White Spirit

by Amy Ravenel

  “You never know,” she panted, “what you’re going to need.” She gritted her teeth and yanked the bottom of her clip straight. She then curved the top. Collecting the two clips, she followed the rest of the instructions, gnawing on her bottom lip as she tried to unlock the secret drawer.

  Her face red with frustration, she continued to work.

  “Want me to help?” Tristan offered.

  McKenna waved him off. “I’ve got this.” She groaned. “I will defeat this.”

  True to her word, the lock clicked and the tiny door sprang open. The same small yellow hair clip he had seen rested on the bottom. Shaped like a bow tie, it was unassuming and delicate. His fingers brushed the satiny hair accessory.

  He showed it to McKenna. “Looks like someone forgot it was here.”

  “Maybe. The question is, who is he?”

  19

  Tristan spent the whole night studying the hair clip. It was such a small thing, with a satiny feel and shaped like a bow tie. Why would the mysterious man hide it in a compartment and then forget about it? He tried to picture The White Lady wearing a yellow bow, but it was a hard image to conjure. He left it lying on his side table to see if it would attract the ghost. He didn’t see her or feel her, but the next morning, it was sitting on the kitchen table.

  He chose to go back to Smith’s office to see if the older man recognized the hair clip or if he knew about the possible affair. McKenna wanted to go with him.

  “Wait for me. I can read him and see if he’s lying,” she said.

  Tristan cradled his cell between his cheek and his shoulder as he locked his apartment door. “Can you make it to the college this morning?”

  “No. I have to meet a potential client this morning. Why can’t we do it this afternoon?”

  “Because I have class, and Dr. Smith leaves at noon.”

  McKenna heaved a sigh. “Okay, but if you find out anything, you let me know.”

  “You’ll be the first one I call.”

  “Dr. Smith, can I talk to you?” Tristan knocked on the open door of the office, peering inside.

  The boisterous professor peered over the rim of his glasses, giving Tristan a long look. “My boy, you’re back again. What can I help you with this time?” He closed his laptop, placed his morning coffee on the desk, and settled back into his chair, much like he had the last time Tristan visited. He rested his joined hands on his stomach.

  “Well, sir.” Tristan walked inside. “I found this in a drawer in my desk.” He set his bag on Smith’s desk and unzipped it, retrieving the yellow hair clip. “You wouldn’t happen to know the girl this belongs to, would you?”

  When Tristan set the bow between them, Smith raised an eyebrow. “How did that get into your desk?” He examined it as if it were a rare artifact.

  Tristan kept his demeanor relaxed. He didn’t want Smith to know how anxious he was for the answers. “I don’t know, sir. I heard something rattling around in there so I searched the whole drawer. Finally found a hidden compartment. Took me forever to break into it.” Not completely a lie. “I hope I didn’t damage the desk.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you didn’t, son. I’m surprised those old desks are still holding together.” Smith’s eyes stayed glued to the tiny yellow treasure. “You know, I’ve taught a lot of students in my day, and many of the girls wear hair things like this.” He handed it back to Tristan. “Did you ask Ms. Liu if it was hers?”

  “No, but why would she put a hair bow in a secret compartment in my desk?”

  Smith was quiet for a moment. “Good point. Perhaps it belonged to a graduate assistant before you. Yes, that’s probably the explanation.”

  “Maybe.” Tristan pitched it back into his bag. This line of questioning wasn’t giving him the answers he wanted. Smith knew everything that went on in the department, why didn’t he know about the hair clip or the affair?

  Smith’s face was neutral. He wished McKenna could have come. The professor was a hard man to read. Maybe he was expecting too much. Smith probably really didn’t recognize the bow. The older man was right. Other students had used that desk before Tristan came along. Time to try a different tactic.

  Tristan zipped the satchel. “Sir, who had my office before I did? Maybe I can find the grad student and give this back to her?”

  Smith scratched under his beard, his eyes thoughtful. “That’s going back a ways, my boy. Lots of different people have passed through there. Why do you want to know?”

  Tristan shifted from foot to foot. Smith would probably send Tristan off to the looney bin if he talked about the ghost and being psychic. So, he angled for a simple approach. “Curious, I suppose. I found something in my desk that wasn’t mine, and I’m a sucker for the history of a place.” He grinned. Smooth, Johnson. He even believed the lie himself.

  “Well, it started out as one of our classrooms, but was turned into the graduate assistant office about twelve years ago.” Smith walked to the farthest shelf and plucked a binder from it. He tossed it across the room. Tristan fumbled it, but kept it from falling to the ground. “You’ll find some of the old grad students’ names in there. I kept in touch with some of them after they left.”

  Tristan opened it up to find twelve years’ worth of names, phone numbers, and addresses. His brow furrowed in concentration. It was possible the man he kept connecting with had been a graduate student, but was that the same kind of teacher/student relationship a professor would have? “Thank you, sir. This will give me a place to start.” He paused as if he were thinking about his next words. “What if this bow is older than that? I don’t know much about fashion, but I think I saw a picture of one of my cousins wearing something like this a few decades ago.”

  Smith pressed his lips together. “Let me think. A lot of professors used that room. That’s a long list.” He stroked his beard. “A few decades, you say? That’s pretty specific.” He drummed his fingers along the side of the shelf. “What are you not telling me, Mr. Johnson?”

  Tristan swallowed. “Nothing.” He gave a nervous laugh. “Just want to find out who this belongs to.”

  Smith’s face softened. “Son, I can’t help you if I don’t know the whole story.”

  Tristan stared at the ceiling. “You’ll think I’m crazy.” His stomach rolled at the thought of resorting to the truth.

  “Try me.”

  “It’s a long story, but I think it belongs to the ghost in my apartment building.” He lowered his head to meet Smith’s gaze. “The White Lady.”

  Smith threw his head back and laughed. The boisterous sound echoed off the walls. “Why would you think that?”

  Tristan shook his head. “I told you, it’s a long story.” He set the binder down on the desk. “I want to learn who put this bow in my desk. I just need a name.”

  Smith crossed the room and patted Tristan’s shoulder. “I don’t know where you got these crazy ideas, but I’ll answer your questions as best I can. What are you looking for?”

  “Is there any professor still here who used my office as a classroom?”

  Smith was quiet for a moment. “Three of us, Mr. Johnson – Dr. Cameron, Dr. Knight, and myself. You think a professor put it in your desk?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m hoping it’s someone who’s still here. Somebody who can tell me more about the girl who used to wear this.”

  Smith sighed. “A girl who you think is a ghost now?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Smith patted Tristan’s back as he leaned against the edge of his desk. “I’m sorry to say it wasn’t me, son. But I wish you luck on finding out more about it. It sounds like a fascinating search.”

  Relief flooded through Tristan. Smith wasn’t going to fire him and recommend him for therapy. “Thank you, sir.”

  “If you need anything else, Mr. Johnson, please let me know.” Smith gave Tristan a jovial smile before returning to his laptop.

  Tristan adjusted the strap across his chest as he headed out of the office. If Smith didn’t k
now anything about the hair bow, then that left Dr. Cameron and Dr. Knight. Dr. Knight scoffed at the idea of having an affair in the office, so that left Dr. Cameron.

  Cameron’s office door was closed, which meant he was still out of the building. Tristan knocked anyway, in case the head of department was hiding behind it. No answer. He would have to come back to Cameron.

  Tristan checked his watch, realizing it was time for him to teach a class. He took the stairs two at a time.

  Later that afternoon, Tristan decided to track down Knight. Even though the abrasive man had refused to tell him anything the night before, maybe he would open up after seeing the yellow bow. Talking to him wouldn’t be easy, but finding him wouldn’t be particularly difficult. If Knight wasn’t in his office, then he was in the rare book section of the library. Tristan had learned that bit of trivia from Smith on his first day. He followed that knowledge and found Knight sitting at a desk in the back of the small, dusty room, poring over an old, decrepit book.

  When he was only a few feet away, Tristan cleared his throat to announce he was there. Dr. Knight turned around.

  “Mr. Johnson. We meet twice in one week. If you have a question, my office hours are posted clearly on my door.” He then returned to the book he was studying. Tristan peered over his shoulder to see what book it was. STRANGE STORIES OF THE SOUTH was printed across the top.

  “A little light reading, sir?” he asked.

  Knight raised his head, an eyebrow lifted. Tristan settled into the chair across from him. He wasn’t leaving until he got some answers. Closing the book, Dr. Knight adjusted his glasses and peered intently at Tristan. “Is there something you wanted, Mr. Johnson?”

  Tristan pulled the hair bow out of his bag. “I hate to interrupt you, sir, but I was hoping you could help me out.” He placed it on the table between them. It was a bright speck in the middle of the dark browns and blacks of the room. “I found this in one of my desk drawers. Dr. Smith said you used to teach in that room. Do you recognize it?”

  Dr. Knight picked it up, studying it as if it were a strange object left in his midst. His features seemed to soften a little. “How do you know it was from that period? It could have been from a grad student who had that desk before you.”

  Tristan squirmed. He really should have come up with a lie that would back up his assumptions. “It looked rather old.”

  “Anything stuffed in a drawer can look old after a while, Mr. Johnson.”

  Tristan ran a hand through his hair. “Last night, you thought I was bringing my girlfriend to my office. You’ve seen other people do that. Something tells me you know more than you’re telling.”

  Setting the hair clip back down, Dr. Knight pushed a strand of light brown hair out of his face. “I don’t like to talk about things. I am not a gossip.” He drummed his fingers on the table, considering his next answer.

  “Please. I think something terrible happened to the girl who used to wear this.” Tristan leaned forward. “I want to help her.”

  Knight took a deep breath. His gaze was level. “Are you sure you can’t just see the answer? It would be a lot easier.”

  Tristan’s mouth dropped open. “Sir?”

  Knight waved his hand. Dust flew off the table. “Cut the crap, Johnson. I knew your father.”

  “You did? How?”

  “I worked with the Boone police from time to time. I watched your father work and put the pieces together.” A rare smile crossed Knight’s face. “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.” He spread his hands. “Who am I going to tell?”

  Tristan let out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Thank you, sir, but you just watched my dad?” None of this made any sense.

  “No.” Knight took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “I needled him until he finally told me. He saw the present; your grandfather saw the past. So if it alternates like that, you must be able to see the past as well.”

  Tristan pulled away from the table. His mouth worked, but no sound came out.

  Knight pushed his glasses back onto his nose. “Stop looking at me like a fish, Mr. Johnson.”

  Tristan shook his head. “I’m sorry, but why didn’t he tell me?”

  “You’d have to ask him that.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Knight’s mouth formed a straight line. “Are we going to talk about this or the hair bow? I have a class to teach in twenty minutes.”

  Tristan shook himself out of the shock. Knight was right. Find out about the bow now, and worry about the rest of it later. So Tristan told him about the visions in his office and the ghost in his apartment, and how he thought they were the same person. “She had long dark hair and green eyes. She wasn’t very tall, maybe came to here.” He rested the side of his hand at the middle of his chest. “I know her name was Lily, but I don’t know who the man she dated was. I see through his eyes and never see him.”

  “Hence the questions.” Knight picked up the bow again. “My office used to be right next to that room, and I remember hearing things when no one was supposed to be in there. Ian Cameron used that room quite often instead of his office.” He set down the bow, pulled off his glasses, and wiped the lenses with the edge of his tie. “He was the charming professor. The one whose classes the students always wanted to take.” He replaced his glasses. “The one the graduate assistants wanted to work for.” Taking the old book back, he carefully opened it. “He had students going in and out of that room.”

  “Did any of them own anything like this?” Tristan asked.

  “Yes.” His resolve crumbled. “Lily did. I remember her, Mr. Johnson. She had a job with the college through a work-study program, and most of her duties were in the history department. She ran errands for all of the professors, but she spent most of her time with Ian.”

  Tristan nodded, his suspicions confirmed. “What happened to her?”

  “That, I don’t know, Mr. Johnson. I know she disappeared twenty years ago, but I assumed she quit school and went somewhere else. At least until the news started calling her a missing girl.” Knight shook his head. “Such a shame. But I’ve known Ian for almost thirty years. I don’t believe he would ever hurt her.”

  But someone did, Tristan thought.

  Dr. Cameron and Lily Comer. Connecting the man to the visions wasn’t easy. Cameron appeared to be an easygoing man, a family man. Tristan didn’t miss the ring on his finger or the pictures of Cameron’s wife and kids in his office. But it had been twenty years ago. It was possible Cameron was the man Lily had loved. The question was, was he the man who killed her? And if not, who was?

  Tristan dropped his keys and his bag on the kitchen table. He grabbed the yellow bow from the front pocket of his bag, twirling it in his hand.

  Maybe Mr. Martin had been the one to kill her? Tristan didn’t know much about the construction of the building, but surely Martin would have access to it. McKenna had said she felt the man was hiding something, and he seemed nervous about the investigation in the first place. But was he a killer, or only an accomplice? With the viciousness Lily had used while throwing Martin down the stairs, Tristan had no doubt the man had been involved.

  He stretched out on the couch, holding the bow up to the light. Such a small, delicate thing, almost like the ghost herself.

  Tristan set it on the coffee table and stared at the ceiling. Finding the man who had hidden it was proving to be harder than he thought. Giving up and moving out would be the easiest course of action. Crashing at Drew’s place wouldn’t be a problem. Or maybe McKenna would let him stay with her? His lips curved into a smile at the thought.

  No. He didn’t want to run away this time. What if The White Lady found another source of psychic energy? He didn’t know his neighbors. One of them could have the power to let the ghost kill one more person. And neither one would know how to protect themselves. He frowned, the guilt weighing on his conscience. He didn’t wish that feeling of helplessness on anyone else.

  T
he lights blinked. Tristan’s body tensed.

  The air around him cooled. Goosebumps prickled his skin.

  He jerked upright, his muscles taut. His whole body was alert. She was coming.

  The lights cut out. The setting sun cast the only available light through the slats of the closed blinds.

  Tristan gripped the edge of the couch. His breath puffed out in small white circles as his arms started to shake.

  The White Lady appeared beside the coffee table. Her face held no expression, her eyes their usual impossible green. She stared at him before brushing her fingers over the bow. Now that he had seen the picture and put the pieces together, he could make out the young woman she used to be.

  “Do you recognize this?” His voice was strangled.

  Her green eyes flashed to red. CDs and DVDs flew off the entertainment center. Their sharp corners stung as they nicked his arms. He jumped off the couch. The door was only a few feet away.

  His fingers touched the knob. He had left it unlocked; he could make it. Everything went still.

  He pivoted a slow circle. The White Lady’s attention was no longer focused on him. Her hand passed through the bow.

  “It used to be yours.” Tristan took a tentative step forward. “You can stop now. We’re close to finding the people who killed you.” He reached out a hand. “Let me help you.”

  Her head twisted in his direction. “You will pay!” She flung out her hand. Tristan slid back into the wall, sticking to it like a fly in a spider’s web. His muscles froze as his feet left the ground. The ghost was on him in seconds, her hand at his throat.

  The White Lady whipped her head to the door when three sharp knocks sounded.

  “Tristan?” McKenna! No! What if the ghost went for her?

  The bitter cold started at his throat and seeped into his head. “Mac! Run!” He kicked, but his legs passed through air.

  The knob clicked. “What’s wrong? I’m coming in.”