by Meg Muldoon
“Do you think he does readings?” Kara asked.
Just then, the sound of a fire truck turning on its sirens blasted down Main Street. I waited for it to pass before speaking again.
“Readings?”
“Yeah, like, do you think he’d be able to talk to my grandma and tell me where she left the emerald ring that mysteriously disappeared right after she died?”
I smirked.
I loved that my friend so readily believed in the existence of spirits and that she was already onto the next step of how they could help her find a long-lost fashion accessory.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t know if Josiah does that stuff anymore. He said he stopped working with the police because the negative energy surrounding some of the cases made him ill. But maybe you should ask him yourself—”
Just then, my phone buzzed from my apron pocket.
I dusted my hands off and reached for it. A number I didn’t recognize came up.
I answered on the third ring, ready to hang up if I so much as got a whiff of a marketing call.
But I soon realized that it wasn’t any marketing ploy.
“Okay. Okay. Don’t worry. We’ll be right there.”
I hung up, slid the phone back into my pocket, and quickly grabbed my coat.
“Hey — what’s going on—”
“I have to go, Kara. It’s Ashcroft.”
A moment later, I busted through the back door and down the steps, running around the pie shop and heading for my car.
Chapter 32
The three of us stood a ways down the dirt driveway, watching white smoke curl up into the sky as the firefighters continued to douse the Mercedes Benz with water.
Ashcroft was lucky — the fire truck arrived before the burn got too out of hand. It even seemed like there was the odd possibility the pricey vehicle could somehow be salvaged.
Ashcroft’s health, on the other hand, was on much shakier ground.
He leaned hard on his cane, his other hand gripping the trunk of a thin pine tree. His skin was almost as pale as the actress playing Lorna Larimer’s was.
With haunted eyes, he watched the firefighters kill the last of the embers.
“What happened, Ashcroft?” I asked.
He hadn’t said so much as a single word since we’d arrived. His phone call from earlier had been full of desperate words. But now, those words were gone, and all that was left was shocked silence.
“Maybe you ought to sit down,” Daniel said, gently taking ahold of his arm and trying to guide him to a nearby tree stump.
Ashcroft just shook his head.
“No. I’m capable of standing. I…”
He gulped hard.
“Every afternoon at three o’clock, I lie down for an hour of rest,” he said. “But this afternoon, I was awakened part-way through my rest by a noise. I got up and went into the living room. I saw flames leaping up from the hood of my vehicle in the driveway.”
He gulped hard.
“I ran outside to put it out, but the flames were already growing. And that’s when I saw something… something inside the fire…”
Ashcroft’s large frame began to tremble.
“It was my latest book,” he said in a shaky voice. “Someone had set it on fire and placed it on the car for me to find. Someone…”
He trailed off, and we watched in silence for a long while as the firefighters packed up the truck. Their work was, for the most part, done.
“Did you see the woman pretending to be Lorna again?” Daniel asked.
Ashcroft shook his head.
“Whoever did this was long gone by the time I got out here,” he said, gripping his cane. “Almost like… almost like a spirit.”
Ashcroft grabbed a hold of Daniel’s jacket suddenly. His eyes turned feral-looking.
“I’m sorry for acting the way I have. I’m sorry for what I’ve done. I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I…”
He looked at me.
“I need your help. Please don’t let Grant get me. Please don’t…”
Ashcroft’s eyes grew damp.
“Please don’t leave me alone.”
Though Daniel and I knew it had to be a living person behind these incidents, Ashcroft was obviously still under the illusion that his old mentor was haunting him.
The fire captain nodded at Daniel, leaving the investigation in the Sheriff’s hands, and tapped the horn of the truck before starting it up.
The noise almost caused Ashcroft to collapse in fear.
I glanced over at Daniel, seeing the compassion in his eyes.
“It’s okay, Mr. Black,” he said softly. “It’s okay. We’ll find out who’s behind this. I give you my word. And we won’t leave you alone either. All right?”
Ashcroft nodded, a single tear spilling down his cheek.
Minutes later, Sheriff’s deputies were combing the woods around the Juniper Hollow Cabin, searching for evidence that would lead to whoever set the fire.
Chapter 33
Twilight was settling across the woods and a bank of fog had rolled in when the white van appeared in the driveway.
Ashcroft had spent the remainder of the afternoon on the sofa nearest to the fireplace, lying under a flannel blanket while staring up at the ceiling with a vacant expression.
He was shivering and didn’t seem to be able to stop, no matter how much wood I added to the fire or how high I cranked the thermostat.
I’d been half worried that it was a result of his heart condition, and while I went about preparing dinner, I checked on him regularly to make sure he was okay.
He hadn’t asked me to, and I knew I didn’t have to make him dinner. But he looked like he hadn’t eaten in some time. I’d rummaged around his fridge, finding an unopened box of Omaha steaks in the freezer. It seemed like just the kind of strength-giving meal he needed.
As I cooked the steak up, Daniel called, letting me know they’d found tire marks on an old country road about a mile away from the cabin that looked fresh. They were making a cast of the treads and he felt it would more than likely lead to something promising.
It was a few minutes after I’d gotten off the phone with him when I’d seen the headlight beams graze the kitchen wall behind me.
I turned off the burners and then went out into the living room to find Ashcroft sitting straight up on the sofa, looking out the window.
I recognized the van immediately, despite it being shrouded in fog.
“I’ll go see what he wants,” I said to Ashcroft.
The horror author said nothing.
I grabbed my coat and headed out into the darkness.
“I need to see him,” he said, shutting the van door behind him.
“Josiah — what are you—”
“I’ve tried to ignore this one. But it’s too important. Mr. Black has to hear this.”
Chapter 34
I handed Josiah a cup of tea and took a seat at the juniper dining table across from him. Ashcroft sat next to me, the blanket wrapped around his shoulders. His face was still pale as birch bark.
By Josiah’s request, I had turned the lights down low in the dining room. The light of the fire flickered on the walls all around us, casting the room in a warm glow.
I wasn’t exactly comfortable with what was unfolding here. In fact, I was having serious doubts about all of this — about Josiah even being here at all, considering how much he despised Ashcroft.
But my gut was telling me to stay out of it. To let things happen without interruption.
I nervously waited for Josiah to speak.
The pumpkin carver closed his eyes and took in a deep breath.
“There are several spirits in this cabin, but the one that came to me this afternoon isn‘t connected to the property — he’s connected to you, Mr. Black.”
Ashcroft’s eyes grew wide, and I noticed that he was gripping his cane so hard, his knuckles were turning as white as his face.
“Who… who…”
Ashcroft’s voice came out as shaky as a three-legged chair.
“It’s an older man,” Josiah said. “He was in his mid-60s when he passed. And that passing took place very recently.”
My blood turned to ice when I heard that.
I could only imagine how Ashcroft felt.
And I couldn’t help but worry that it might just send him over the edge.
“Josiah — Ashcroft has a heart condition, and I don’t think this is—”
“I understand, Ms. Peters. But he needs to hear this.”
Josiah kept his eyes closed as he spoke.
I glanced at Ashcroft. He nodded ever so slightly.
Josiah continued.
“This man was something of a father figure to you. You valued his opinion. And you were close. Do you know who I’m talking about?”
Ashcroft’s eyes grew glassy. He nodded, but no words came out.
“He’s attached himself to you,” Josiah said. “He’s here with us right now.”
The hair on the back of my neck stood up on end.
I might have run then if my legs hadn’t become the consistency of pumpkin puree.
I rubbed my arms, afraid to take my eyes off of Josiah. Afraid that I might catch a glimpse of the spirit that he said was in the room with us.
“I knew it,” Ashcroft whispered in a ragged voice. “It‘s because… because of what I did, correct? Because of how I betrayed him. He’s haunting me for the egregious way in which I treated him.”
Josiah opened his eyes, looking at Ashcroft with a peaceful, calm expression.
“No. You misunderstand the situation, Mr. Black. The way you’ve misunderstood the entire spirit world. This man isn’t here because of a grudge. He’s here… he’s here trying to protect you.”
Ashcroft’s eyebrows knit together and he lost the grip on his cane. It crashed to the floor, and I nearly jumped out the back window as the noise echoed through the house.
“I’m sorry, I don’t… I don’t follow,” Ashcroft said.
“He’s not holding a grudge over anything,” Josiah said. “However you hurt him when he was alive — he wants you to know he doesn’t care about that anymore. He forgave you the moment he passed on to the other side. It’s not the way it is in your books, Ashcroft. Spirits don’t come back seeking revenge. They come to help the people that mattered to them in life. They come back to us because of love — which survives even after they’ve died.”
Ashcroft looked at me with an expression that resembled confusion.
“He says Stacks is the one behind your recent scares,” Josiah said.
“Stacks?” I repeated, surprised at the shakiness of my own voice.
“Yes. Stacks,” Josiah said. “He keeps saying the name over and over. When he appeared to me earlier in the barn, he said I needed to come here and tell Ashcroft to watch out for Stacks. Stacks has become misguided. That’s what he said.”
I peered at the horror author, hoping to see some hint of recognition.
“Stacks,” Ashcroft mumbled, scratching his beard. “Stacks…”
He finally shook his head.
“I don’t know anyone by that name.”
“That’s the name he keeps saying. That’s what—”
Just then, an ice-cold burst of air wound its way through the cabin.
I almost let out a little scream, thinking it was the spirit of Grant Davis making his presence known.
But the cold air was followed by the sound of familiar boots on the wood floor.
“Cin?”
I put a hand over my chest, relieved.
“In here!” I said.
Josiah shook his head.
“I’m sorry. The spirit left.”
“Left?” Ashcroft said. “But where—”
“What’s going on?” Daniel said, stepping into the low-lit room, glancing from Ashcroft to Josiah.
Josiah stood up, barely acknowledging Daniel, his eyes still on the horror author.
“I don’t know. I don’t know where they go when they vanish like that. But that was the message he wanted me to deliver to you, Mr. Black. The rest is yours to figure out.”
Josiah looked at me and nodded.
Then he grabbed his beanie, pulled it on, and headed out of the cabin into the foggy night.
“What was he doing here?” Daniel said after a long moment.
But when I tried to answer him, when I tried to explain it, I found that words were hard to come by.
I looked at Ashcroft. Tears were streaming down his cheeks.
But they weren’t the frightened kind, like the ones earlier.
“He’s forgiven me,” he whispered, a small smile on his face.
He glanced up at us.
“He’s forgiven me.”
Chapter 35
A few days later, I was still thinking about what Josiah said and if it was all really true.
Whether spirits actually existed.
Whether it was the way Josiah claimed it was — that they came back to help people they loved.
And whether he spoke to the spirit of Grant Davis that night in the cabin.
Just thinking about it still caused goosebumps to break out across my skin. And as I worked on a batch of Maple Bacon pies that morning a few days before Halloween, small fingers of fear clawed at my heart.
I had always believed in the afterlife and that when we died, our souls moved on to somewhere else. Somewhere better, maybe. Or at least a place that made more sense. But it felt like up until now, my belief had been more of a hope. I’d never had any concrete evidence to know for sure.
But now… after being at the cabin that night, I felt more certain than I ever had before that part of us really did live on after death.
And for some reason — one that made no sense at all — this new knowing scared me.
I fought off a shiver and then tossed the pan of Maple Bacon pies into the oven before dusting my hands off. I went over and poured myself another cup of hazelnut coffee. I stared out the back window at the woods for a while, lost in thought.
But then again, maybe I’d been so awed by what Josiah had to say, I wasn’t really questioning the validity of his abilities. For example, we’d told Josiah about Grant Davis the morning we’d gone over to talk to him. He knew parts of the story — which he could have used as a base to build lies on during the medium session with Ashcroft.
I’d heard that was just the kind of thing that con artists did.
Additionally, there was something about what Josiah said that still didn’t add up. The message the ghost wanted to pass on continued to be shrouded in mystery.
Ashcroft still didn’t know who Stacks was. He said he’d known nobody by that name and began questioning whether it was really a name at all. I’d checked on Ashcroft at the cabin the day before, and he said that he’d been pouring over all the books in his series, thinking maybe “Stacks” was some reference to the key being buried in the stacks of books he’d written. So far, to my knowledge, Ashcroft had found nothing that helped solve the mystery of who was trying to scare him and who had set his car on fire.
Daniel and I hadn’t done much better in that regard. The tire marks the deputies had found on the country road a mile away from the cabin had been a popular make of tire, and currently, Daniel was sifting through car registrations and calling auto stores, trying to track down the make and model of the car the tires belonged to. It was tedious work, and Daniel had his plate full with a hit-and-run case that had just gone to trial. Because of that, I wasn’t expecting us to crack the case before Halloween.
Or maybe ever.
There was nothing more that had happened at the cabin as far as Ashcroft said, and I wondered if there would be. The activity had seemed to quiet down.
Maybe whoever was playing this game had had their fun.
And maybe Kara was right — maybe it had all been less serious than we thought. Maybe Stacks was the name of some punk ki
d who got his kicks frightening horror authors.
I sighed, then set my coffee mug down. I grabbed a pan of Sour Cream Apple pies off the marble countertop and headed into the dining room with them.
The place was bustling with people today. All week, my pie shop had been packed with locals and tourists looking to savor the flavors of fall. The Pumpkin Gingersnap pies had been flying out of the case and we’d been struggling to stay open until our usual closing time lately.
If this was any sign of the holiday season ahead, it looked like I’d need to hire some seasonal help lickety-split.
“How’s everything out here, Tobias?” I asked, sliding the fresh pies in the display case.
“‘Jest fine, Cinnamon. Glad you brought more of that Sour Cream Apple. Folks can’t get enough of it. Harry Pugmire stood in that big ol’ line twice for another slice.”
I smiled.
It was Monday, and Mayor Pugmire often held unofficial meetings here at the pie shop on Mondays to start his week off on a good note. I’d noticed that since he’d started doing that, his girth had increased some.
I wasn’t sure whether to feel proud or guilty about that.
“Well, I got a batch of those Maple Bacons going now,” I said. “Should be ready in a couple hours.”
“I expect folks around here are gonna be happy to hear that, too,” Tobias said with a sweet grin. “Maple Bacon’s a close second in popularity to the Sour Cream Apple.”
I smiled back and was about to head into the kitchen for more pies when something through the front window caught my eye.
Or more like someone.
Sometimes, you just get gut feelings about things in life, and even though it doesn’t exactly make sense at the time, you’ve got to follow them.
