Demons Are a Ghoul's Best Friend

by Victoria Laurie

  Muckleroy laid a hand on the dean’s shoulder and in a calm, cool voice he said, “It’s bad, Owen.”

  The dean looked over Muckleroy’s shoulder at the blanket that had now been thrown over Skolaris’s body. His hand flew to his mouth and he gasped, “Oh, God, no!”

  Muckleroy looked at Gil and me as he put a soothing hand on the dean’s shoulder. “Why don’t you two go back to your place and get a little shut-eye? I’ll call you in the morning and let you know if we find out anything else.”

  Gilley and I took our leave quickly. We’d both had enough drama for the evening.

  A little later we’d made it back to the ski lodge and I headed to my room, exhausted and spent. When I came out of the bathroom after having changed and washed my face I noticed Gilley sitting on my bed, looking sheepish. “What’s up?” I asked him.

  “I’m scared of the dark,” Gil said. “Can I sleep in here?”

  I smiled. “Sure, babe,” I said, pulling back the cover and climbing underneath. “But if you snore, your butt is gonna get tossed.”

  “So you can snore but I can’t?” Gil said, trying to hide a grin.

  I laughed. “Shut up,” I said, pushing at him as he too climbed under the covers.

  “Just try not to dream about that Dr. Delicious,” Gil added, still giving me a hard time. “I wouldn’t want you to think you were lying here with your Prince Charming.”

  “Oh, trust me.” I giggled. “When it comes to happily ever after, we all know you’re the guy with the wand and the wings trying to turn pumpkins into coaches.”

  “If the glass slipper fits,” Gilley said, rolling over and pushing his back up against mine.

  My last thought as I listened to Gilley’s breathing grow slow and regular was that there was something I wasn’t getting that I felt I should. Something about tonight should have tossed me a huge clue and allowed us to move forward. If I hadn’t been so tired, I might even have figured out what that was.

  Chapter 11

  “They do make a cute couple,” a male voice said, and my eyes snapped open. I realized immediately that I was staring right at Gilley, who had the same look of alarm I must’ve been wearing.

  “Seems a shame to disturb them,” said a female voice.

  Gilley and I immediately sat up and looked to the foot of the bed. Standing there were Steven and Karen, looking smugly down at us as if they’d just caught us red-handed.

  “It’s not what you think!” I said, pointing to Gilley and scooting away to the edge of the bed.

  “We’re not a couple!” Gilley added, moving in the opposite direction.

  “He’s gay!” I said.

  “She’s straight!” Gilley said, and we both hurried out of bed.

  Steven and Karen began giggling, and that turned into some pointing and laughter as Gil and I looked at each other and realized how disheveled and alarmed we both looked. Grumpy Gilley mumbled, “I gotta take a shower,” and walked out of the room in a huff.

  “What is his problem?” Steven asked, still grinning.

  “We had a rough night, and he doesn’t do well on”—I paused as I glanced at the clock on the nightstand and did the math—“four hours sleep.”

  Karen looked surprised. “You guys got in at four a.m.?”

  I rubbed my eyes, which were dry and irritated. “Like I said, it was a rough night.”

  “What happened?” Steven asked, his amused look completely gone as he came over to me and ran a finger along the gash on my forehead.

  “Long story,” I said. “Why don’t you guys go into the kitchen and let me get myself together and I’ll come give you the lowdown in a minute?”

  “Take your time,” Karen said, coming over to give me a quick hug.

  After Karen and Steven left my room I looked longingly at the rumpled bed. With a tired sigh I forced myself to turn and head into the bathroom, where I took a very quick shower and changed into some clean clothes.

  When I got to the kitchen there was a fantastic aroma in the air, a mixture of coffee and something delicious cooking on the stovetop. “Whatcha making?” I asked Steven when I entered.

  “Blueberry blintzes,” he said. “They are, how you say, the shitzel?”

  I smirked. “Shizzle,” I corrected. “I don’t think anything good would begin with shit.”

  “Good point,” said Steven. “I will remember this shizzle.”

  Karen was standing against the counter looking her usual gorgeous self, even for eight thirty in the morning. “How was Europe?” I asked when she handed me a cup of coffee.

  “It was fine,” she said, which was Karenspeak for fabulous.

  “You and John back together?” I asked, sticking my nose firmly into her business.

  Karen waved her hand airily. “Who knows?” she said.

  “I’m sure John would like to,” I said. “Seems like he really missed you and would like to think maybe he’s earned himself a second chance.”

  Karen sipped her coffee and looked at me over the brim, refusing to elaborate on her on-again/off-again relationship with the most eligible bachelor in New England. There was a shuffling noise behind us, and we all looked to see Gilley standing at the table looking puffy and tired. “Is that food?” he asked meekly.

  Steven took a plate from the cabinet and loaded it with three blintzes and some bacon and carried it over to Gil. “Here,” he said. “You look like you could use some energy. These blintzes will do the trick.”

  Karen brought him a cup of coffee, and I had a moment in which I was incredibly happy to have two friends who took such good care of Gil and me. “You’re next,” said Steven, reaching for another plate. “Go sit and I’ll bring these next few to you.”

  I took my coffee and sat down across from Gilley, who looked like he was in heaven. “Ohmigod,” he moaned. “These are incredible!”

  “Old family recipe,” said Steven.

  Karen came over and sat next to me. “How did you two arrive here together?” I asked as she scooted her chair in and Steven set down a plate in front of me.

  “Lake Placid has a small airport,” she said. “I flew into New York on the red-eye and got here early. Steven’s plane arrived from Boston right after mine.”

  “Good to have you both back,” I said, making sure to look sincerely at Steven.

  He noted my statement by giving me a kiss on the top of the head, and again he ran his finger along the gash on my forehead. “You were going to tell us about this rough night you two had?”

  Gilley and I each told parts of the story to catch them up. We’d had a pretty exciting time since last we saw them, and their amazed expressions confirmed that Gil and I had been through a lot in a few days. “I’m so sorry,” Karen said breathlessly.

  That took me by surprise. “For what?”

  “I had no idea this job was going to be so dangerous, M.J.,” she said. “If I had known you were going to be in any kind of physical danger I never would have encouraged you to get involved.”

  I was quick to reassure her. “It’s what I do, Teeko. Besides, if Gil and I hadn’t intervened, the moment that elementary wing was turned into a dorm those kids would be in real danger.”

  “Well, with a teacher being murdered on the school’s property, I doubt many of the parents will let their kids back in September.”

  As Karen finished speaking the doorbell rang. We all looked at one another to see who was expecting company. None of us were, so Steven got up to answer the bell. He returned with Dean Habbernathy, looking exactly as he had just five hours earlier, if a bit more frazzled and concerned. “I’m so sorry to interrupt your breakfast,” he said, noting our dirty plates and mugs of coffee. “But I’m afraid this couldn’t wait.”

  Gilley pointed to an empty chair, and the dean gratefully took a seat. “Would you like some coffee?” Gilley asked, picking up some of the empty dishes on the table while he was at it. “I was just about to put a fresh pot on.”

  “That would be wonderf
ul, thank you,” said the dean. I felt for the man. The last several hours had perhaps been the hardest on him.

  “How is Nicholas?” I asked gently.

  His face tightened and he said, “They’re keeping him for now on suspicion of murder. I’ve got a wonderful lawyer on retainer, and he’s recommending a colleague to represent Nicky at his bail hearing on Tuesday morning. We think we’ll be able to clear Nicky at the arraignment, or at the very least get him out on bond.”

  “Nicky’s a good man,” I said. “I know he would never resort to violence of this sort.”

  The dean seemed to wilt in his chair. His finger made circles on the tabletop as he said, “No, Nicky really is as gentle as a lamb. I believed him when he told me he found the hatchet and merely wanted to bury it.”

  We all fell silent for a moment, and I searched for something to say. “I’m so sorry for the loss of your friend,” I said, meaning Skolaris.

  The dean winced. “I’ve known Bill almost my whole life,” he said, still looking down at his finger on the tabletop. “It’s hard to believe he’s gone.”

  Gilley came back to the table with a steaming mug of fresh coffee, setting that down with a carton of cream before he refilled all our cups and again took his seat. We all waited in silence while the dean poured a little cream into his mug and stirred in some sugar. He seemed to be struggling with something he wanted to say. Finally he found his voice and said to me, “I’m afraid I haven’t been very truthful with you about the ghost haunting our school.”

  “No, you haven’t,” I said, being careful not to sound accusing. “But in my line of work I’ve often encountered a skeptic or two, so there’s been no offense.”

  “Yes, well, I am sorry for that,” the dean said. I could tell an apology was difficult for such a proud man. “I’ve built my life trying to make Northelm the very best educational facility in the state. I couldn’t really generate a reputation for excellence if I admitted to a violent poltergeist running loose around the grounds.”

  “How long have you known about Jack?” I asked.

  “Since I was very young,” said the dean. “My father told me about him. Nicholas and I were living in the same quarters Nicky still lives in today, and for some reason the ghost of Hatchet Jack never comes there. My father directed us strictly to stay inside during the summer evenings to keep us from getting the daylight scared out of us.” The dean gave a small shudder.

  “You had an encounter with him,” I said, picking up on his body language.

  Habbernathy looked sharply at me, but admitted, “Yes. Many years ago Jack chased me across the lawn. I’d never been so scared in my life, quite frankly.”

  “What happened?” Gilley asked.

  “Eric saved me,” the dean said quietly, with the tiniest hint of a smile. “When we were younger Eric was very real to us. But that faded with age. Ironic that Nicky still plays with him, but then, Nicky isn’t more than a six-foot-tall child himself.”

  “Eric has impressed me every time I’ve come across his energy,” I said. “He must have been one hell of a young man.”

  The dean nodded. “I’m sure that’s true,” he said.

  “Say,” I said, suddenly reminded of something. “Do you know why Eric wanted to show me the teachers’ lounge?”

  The dean looked like I’d caught him off guard. “The teachers’ lounge?” he said. “That’s in the main building. How did you get in there?”

  I blushed. “Sorry,” I said. “I know you told us to stick to the elementary wing, but Eric told me to follow him, and he unlocked the main building’s door for us.”

  The dean’s jaw dropped. “Ghosts can do that?”

  I smiled. “You’d be amazed at their craftiness,” I said. “Anyway, he led me up to the teachers’ lounge and then he bolted. I never got a chance to figure out why.”

  The dean scratched his head. “I don’t know what’s of interest up there, other than some old furniture. Truth be told, the teachers have been complaining that it needs to be updated.”

  I frowned. “Well, I have no idea why he led me up there,” I said. “And I hope I can figure it out by tonight, because it’s Friday, the last chance I have to bust this ghost and I know Jack will be on the prowl.”

  “You’re going back there?!” Steven and Teeko asked together.

  “Of course,” I said. “I’m here to get a job done, and that means seeing it through.”

  The dean was shaking his head. “I’m afraid I simply can’t allow it, Miss Holliday. Now that Jack has killed one of my staff, I simply cannot allow you to engage that evil demon.”

  “Dean Habbernathy,” I said, “Jack did not murder Bill Skolaris.”

  Again the dean looked quite taken aback. “What do you mean, he didn’t kill him?” he said. “Nicky found a hatchet at the murder scene!”

  “Yes, but it wasn’t Jack who was wielding it,” I said.

  “Did you see who did?” asked the dean.

  “Not exactly,” I admitted.

  “What do you mean, ‘not exactly’?”

  “It was really dark, and all I actually saw was someone standing over Skolaris with the hatchet. Then he came running after me and I didn’t look back.”

  “Then how do you know it wasn’t Jack?” asked the dean.

  “Because no ghost moves like that, Dean Habbernathy. They may be capable of violence, but to have the energy to actually kill someone is quite beyond their capabilities. It doesn’t happen.”

  The dean looked very worried. “But if the police here don’t believe that it was Hatchet Jack, then Nicky could very well go to prison for the rest of his life.”

  “Well, then,” I said, putting a soothing hand on his arm,

  “I suppose we’ll just have to figure out who really murdered Skolaris.”

  Gilley spoke up with something that had obviously been on his mind. “Dean Habbernathy?”

  “Yes?”

  “M.J. and I believe that the real Hatchet Jack might have died in the summer of 1976. Since there is an obvious connection to the spirit of the man and the school, I was wondering if you might have any childhood memory of him. Maybe he worked on the grounds and your father might have mentioned him to you over dinner that summer?”

  The dean frowned. “No, I’m sorry, Mr. Gillespie. Although the school has been in my family for many generations, my brother and I were adopted by my father, the former dean, in 1978—which would have been two years after you believe Jack died.”

  “Is there anyone you can think of at the school who might have been there during the late seventies?”

  The dean’s shoulders seemed to droop. “The only person who would have been there during that time was Bill Skolaris,” he said. “Everyone else was hired later.”

  “That’s telling,” I said, and the dean gave me a curious look, so I elaborated. “If Skolaris was the only one who might have been able to identify who Hatchet Jack was, then that means he very well could have been killed because of it.”

  “How can you be certain?” the dean asked. “I mean, I liked and admired Bill, which is why I kept him on even in the face of adversity. But in general the man was not well thought of, and he tended to rub people the wrong way. It’s just as likely he was killed by someone who had a completely unrelated quarrel with him.”

  “Well, there’s one way to find out,” I said, scooting back from the table. “Steven?” I asked. “Would you like to come with me into town to do some fact finding?”

  “Sure,” he said, getting up quickly.

  “Do you need me?” Gil asked.

  I looked at my tired and worn-out partner with sympathy. “You stay here, pal. Get some rest and we’ll be back by this afternoon.” Looking at Karen I added, “I don’t want to exclude you, Teeko. You’re welcome to join us if you’d like.”

  Karen got up and began to gather the breakfast dishes. “That’s okay,” she said. “You two go on ahead. I’ll clean up here and get some rest myself. I’m feeling pr
etty jet-lagged suddenly.”

  The dean followed us out and gave Steven and me a tired wave as we took off in the van. “Where are we going to find these facts you are looking for?” Steven asked me from the passenger seat.

  “First we have to get permission,” I said.

  “Permission?”

  “Yep,” I said with a nod. “From Detective Muckleroy.”

  “This is confusing,” Steven said.

  I waited until I’d let the desk sergeant at the police station know we were there to see Muckleroy to explain what I intended to do. “I have to get inside Skolaris’s house,” I said as Steven and I took a seat in the lobby.

  “Why?”

  “I’m going to try to connect with him,” I said. “He’s the key here. If I can connect with his energy then I might be able to get him to tell me who murdered him, and why. I might also be able to get some information about Jack out of him.”

  “Has Skolaris become a ghost?” Steven asked.

  I shrugged. “I won’t know that until I try to make contact.”

  “Wouldn’t it be better to go back to the place he was murdered and connect with him there?”

  “It might,” I said. “But I’d rather try his house first. Ghosts are as likely to inhabit the places they’re very familiar with as they are to inhabit the place where they died. Moving around in their home gives them a small sense of security in the face of so much confusion. Of course, there’s the added bonus that if Skolaris has crossed over successfully, we’d be far more likely to connect with him from his home, surrounded by the things that still have his residual energy.”

  “This is why you need the detective’s permission? To get inside Skolaris’s home?”

  “Exactly,” I said, getting to my feet when I saw the detective come out the door leading to the back offices.

  “This way,” he said, motioning us over.

  We followed him into his cluttered office, and I introduced Steven before getting down to business about what we wanted to do. The detective allowed me to speak uninterrupted, his face unreadable. When I’d finished he said,