by Angie Fox
The other side of the desk was a different story. The top drawer strained under the weight of file folders bent to fit inside. They were carefully stacked and labeled in Virginia’s loopy scrawl.
I perused her official meeting notes, going back some twenty years. She kept an entire file on etiquette and manners, with a list in the back of who had none. Ouch. She kept table charts from the gala, noting which tablemates had hit it off and which should never share dinner again, at least in her opinion.
* * *
Miranda Statler, incorrigible floozy.
Fiera Marlow, a prime example of the failures of two centuries of inbreeding.
Garretta Carson, there’s a tree stump in Louisiana with a higher IQ.
* * *
Well, I supposed I should be grateful Virginia merely saw me as a loudmouth commitment phobe.
Julia had been kind to keep a lid on this, especially when Virginia listed her as having the brain and body of a stick bug. Perhaps Julia hadn’t seen this file. She had taken office in such a sudden, surprise victory. And it seemed she’d had more on her plate than desk cleaning.
Did Virginia even remember this was here?
Ellis rapped on the office doorway. “Finding anything?”
“The list is gone,” I told him.
“Constance?” he asked, entering.
“Probably.” I set Virginia’s file on the cleared desk. “I also found some of your mother’s old notes. She’s been less than charitable to her members.” I motioned for him to take it. I’d left the worst on top. “Maybe you should give it to her.”
He began reading and winced. “She must have forgotten this was here,” he said, closing it. “I can’t just take it though,” he added, holding it as if he wished he could. “It feels wrong.”
It did. “Here,” I said, letting him hand it back to me. “We’ll put it at the bottom of everything and you can tell her it’s here. Surely, she’ll be more than glad to drop by tomorrow and get it herself.”
Ellis nodded, his hands on his hips. I could tell he was disturbed by the sharpness of his mother’s jabs. She could be cruel, but she was still his mother. “Have you looked in the file cabinets at all?”
“No,” I said. Ghost hunting was much more fun than file sorting. He headed for them while I took the table on the other side. “Did you find anything on your walk of the house?”
“Caked mud by the side entrance,” he said grimly, his fingers flying through the first drawer of files. “I sent some pictures to Marshall, along with the pictures of the tracks we saw outside the house. He’s going to come by with an expert in the morning.”
“So Julia took office unexpectedly,” I said, perusing the remaining files from the table. Fall carnival, holiday social, board meeting… “Vincent believes she had an envelope addressed to him and that she brought it here. She also made a list that said: necklace, doorknobs, candlestick.”
“It could have been a list of things to buy,” Ellis said, moving down to another drawer. “Not a list of items missing.”
“Then why did someone take it?” I asked.
“Maybe my mom will have an idea,” Ellis said. “I’ll call her,” he said, pulling his phone out of his pocket.
“Are we giving anything away by doing that?” I asked him, and myself. I’d learned my lesson, thank you.
“She’s my mother,” he said, as if that absolved her, “and she was with me the night of the murder.”
Plus she knew most everything anyway.
“All right—” I began, but he was already dialing.
I’d finished with the committee files on the table and I wasn’t exactly keen on listening to Ellis confront his mother, so I slipped out of the office and into the foyer.
It lay quiet and empty.
I pressed forward into the narrow hallway, curious as to what Vincent might have wanted to find in the museum.
I flipped on the lights as I went. It would look like we were having a party in here. And when I reached the entrance, I paused.
The mannequins remained in place, perfectly presentable for a fifth-grade field trip audience, or anyone else. I stepped inside, letting the quiet seep into my bones.
I studied the cases, all locked tight, protecting antique earrings and wedding rings, dance cards and Native American pottery. I paused over a small section dedicated to Father Flagherty, spiritual counselor to the Home for Wayward Widows and Orphans.
His looped writing on the aged letters told of a dozen good widows, alone and forgotten, who had lost their husbands in the War of Northern Aggression. He prayed for all who took it upon themselves to donate whatever funds they could spare for the home. It seemed they needed food and medicine, clothes for the children.
I ran my fingertips over the glass, tracing the thick metal cross nestled in velvet next to the letters.
“That cross was an ordination gift from my mother,” a booming voice drawled.
I turned quickly and saw the spectral image of an old, bald priest.
He grinned at me. “Didn’t mean to scare you, pumpkin.”
“Father Flagherty?” I asked. He wore a black cassock and a thick silver cross that glowed as bright as he did.
“I’m glad to meet you, Miss Verity,” he said, smiling at my shock. “Molly told me about you.” He frowned. “I caught her in the cemetery with your friend.”
“He’s harmless,” I assured the priest.
His frown deepened. “He’s dangerous and sinful,” Father scolded. “I told him to stay out of my cemetery.”
“Yours?” I asked, a bit harder than I’d intended. But I didn’t appreciate the way he talked about Frankie.
He folded his hands into the pockets of his cassock. “There’s much work to be done for those poor souls. I don’t need the distraction and neither does Molly.”
“I’m glad you care.” I just hoped he didn’t judge them too harshly.
He drew next to me and looked down at the cross under glass. “They really should have buried me with that. If Mother Mary hadn’t gone before me, she’d have insisted.”
So he knew her. Of course he did, he’d written letters about her. They haunted the same house. “I’ve tried to talk to Mother Mary. She isn’t very forthcoming.”
He folded his hands into his sleeves. “Then perhaps you should let her be.”
“I can’t afford to do that. I found a woman dead at the bottom of the stairs a few days ago. Her name was Julia. I think she was murdered and that Mother Mary might have information that would help us solve the case.”
He nodded solemnly. “Such a shame. Lovely young woman. I gave her last rites, although she was already gone.”
At last. A ghost who had seen Julia’s body. “Did you see who killed her?”
“No,” he said, his regret clear. “I found her at the bottom of the stairs.” He leaned closer. “I’ve been looking for her death spot. It’s rare, but sometimes, they have trouble moving on.”
“I can’t find her death spot, either.”
“It may be gone already,” he said, with a touch of regret. “Soul traces can disappear quickly when a spirit rises up. That’s a blessing at least.”
“True.” But it wasn’t justice. “I keep thinking her death has something to do with the disturbances in the house. Maybe she was here early one morning and saw something or heard something she shouldn’t. Maybe it has something to do with the way the mannequins in the museum have been moving.”
“I have no idea what you mean,” he said, and I realized that of course whatever ghost was doing this wouldn’t have involved the priest. Not if Father was scandalized by a picnic in the cemetery.
“About that,” I said, trying to figure out a way to explain.
He held up a hand. “Let me worry about it, child. You can’t possibly understand what is happening in this house, nor should you.”
I didn’t appreciate his condescending tone, even if he was from another age. “Believe me, I’m more than capable
of understanding. And I’m sure I can help.”
“You sound like Mother Mary,” he scoffed, “only your methods—and hers—are all wrong.”
“And yours are working so well.” He hadn’t even found Julia’s death spot.
Of course, neither had I, but I wasn’t being cocky about it.
He shook his head sadly. “Your friend has gone to a better place. The best thing you can do now is honor her memory by doing good on your side of the veil.”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” I said. If he’d just stop thinking he knew what was best. “I’d appreciate it if you could summon Mother Mary for me. We’ll talk to her about how to proceed.” She’d realize I was a good person to work with. Maybe she and I could team up and leave the old priest out of it.
“Absolutely not. Mother Mary is in seclusion.”
“She called me,” I said. “She showed herself to me in her office. I saw her hands with a rosary. That doesn’t sound like seclusion to me.”
“I gave her that rosary,” he said, softening for a moment. “She’s a good woman. But even good women need to know when to stand back and let a man do the job.”
Oh, brother. I opened my mouth to kindly say what I thought of that, but he had already begun to shimmer and disappear. “Father, wait—” I protested.
But he was already gone. It seemed the good Father had indeed gotten the last word.
“I am going to talk to Mother Mary,” I said to the empty museum.
In fact, now might be a good time to explore the only place in the house I hadn’t visited—Mother Mary’s bedchamber.
Chapter 16
I paused near the spot where Julia’s body had been found, then eased past it and ascended the curving staircase. The hallway upstairs lay deserted. Still, I kept an eye out for ghosts as I approached the room at the end of the hall, Mother Mary’s room.
I placed a hand on the crystal knob. This time, it opened easily.
Strange.
Had I earned Mother Mary’s approval since the last time I’d tried? Was that why I’d been drawn back?
Or perhaps she’d merely run out of strength after appearing to me in her office.
I stepped inside a bedroom with red silk wallpaper and heavy silk drapes.
An antique wood bed stood against one wall and a ghostly candle flickered on the dresser next to it.
On the mantel across from the bed, a pair of candlesticks glowed with an unearthly light. They flared at the base and rose in an elegant line to the place where they held burning tapers. Nearly on top of them, in the mortal realm, stood an identical pair. Only the ghostly pair were about a half inch shorter.
I pulled my keys from my purse and, carefully, so as not to touch the otherworldly flame, I reached one of the keys into the lower taper of the modern candle. Then I gently tugged it into my waiting grasp.
The silver candlestick felt lighter than I’d expected, and when I turned it over, I saw it was hollow in the middle.
Definitely not an antique.
Had the originals been taken and replaced?
Even if they had, I couldn’t be certain when in history it had happened, or how the thefts fit in with Julia’s death. A pair of candlesticks was hardly worth killing over.
“I told you this room is forbidden!” an outraged Henrietta exclaimed.
I turned to find her head floating in the doorway. “Do you know who took the candlesticks that belong in here?”
She grew even more horrified. “They’re missing?” she shrieked, her gaze landing on the modern replacements I held. “I told Molly we should be more careful. No one is allowed in here ever again!”
“Who did you see come in here before?” I asked.
Her eyes fluttered so fast I was afraid she was going to pass out. If that was even possible for a ghost. “Another blonde woman,” she sputtered.
Great. That narrowed it down.
“Did she take anything else?”
“Every doorknob on this floor!” she fumed. “Replaced.”
“Recently?” I eased past her to check the knob on the door.
“Of course,” she shot back. “I’m not like the girls in the cemetery. I know what decade it is.”
I crouched down to inspect Mother Mary’s door. The cut crystal knob mirrored what I saw on the mortal plane almost exactly. Almost. When I looked closer, I could see the one there now was slightly larger and perfectly clear. The original crystal had a few tiny flaws I hadn’t noticed before.
Holy smokes. “The ghostly portrait in the hall downstairs,” I said, “I saw her necklace on a girl named Constance. Do you know anything about that?”
“Leave!” she insisted. “This floor is private.”
“All right.” I eased past her and out into the hall. “Don’t get upset,” I said. Too late. “I’d also appreciate it if you don’t mention to Mother Mary that I was in here.”
She hovered in the doorway, as if she feared I’d make a dash back into Mother Mary’s private bedroom. “You need to take your friend home,” she insisted.
“Ellis is just helping me sort through some paperwork,” I assured her.
Her eyes widened. “Not him. The other one!”
Frankie. I should have known. “I realize you don’t want Molly to be courting, but he’s being a perfect gentleman.” So far. “I promise I’ll keep an eye on them.”
“She keeps sneaking out to meet him,” she said, following me as I walked down the hall toward the stairs. “That’s not like her. She doesn’t know the first thing about men or love. What if she falls for him?”
I could honestly say the thought hadn’t occurred to me. It was Frankie. Still, he’d been rather romantic back there. And Henrietta had a point—virtuous young ladies should not be meeting strange guys in the cemetery.
I turned to face her. “Try not to fret too much about your friend,” I said, hoping my words brought her some comfort. “He’s a good person.” Mostly. “He just likes to play by his own set of rules.”
She seemed taken back at that. “But he’s a lawyer.”
Say what?
“You’re talking about the guy in the white hat, right?”
“With the stunning good looks and the flower in his lapel,” she clarified.
Oh, brother.
“He’s her handsome lawyer?”
“Of course,” Henrietta sputtered. “Are you daft?”
“I’ll set him straight,” I promised her. “In fact, I’ll take him with me when I leave.” Then Frankie and I would have a nice, long chat.
“You’d better.” She fled through the wall at the back, probably to try to spy on her friend and the gangster. Make that lawyer. That one took the cake.
I headed down the stairs and found Ellis still in the office. He was bent over the middle file cabinet drawer and he didn’t appear happy.
“I’m finding nothing,” he said, frustrated. “Why do they need fifty copies of meeting notes from May 12, 1988?”
“Did you talk to your mother?”
He straightened. “She was horrified. She thought she’d gotten rid of all that.” He held up his hands. “She should have just put it in this file cabinet. Nobody seems to look in here. They just shove more stuff in. At least we have all night,” he added, going back to it.
“I’m still not crazy about spending the night in a haunted house.” It hadn’t turned out so well the last time.
He glanced up at me. “We’ve got a suspect who’s eager to get into that museum. If he thinks I’m gone, he’ll try again. I don’t want anything disturbed until I can get Marshall out here tomorrow morning.”
Good point.
“Also, there was something to Julia’s list of missing items. Someone has taken candlesticks and doorknobs from upstairs. I had it verified by a ghost. I’d also be willing to bet Constance stole the necklace she was wearing when she showed up at Vincent’s house.”
He cursed under his breath. “Okay. I’ll keep an eye out for records or
any photographic evidence of what’s supposed to be there.”
“I’m pretty sure I saw the originals on the other side.” Or at least what had been in the house in Mother Mary’s time.
Ellis ran a hand over his face. “We need proof in this world.” He looked down to the endless paperwork around him. “Maybe it’s in here somewhere.”
I nodded, the prospect making my eyes cross a little. “I also promised I’d find Frankie a new place to stay. And I have to let Lucy out again.” She’d gorged herself on blueberries this afternoon.
“Go.” He left the endless files to plant a kiss on my forehead. “I’ve got this.” He handed me his truck keys. “I know I was frustrated just now, but I’ll be fine. You’d be amazed at the amount of paperwork I handle in a day at the station.”
“You had me at paperwork,” I said, glad not just because I could trust him to do the job right, but also because he was always there for me.
I held up his keys. “I’ll bring back some blankets and pillows. You want me to run by your place for anything?”
He grinned. “Nah. As soon as you get back, I’ll have all I need.”
* * *
A few minutes later I was in his truck, with a gooey look on my face and pure affection in my heart. That man was worth putting up with a thousand Virginia Wydells.
I was even happier when the truck started and nothing stopped me from pulling out. I turned onto the main road, eager to make my trip fast and return with a fresh fruit salad for us to nibble on, when Henrietta’s head popped up next to me.
“Now you’re really on my list,” she vowed.
I jerked the steering wheel at her sudden appearance and the truck swerved. Holy smokes. I wasn’t used to power steering. I over-recovered and skidded into the oncoming lane.
“You’re going to get us killed!” Henrietta shrieked.
“You’re already dead,” I bit out, regaining control of the truck if not my racing heart.
My old Cadillac might be a tank, but it was a lot easier to drive.
I kept to my lane and slowed down, grateful to be in one piece. The truck’s headlights cut through the pitch black and illuminated the trees lining the road.
