Get out. I heard her voice ringing in my head, and from the shocked looks on Teag and Kell’s faces, I was sure they heard her as well.
“Run!” I yelled, heading for the steps. I shook my left hand, jangling the tags of the old dog collar wrapped around my wrist, and the ghost of Bo, my late, beloved Golden Retriever, materialized next to me, barking ferociously at the spirit.
Esther glided toward us, arms outstretched, hands grasping. Get out! Burn! Burn everything!
Teag and Kell were right behind me as I started down the steps. Bo’s ghost stood between Esther’s spirit and the top of the stairs, growling and snarling. We nearly made it to the bottom. I reached the riser where I’d sensed bad mojo, and for an instant saw a clear image of Judah Boyce, eyes narrowed with malice. Then I felt a hand between my shoulder blades and grabbed too late to steady myself as I fell forward.
“Whoa!” Teag yelled, grabbing my arm and wrenching me backward, pulling hard enough that I saw his hand tighten white-knuckled on the balustrade. I thought I heard a man’s sinister chuckle, but it was hard to hear anything the way my heart thumped like it would tear free from my chest.
The front hallway felt like a meat locker, cold enough that tendrils of frost encroached on the surface of the mirror, which I noticed was unbroken despite the crash we heard earlier. “Look!” I pointed as we ran for the door.
A man in Civil War-era clothing stood glowering on the stairs, invisible except in the mirror. Esther Boyce’s ghost manifested right on the balcony as we opened the front door and ran for the piazza.
Get out. All of you, out! And don’t come back, she shrieked, her voice echoing in my head loudly enough to make my temples ache.
“You heard about Parker Jackson?” Trina asked as she totaled up my order. The Honeysuckle Café buzzed with conversation as King Street merchants lined up for their coffee and muffins before stores opened and tourists filled their shops.
“Good news or bad news?” I asked, handing over cash.
“Good news. His architecture firm just got a big contract for a historic renovation in Savannah, and one of the cable channels wants to do a television show about it.” Trina handed back her change and sighed. “It’s about time something good happened, you know?”
I nodded. Charleston’s business community was fairly small, and news traveled fast when it touched on one of their own. Lately, that news had been nothing but bad. A car crash claimed the life of a well-regarded investment banker. The CEO of a local firm lost his rapidly-growing company and his marriage when charges of embezzlement surfaced. The suicide of a society matron made the front page.
“Happy to hear it,” I replied.
“Have you gotten a look inside the Boyce House?” Trina asked as they waited for the lattes to be ready. “I know you’re connected to all the historic groups.”
Trifles and Folly’s position as Charleston’s oldest antique store meant it was the first place local historians and preservationists turned for the perfect items to complete a display or furnish a period home. “Just a glimpse,” I said. “Why?”
Trina shrugged. “Just wondered if you’d heard about it being haunted.”
I hoped I didn’t give anything away with my expression. “What have you heard?”
“The usual rumors. Family secrets. Tragedy. Usually adds up to a ghost or two, at least in the movies,” Trina replied with a grin.
“Sounds like the kind of story that will sell plenty of tickets once it opens to the public,” I answered, gathering my purchases. With luck, my smile didn’t look as fake as it felt. “Gotta run!”
Teag already had the store ready for the morning rush by the time I walked in the door. I grinned, and handed over his drink and one of the fresh muffins, taking my share of the bounty over to a spot near the register. “Recover from last night?” I asked before I took a bite of the muffin, savoring the fresh blueberries.
“Got a few new bruises,” Teag confessed. “Esther’s one hell of a strong poltergeist. Makes me wonder what she’s so angry about.”
“Can’t imagine Anthony was too happy about you getting thrown around.” Anthony is Teag’s long-time partner, and while he knows what we really do behind the scenes, he’s understandably less than thrilled when saving the world puts Teag in harm’s way.
Teag chuckled. “No, he wasn’t—until I asked for a massage to work away the sore muscles,” he added with a grin.
I filled him in on the news I’d heard from Trina. “Good for Parker,” Teag replied. “Anthony passed along some news of his own. Jenkins Filbert had a heart attack yesterday. Guess he didn’t get much time to enjoy landing that sweet deal.” Filbert’s company signed a multi-million dollar contract to supply equipment for a new research facility just the week before.
“Sorry to hear about Filbert,” I replied, taking a sip of my latte. It felt like lately, things had been feast or famine, the wins, and losses canceling each other out. I’d sent nearly an equal number of congratulations emails as I had condolence cards. “Did you hear anything from Kell?”
Teag nodded. “Yeah, he called while you were getting coffee. I texted him the list of the objects we wanted to see from the house, and he said he’d bring those plus some extras he wanted us to look at. He needed to clear taking the items with the head of the Historic Trust, but he figured he’d be here by noon.”
I laughed. “Since Mrs. Morrissey is a board member for the Trust, I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.” Mrs. Morrissey was a good friend and a long-time source for information on anything about Charleston’s past.
True to his word, Kell brought everything we requested, except for one piece—the large mirror. “Too big and too fragile,” he replied. “Sorry. Though you’re welcome to come back during daylight if you want another look at it.”
He slapped a hand down on a cardboard box. “I thought you might also want to take a look at these,” he added, opening the lid. Inside lay two bundles of yellowed envelopes bound with twine, a couple of journals, and a folder full of newspaper clippings and articles.
“The preservation people found these in the house when they did the renovation,” Kell said. “They’re supposed to go to the Historical Society, but I figured Mrs. Morrissey wouldn’t mind if they had a small detour. From what I can tell, they’re family letters, some old photographs, journals that belonged to Esther and other family members, and a file of things related to news about the Boyce family. There’s probably some stuff in there that goes back even before Esther. Thought it might be useful.”
“Definitely,” I confirmed. “Kell—have other people been through the house besides your team and the renovation workers, and us?”
Kell frowned. “Not very many, but some. A few key donors, some VIPs in the architecture and preservation circles who were interested in the project, and some of the committee members who are overseeing the project. Why?”
“Just wondered if anyone else got the kind of welcome we did from Esther,” I replied, wincing as I moved my left shoulder, which was sore from my near tumble down the steps.
“Oh yeah,” Kell said, leaning back against one of the display cases. “That’s how SPOOK got involved. I’d heard rumors about the Boyce house, and I intended to try to get permission to take the team in once it opened to the public, but they called me first.”
“What happened?” Teag asked. Now that we’d had a look at the house first-hand, “haunted” didn’t quite cover it. “Spook-a-palooza” was more like it.
“Apparently there’ve been problems since they started the renovation,” Kell replied. He was eying my blueberry muffin, so I gave him half, which he accepted with a guilty grin. If I had remembered he was coming over, I would have picked one up for him as well. I knew they were his favorite.
“Little things at first, like tools going missing or damage to repairs that had just been made. They thought vandals were getting in, but they could never find evidence of anyone messing with the locks.”
“
Anyone get hurt?” I asked.
He nodded. “From what the construction crew told me, the ‘pranks’ always had an edge to them, like someone wanted to make them go away. Broken equipment, for example, or making them re-do work. When that didn’t work, I guess Esther stepped up her game. One of the workers swears he got beaned by a block of wood that just flew through the air and hit him on the head. A couple of guys got shocked or burned by electrical surges. One of the carpenters almost lost his hand on an electric saw that suddenly turned on all by itself. So many people tripped or fell on the steps that they started using the servants’ stairs instead. And no one wanted to go into the attic.”
“And they stayed with the project?” Teag asked, raising and eyebrow. “Talk about persistent.”
Kell shook his head. “It wasn’t persistence—it was politics. Too much fundraising and bally-hoo had gone into this project. The Historical Society couldn’t afford to just walk away from it. So they paid for repairs and replaced workers who quit, and sprang for bonuses for people who stayed on the job.”
“Yikes,” I replied. I took another sip of my coffee while I thought about Kell’s story. “So we’ve got at least three ghosts from different time periods actively haunting the place. And all of them sound dangerous.”
“That’s why I’m counting on you to figure out what’s going on and how to get rid of them,” Kell said. “They’ll hold off the opening for a short time, but not forever.”
“It’s not going to be good publicity the first time old Judah pushes a visitor down the steps,” Teag noted. But I knew what Kell meant. The Historical Society could hardly cite “ghost problems” as a reason not to open their big new project to the public. There would be no face-saving way for them to abandon the effort at this point. So we not only had to figure out what pissed off the Boyce family ghosts, but do it quickly, before anyone else got hurt.
“We’re on it,” I promised. “I’ll let you know as soon as we have something.”
Kell grinned. “You’re the best!” He leaned over and gave me a quick kiss, then headed out with a wave.
“So I take it you and Kell are still an item?” Teag asked with a smile.
“Four months in and going strong,” I replied, before turning to examine the items Kell brought in.
“I’ll carry them back to the break room, so you don’t have to touch them,” Teag offered. “Then let’s take turns going through the papers. Maybe we’ll crack the secret.”
“Works for me.” I followed Teag into the break room and sat down at the table.
I glanced at the objects we had requested from the Boyce House. Nothing had struck me as the anchor for the hauntings, but then again, my senses had been overloaded by the sheer volume of pieces that glimmered with resonance. Since we couldn’t examine everything, I had asked for a personal item from Esther, Judah, and other family members—something small that might have been used daily or carried with them.
Reading those items with my psychometry would have to wait until Teag could help me. Given how strong the hauntings were, I had to assume the psychic taint that clung to personal items would be equally powerful, easily enough to knock me flat on my ass. I glanced at my watch. Sorren was traveling, but he expected to be back in Charleston tonight. Maybe he would remember something about the Boyce ancestors. Having a first-hand witness to history as an immortal business partner came in handy.
In the meantime, I’d see what I could learn from the letters and journals. My hand hovered above the box with the papers, trying to decide whether it was safe to touch. I felt the residue of strong emotion, but it was distant, faded with time. The sensation was strongest over the journals, which I expected since the leather-bound books were more substantial than the faded envelopes. I reached in, grabbing one of the newer journals.
For a moment, images overwhelmed me as my psychometry kicked into gear. I smelled roses and black tea, and the scent of soap and linen. I heard the chime of a mantle clock and the rattle of a spoon inside a teacup, elements of Esther Boyle’s daily life. I opened the cover and began to read.
“How’s it going?”
I startled at Teag’s voice, and a glance at the clock in the break room told me I’d been reading Esther’s journal for hours. I chuckled and put down the book, then rubbed my eyes. “Going well enough I didn’t realize how much time had passed.”
Teag grinned. “The afternoon’s been quiet. I thought maybe I could take some of those letters out with me and start reading, and then once we close up, I’ll spot you if you want to touch the objects Kell brought.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I agreed. “We could order pizza—unless Anthony’s waiting dinner on you?”
Teag shook his head. “Nah. He’s working late—big case coming up.” Anthony was a lawyer. “Kell expecting you?”
“No. I’m pretty sure he knew we’d dig into this when he brought over the box.”
Teag grabbed a pack of stained and faded envelopes. “Find anything in the journal?”
“Nothing concrete, just that Esther didn’t have a high opinion of some of her ancestors,” I replied. “And I get the definite idea that the house was actively haunted while Esther lived there, so that might have been part of her reason for wanting to see the place get torched.”
“It wouldn’t be an old South Carolina wealthy family if it didn’t have a mess of skeletons in the closet—and a few in the backyard, too,” Teag commented. Dealing with ghosts and haunted objects meant that we dug up a lot of dirt on things people would rather leave buried.
I got up and stretched, deciding to make a pot of coffee since I guessed we’d be pulling a late night. I read through all but the last few pages of the journal by the time I heard the bell on the shop door ring and the click as Teag threw the latch, signaling five o’clock. I’d been so immersed in Esther’s diary that the time flew by.
“Any juicy details?” I asked as Teag came into the break room with his handful of envelopes. He set the letters on the table and poured himself a cup of coffee, then took up a chair across from me.
“The Boyce’s weren’t a happy family,” Teag observed. “The letters I read were between Judah and his wife before the Civil War. He’s the one who made the family fortune.”
“He’s the grumpy ghost on the stairs. Kell brought us his pocketknife,” I supplied, glancing at the box.
“Right. He had quite the rags-to-riches story. Straight out of Horatio Alger. Poor boy makes good and ends up owning the cotton mill where he originally swept the floors. And all it cost him was his decency.”
“What do you mean?”
Over the course of the afternoon, Teag read all of Judah’s letters, while I finished both of Esther’s journals. “He was ruthless,” Teag replied. “He broke contracts, double-crossed old friends, and pushed the limits of the law—and was proud of it. Nothing mattered except rising to power and wealth.”
“Well,” I said, “he got what he wanted. It must have taken a lot of money even back then to build that house, and leave a nest egg substantial enough to keep several generations living comfortably.”
“Yes and no.” Teag leaned back in his chair, staring at the letters. “Judah got rich and powerful. But everything else seemed to go wrong. His health failed, his oldest son died in a carriage accident, his business partner committed suicide, and from the tone of the last letters, his marriage was on the rocks.”
“Sounds like a soap opera.” I drummed my fingers on Esther’s journals. “Actually, for being an heiress, Esther didn’t seem too happy toward the end, either. The early entries were different. She was in love with a man back during the Second World War, a pilot. She was really over the moon for him, and her diary talked about how she would do anything for him to come home safely to her.”
“Did he?” Teag leaned forward, caught up in the story.
“Yes—and no,” I replied, echoing Teag’s earlier answer. “He came home from the war, and they married. But then everything took a turn for
the worse. Esther had several miscarriages and never was able to have a child. Her husband had what she called ‘battle fatigue’—we’d say PTSD—and couldn’t hold a job. He died young. Drank himself to death.”
“So both Judah and Esther were unhappy, and both died in the house—which might explain the hauntings,” I mused. “How about the lady in the attic? Do we know who she was or why she hanged herself?”
“We’ve got a name—Alice Boyce Sandoval,” Teag said. “Esther’s great aunt. Kell knew that much. He brought a pocketknife from Judah, a necklace from Esther, and Alice’s signet ring.”
“Let’s get through the rest of the letters, and then we’ll tackle the items,” I suggested. “Maybe Sorren will be back by then.”
By the time we finished with the remaining correspondence, the pizza arrived. “I didn’t get much from the letters I read, except that for as much as the Boyce family prospered, they sure had a lot of personal tragedies,” I said after I finished my slice.
Teag swallowed his last bite of pizza and nodded. “Same here. Although a few of the letters did mention Alice. She married the man of her dreams—quite the society wedding. And then a few years later, her Prince Charming took off with Alice’ dowry and another woman and skipped town to Bermuda. She was completely disgraced.”
“Which explains why she hanged herself in the attic.” I poured myself a cup of coffee. I stared at the box with the personal possessions of our three ghosts and realized I had run out of excuses.
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s finish this.”
Teag pulled out a small strip of handwoven cloth, one I knew he had made himself. “Hold onto this when you touch the objects. That way, I can see what you see.”
“Not going to do much good if we both land on our asses,” I replied, trying not to sound nervous.
“That’s never happened the other times we’ve done this,” Teag said. “I think the version I see is a little… watered down.”
“Here goes nothing,” I said and reached out for Judah’s pocketknife.
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