by Mary Bowers
His eyes were black and held his thoughts quietly behind them. His hair had also been black at one time, but now it was streaked with gray and pulled back into an orderly ponytail. He tended to wear black. I wouldn’t have recognized him in Bermuda shorts and Hawaiian shirt; thank goodness he was in his usual black slacks, sandals and dark shirt. I didn’t need any more shocks that day.
I had always known that Barnabas lived above his book store (and now I knew that he lived below the morgue, if only the newspaper kind), but I had never been in his apartment before. Four generations of Barnabas Elgins had lived there, and the current Barnabas Elgin hadn’t remodeled. There was no air of decay – everything was freshly dusted and in good repair. But these days the Victorian atmosphere within Barnabas’s walls only existed in the better bed-and-breakfast inns.
His front windows faced south, and a warm gloss of morning sun outlined his chesterfield and his wing-back chairs. A dainty piecrust table bore an intricate crochet doily which had surely been made by the hands of an Elgin lady. A crystal chandelier hung from a fancy ceiling medallion. The dark mahogany of the tables hadn’t been fashionable since the 1920’s, and picked up tones from the deep red walls and the hunter green upholstery. Across the living room, turned so that natural light would fall on the sheet music, was a mahogany grand piano.
Here a toddling Barnabas had taken his first steps, drooling like any baby, but somehow I could only imagine him as a solemn child with unreadable eyes, and here Barnabas would grow old and die, secure in his place in the world, so close to his books.
“Please,” Barnabas murmured, gesturing toward one of the wing-back chairs. He seated himself, accepted Ishmael into his lap automatically, and said, “I wondered when you would come to me. How delightful to have you here on a quiet day, when the shop is closed.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I don’t like to intrude on your day off –“ He dismissed the thought by lifting a hand with a tired smile. “I spent the night in the loft with Charlie last night, and I’m troubled about what I felt.”
Barnabas’s face became somber. “Yes. I was afraid of this. Our friend Edson consulted me about the little maid, Ellen.”
“Barnabas, what else do you know about it? About her? You knew the Cadburys. I’m sure you know Frieda Strawbridge; I guess she’s about the only one left from that bunch. Do you think she’d talk to you? Do you have any – I’m sorry to say it so crudely – gossip? Something that wouldn’t have been in the newspapers?”
“Nothing was in the newspapers, dear. Only the poor child’s obituary. And as for gossip, you have to understand our families’ relationship. My grandfather represented The Press, and people like the Cadburys and the Strawbridges did not solicit and revel in publicity the way some of today’s wealthy people seem to do. While they collected rotogravure pictures of themselves and pasted them into albums, along with the notices of their social events and their charitable gestures, they held an iron grip on other information about their personal lives. And they had personal lives,” he said knowingly, “like any other people. I had a good relationship with our friend, Vesta, but unfortunately, she’s gone. And as for Frieda Strawbridge, she’s still angry about an article about her mother that was written by my grandfather, Barnabas Elgin III, in 1929. She makes no distinction between Barnabas Elgins, I’m afraid.”
I was disappointed. I realized I was running out of sources of information about Ellen O’Hare – if that’s in fact who it was in the barn loft.
Barnabas angled his head and the cat copied him, both staring at me as if their minds were connected. “I’m interested in your experiences in the loft last night. You say Charlie Kermit was there? Edson is quite concerned about him, and I must say, so am I.”
I told him everything I could remember. When I was finished, he nodded, looking satisfied about something.
“I think you can rest assured it is our little maid.” Suddenly, he smiled. Barnabas’s smiles were always sad, and this one was too, but around his eyes was a hint of amusement I rarely saw in him. “You like to think of yourself as a practical person, don’t you? Someone very much ‘with it,’ if they still use that expression.”
“Yes. Why?”
“You’re not.”
I gaped at him for a moment, and then defiantly said, “I am too.”
He was shaking his head ever so gently at me. “No, my little friend, you are not. You are sensitive and aware. You see and you hear. And then you close your eyes and put your hands over your ears and you say, ‘I’m a practical girl. Really I am.’” His quotation of me had been in a falsetto voice that made me smile in spite of myself. And then he administered the coup de grace. “And you still wear the cat pendant that Vesta gave to you after she died.”
I grabbed it. It was a gesture of surprise, defense, and frustration.
“You’ve crossed over a line, Taylor. Your connection to the goddess has changed you. Of course it has. You will always be changed by it, and it may mean many things. That may be why you are sensing things that are strange, but still you doubt them. You doubt the goddess,” he said quietly. When I didn’t answer, he said, “Don’t. You think her visits useless. They aren’t. And stop doubting yourself. You see very clearly. Why have you come to me today, my dear?”
I sagged back between the wings of the chair. “Because you’re the only one who listens to me, no matter what. Even Michael isn’t on my side. We broke up.”
“No you haven’t,” he said calmly. “Love doesn’t break. You’ve just had a slight bend. You’ll find the way back. A true, straight line is very rare in this life, and love is no exception. And as for having someone to listen, haven’t you hired Edson? He takes you seriously, I’m sure.”
“He’s not like you,” I said before I could think. “Nobody’s like you.”
He nodded gravely, accepting it as it was meant. Then he gazed at me fondly for a moment, absolutely still, while the morning sun brightened in the room. “Would you like some tea?”
We had moved to the little table in a corner of his kitchen. The tea was hot, fragrant and served in bone china, and there were little pastries which he told me he liked to indulge in on Sundays. Ishmael had followed us in and was acting like a cat, for once, playing on the floor with a little stuffed mouse and occasionally vocalizing in a surprisingly childlike voice.
After watching Ishmael for a moment, I looked back at Barnabas and found him gazing at the table profoundly, almost looking through it, and in his eyes was in inexpressible sadness.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
“Oh yes. It’s just so lovely to have you here, so lovely to be having tea.”
I was disconcerted. Barnabas had never expressed a need for human company before – mine or anybody else’s. As always, he must have sensed what was in my mind, because he quickly spoke again, diverting me.
“Things are strange in Tropical Breeze just now. I don’t like what I’ve been feeling. I think – though I don’t know why just yet – that a certain energy has formed around you. Something negative. Something unhealthy. Have you sold your house yet?”
The quick change to yet another subject caught me off guard. “No I haven’t. The deal fell through.”
“That’s bad,” he said, almost to himself. “I was afraid of that.”
“Oh? Why?”
“Because of the energy around you; what I’ve been sensing. Tell me,” he said with a quickening of interest, “has it ever crossed your mind that you might be making a mistake, moving the shelter out to Cadbury House?”
I was struck dumb.
He held up a hand, silently asking for sufferance. “I’m not suggesting anything, Taylor, dear. I only ask because I want to know. Have you?”
“No,” I said shortly, and just like that, my doubts were gone. I knew I could work out the logistics, and I had plans for off-site adoption events, an open-to-the-public picnic grounds by the river to bring people onto the property, and even keeping adoptable animals at
Girlfriend’s to let people see them. Things that had been happening were getting me down, but I had it figured out, and I knew now that it was going to work.
“Good,” Barnabas said. Then he fixed me with the most direct gaze of which he was capable, and I knew it would only last for a moment, so I paid attention. “Trust yourself, my friend. There is danger, and it’s something larger than anything else you’ve ever faced. Back away from it if your instincts tell you to. But go forward and fight it if you must.”
Then he sat back and looked away.
“Barnabas,” I said weakly after a moment, “I don’t know what that means.”
“You’re not the only one who wants Cadbury House,” he said, speaking down at the floor.
And then it hit me. If it hadn’t been for all the distractions, I would have seen it before – and then again, if it hadn’t been for the danger I was facing, there would have been no distractions. One thing led directly to the other. Now that I knew what was going on, I wanted to tackle it head-on. I rose from the table, kissed the top of Barnabas’s head and thanked him.
It wasn’t until I was outside and Barnabas’s spell had begun to fade that it hit me that I only had the first part of the riddle. I knew why things were happening as they were, but I didn’t know who was doing it.
Chapter 17
When I got back to Cadbury House, Ed was out somewhere, so I decided it was time to tackle Myrtle. I was still convinced she knew something useful.
She was still miffed at me because Michael had left. An elderly spinster, she seemed to think that men – especially professionals, like doctors and lawyers – were strange and wonderful creatures who should be treated with reverence, and I had treated Michael as a mere mortal. Therefore, it was all my fault.
When she heard me come in, she quickly made some excuse and started to go up to her room.
“Before you go,” I said, “come on into the kitchen. I want to talk to you.”
She dragged herself back, refusing to look at me.
“Have a seat. Want some coffee or something?”
I was getting myself a cup, and when she didn’t answer, I decided to drop it. I sat down next to her at the breakfast bar and stared at her long enough to make her look at me.
“I know what you want,” she said. “I know why you brought me back here. You want to know about the thing in the barn. Well, I already told you: I – don’t – know.”
It might have been true. But if she did know something, she wouldn’t give it up easily. The Family, you know. Must keep the skeletons securely in the closet.
“So I guess you’ll have to bring me back to town. Florence,” she added as her eyes grew wet, “will never forgive you.”
“I’m not going to fire you if you won’t tell me what I want to know. Now that you’re here, I realize that I really do need a housekeeper. And believe it or not, it matters to me that you’re happy here, and that you and your sister aren’t happy when you’re living together. I’m hoping you’ll tell me so that we can keep it all in the family.”
She stared. “What do you mean?”
I took a gamble. Myrtle probably didn’t know that the Realm of the Shadows crew was gone for good, so I gestured toward the barn. “You’ve seen what’s been going on out there. And you’ve seen that reality show. They’re zeroing in on the barn, and if they dig up a scandal, they’ll be only too happy to plaster it over 50,000 TV screens. The fact that they’ll also be trashing the Cadbury family won’t mean a thing to them.”
That got her. A look of horror grew on her face, deepening the longer she thought about it. I pressed my advantage.
“Look, Myrtle, I believe the barn really is haunted. I spent the night there and I felt it too. And if you care at all about Charlie Kermit, I’d like you to know that he’s in real danger of being possessed. This thing is only going to get worse unless you let Edson and me try to deal with it. He knows how to do an exorcism, and he’ll get rid of the ghost once and for all.”
She thought it over tensely, looking at anything but me. Once or twice she opened her lips, then shut them again. Whatever it was, it wasn’t going to come out easily.
Finally, when I’d almost given up, she said, “She wasn’t a good girl.”
“Who?”
She sagged, and I could see I’d won. “The maid. There was a maid, and she had a lover. This was back in Elizabeth Cadbury’s day. He disappointed her somehow. She wasn’t pregnant,” she said suddenly, as if I’d accused the girl. “The Family would never have allowed such goings-on. But the girl was unstable, and when her boyfriend let her down, she hung herself.”
“Ellen?”
She looked at me. “Her name was never spoken. I don’t know it. That’s all I know. Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye. That’s all I know. Now let me get back to work.”
She hopped down from the tall-boy chair, and I sat pensively sipping my coffee. It didn’t get us much forwarder, but it was something. Maybe Ed’s exorcism for disappointed lovers was different from the ones for other issues. Anyway, I told him the next time I saw him, and he wasn’t impressed.
Since Myrtle had come to us, Ed had been going back and forth from Cadbury House to his own home in St. Augustine. He had his reference library and most of his equipment there, and most importantly, Myrtle wasn’t there.
There had been no more incidents in the cemetery, and heaven knows what was going on in the loft because I didn’t go back to spend the night there after that one time. In my comfortable bed in the house, I would lay alone thinking about Charlie standing against the wall in the loft, surrendering himself. It was horrible. And I knew it was dangerous.
His whole crew was worried about him, and they were working like madmen, determined to get Charlie out of there. The job was almost finished, in fact, and I was ready to move the cats into the old cabins. Within a week, we’d be moving the dogs into the barn. Tripp and I exchanged anxious looks every time we saw one another, and everybody was pushing for the day when Charlie had no more excuses to come to Cadbury House. Ever. I had no idea what kind of showdown we’d have at that time, and my anxiety increased as the workdays dwindled.
On the next Tuesday morning, while I was standing in the kitchen at Cadbury House, I heard a car door slam outside and froze, trying not to hope too much. By now, I really wanted Michael to come back, but I hadn’t reached the point of complete desperation, and was holding out for him to make the first move. I almost broke down a few times, but then I’d think about him rolling off to play golf while I dealt with Teddy, Porter, the sale of my house, and whatever was lurking in the loft and I’d get mad all over again. Still, whenever I heard a car arrive, I held my breath and couldn’t move until I knew who it was.
It was only Ed.
He had a key to Cadbury House by then, and he let himself in. When he got as far as the kitchen, he let out a yelp. “Are you okay?” he said. “You scared me. What are you doing standing there all alone like you’re in a trance?”
I let my breath out and said, “I’m fine.”
He ogled me in a way I think he meant to be fatherly. “Why don’t you just call him?”
“I will when I’m ready,” I said. “Listen Ed, I don’t think there’s any point in you spending the nights in the cemetery anymore.”
“I’m beginning to agree with you,” he said, startling me.
“Oh?”
“Yes,” he said briskly, setting his briefcase down on the kitchen counter. Then he looked around. “Where’s Myrtle?”
“Making up the beds.” I knew that when she heard Ed’s voice in the kitchen, she’d stay upstairs.
“Oh. Good. I believe we should concentrate on the loft. The situation is getting dangerous for Charlie. We need to do some kind of intervention before we lose him.”
I limply agreed. “What did you have in mind? An exorcism? Or what? Because I don’t think I can take much more, and if you start in on some kind of cheesy swami act . . . .”
He glared at me and I stopped and apologized. Still, he was hurt.
“Really, Taylor, if you thought I was capable of that, you shouldn’t have hired me.”
“Okay, okay, you’re right,” I moaned, rubbing my eyes. “How about I get you some coffee and we sit down and talk it over. Just what do you have in mind about – you know – the loft situation?”
We settled at the breakfast bar and he opened his briefcase. “I have some research here for you to read.”
He plopped down a thick stack of print-outs and I picked them up and flipped through them quickly. They were investigative reports from something called The Journal of the American Society for Psychical Research, and most were dated over a hundred years ago. They described deadly serious investigations of séances conducted by self-proclaimed psychics. Many of them were unintentionally hilarious; all of them had proved fakery, at least as far as I could tell from a quick skim-through.
“Do you think this haunting is being faked?” I asked, setting the reports aside.
“Frankly, no, but I’m keeping an open mind.”
“You weren’t there,” I said flatly. “There’s something in that barn, and it wants Charlie.”
“Or Charlie wants it,” he said. His cell phone rang and he looked to see who was calling. “It’s Dolores. I’d better take it. Excuse me.”
It took me a moment to remember Dolores. “Oh right,” I said softly. “Frieda Strawbridge’s daughter.”
I listened to one side of the conversation until he hung up and filled me in.
“She’s been coming to my house and knocking, but I haven’t been there much. Then she saw me today, but by the time she got down the street I was driving away, so she decided to just call. Frieda wants to see us.”
