “I’m afraid so.”
Arthur’s hand shook as he took up the telephone and dialed. After requesting the police and an ambulance, he set the phone aside, moved over to a nearby chair, and sat down heavily.
Heath and I exchanged a look and went over to comfort him. “Did you see it happen?” he asked us.
“No,” I told him.
“But you discovered his body?” he asked weakly.
“Not exactly,” I admitted. “I saw his ghost on the side of the drawbridge. The Widow got him.”
Crunn put a hand to his mouth and stared at the floor. He seemed quite distraught and I wondered if he and the inspector were more than just acquaintances. Perhaps they’d been friends?
We waited with the elderly gentleman for about ten minutes until we heard the sirens. I worried that by calling the police we might be putting one of them in danger, but there was nothing for it—a man had died and the matter needed to be dealt with. I just hoped they brought enough people so that the Widow wouldn’t try anything wicked.
While we waited, Mr. Hollingsworth came into the hall from the parlor and inquired about the whereabouts of his wife. He seemed completely oblivious to the fact that poor Mr. Crunn was pale and shaking—obviously distraught—and after receiving the answer that the castle manager did not know where Mrs. Hollingsworth was, he set off in an irritated huff.
Once the overbearing man had left, I took Crunn’s hand and studied his face, which continued to show signs of great distress. “Can I get you anything, Mr. Crunn?” I asked.
He lifted his sad eyes to mine. “No. Thank you. It’s just a shock, you know. I keep thinking of the poor man’s mother. She’s not a well woman and it was only a few years ago that she—”
Arthur was cut off by the abrupt entrance of a ghost. Or I thought it was a ghost. At least at first.
“I say, Crunn, if these reports of drownings continue, I will well insist Kidwellah close its doors!”
We all stood up and stared with wide eyes at Inspector Lumley, who appeared very much alive. In fact, at that moment, he looked quite robust and healthy. Not at all like the pale-faced spirit I’d seen out on the drawbridge.
“What the devil are you staring at?” he asked us when we continued to ogle him, dumbfounded.
“You’re. . . alive,” I managed.
His brow furrowed. “And you had expected otherwise?”
I shook my head, as much to clear it as to answer his question. “I saw the ghost of a person out on the drawbridge about ten minutes ago who could have been your twin. I was sure it was you and that the Widow had claimed another victim, but now that I see you, I know I must’ve been wrong.”
As I spoke, it was the inspector’s face that drained of color, and it was as if I’d just said something most upsetting. In fact, behind me, Mr. Crunn actually gasped.
“What’d I say?” I asked, looking from one to the other, more confused than ever.
Neither man seemed able to answer me. At last the inspector came forward, and when he stood in front of me, he said, “You say you saw my twin out on the drawbridge. Did he. . . did he speak to you?”
That question wasn’t at all what I was expecting. “No,” I said after a moment. “He just stood there, soaking wet with his arms outstretched, before the chain attached to the collar around his neck was yanked hard and he went into the moat.”
Lumley cringed and then he and Crunn exchanged looks. It was the castle manager who was the first to turn away in what appeared to be shame.
Heath must have been as frustrated with their lack of information as I was, because he said, “Will either of you please tell us what’s going on?”
The inspector pulled a silver lighter from his pocket and rubbed his thumb against it as if for some comfort. “I believe you saw my brother, Miss Holliday. Oliver. He was indeed my twin, and he drowned in Kidwellah’s moat some three years past.”
My jaw fell open. I reached out and touched the inspector’s arm. “Oh, sir, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
A forced smile appeared on Lumley’s face. “Of course you didn’t,” he said. “How could you? You’ve only come here recently.”
A million questions entered my mind, but at that moment a terrible scream echoed through the corridors and we all turned in alarm as Mrs. Lefebvre came running out from the hall leading to the dining room. “She’s dead!” she cried. “She’s dead!”
The inspector flew to her side and took her by the arms. “Who, ma’am? Who?”
But Mrs. Lefebvre was inconsolable. “It’s horrible! Horrible!” she cried, pointing toward the dinning hall. Heath and I took off ahead of the inspector, which probably wasn’t the smart thing to do, but we were acting on instinct. Heath reached the big room ahead of me, and came to an abrupt halt about a third of the way into the room, looking around frantically, searching for the injured party. The inspector pushed past me as I entered, and moved up next to Heath. “Where?” he asked.
But there didn’t appear to be anyone in the room. It was still and quiet and quite normal looking. I moved to the far end, looking under tables, and both the inspector and Heath followed suit, but search as we might, no one could find anything amiss.
“There’s no one here,” the inspector said at last. “The bloody woman’s having a hallucination.”
“She did just lose her husband,” I said tersely.
The inspector inhaled deeply and rubbed his face. “Yes. Of course. You’re quite right. Forgive me.”
“Inspector?” Heath said.
I turned to see him over by the window, looking out at the water of the lake.
“Yes?”
“I found your dead body.”
The inspector dashed over to Heath and it took me only a moment longer to reach his side as well. And then I followed Heath’s finger as he pointed to the figure of Mrs. Hollingsworth, her body only partially submerged just beyond the window.
Chapter 9
I turned away from the sight the moment my brain registered who it was, and locked eyes with Mr. Crunn, who came into the room along with Mr. Hollingsworth. “What’s happened?” Hollingsworth demanded. “Mrs. Lefebvre is in quite a state!”
I went immediately to him. “Sir, perhaps we should leave the scene to the inspector.” I then looked meaningfully at Mr. Crunn.
He seemed to understand and said in a shaky voice, “Yes, Mr. Hollingsworth, I believe we should allow the inspector to handle this.”
; Behind me I heard Lumley talking loudly on his cell phone, calling for the constable and the coroner to come back to Kidwellah immediately. “There’s been another death, Niles,” he said. “Call Dr. Engels straightaway and bring the crime tech lads with you.”
“Who is it?” Mr. Hollingsworth asked, and for the first time I saw a crack in that bombastic demeanor. It was as if he knew that the victim was someone close to him. “I say, Inspector, who is it?”
Lumley turned to Heath and asked him to go wait for the constable at the front door, while he went out the side door to inspect the scene. He then focused his attention on Mr. Hollingsworth. “Please go to your room, Mr. Hollingsworth. I’ll be along to speak with you shortly.”
Hollingsworth simply stared at the inspector, his eyes wide and beginning to glisten with tears. “Not Fiona,” he said feebly. “It’s not Fiona, is it?”
The inspector didn’t answer him; he simply turned away and headed for the side door.
“Fiona!” Hollingsworth shouted, and made to run after the inspector, but Heath stepped in front of him and physically restrained the man.
“Come with us,” he said, holding firmly to Hollingsworth’s shoulders. The older man was in such a state, however, that he seemed to have difficulty understanding Heath.
“It’s all right, Mr. Hollingsworth,” I said gently, trying to move his attention away from the open door where the inspector had gone outside. “Come with us and we’ll wait for the inspector together, all right?”
“Fiona!” Hollingsworth cried weakly, his voice cracking with emotion.
At last he allowed us to lead him out of the dining hall, but he steadfastly refused to go to his room. Instead he insisted on waiting on the first floor for the inspector, so we set him up in the parlor, where we could keep an eye on him.
He did little more than sit in a chair and whimper, and when Meg and Kim came into the room to find me and see what I knew, I pulled them aside and asked them to stay with Hollingsworth. “I think the inspector will be in soon to talk to him,” I said. “In the meantime, I’m going to try and find out what happened.”
What a Ghoul Wants Page 19
