Ghost Moon (Haunting Romance)

by Kathryn Knight

  “No, they’re pretty good about listening. Well, Benny is, and Bosco will usually follow Benny.”

  “I’d love to have a dog someday. It’s hard in the city, though.”

  There it was again. He hesitated, then dove in. “Is there someone…special…waiting for you there? Boyfriend?”

  She gave a harsh laugh. “No, definitely not. No boyfriend, waiting or otherwise.”

  A surge of relief flowed through him. He’d suspected as much, after what she’d said about not having anyone that night at his office, but it was good to have confirmation. Although he wasn’t sure it made a difference. What was he going to do…try to start a relationship with her when he knew she was desperate to leave?

  An awkward silence began to unspool, and he cast about for something to fill it. “But your family lives there?”

  An insect jumped away from their footsteps with a loud buzz of protest. “No,” she said, her voice slow and heavy. “My family is gone. My parents passed away, and I’m an only child.”

  Crap. He clenched his jaw, closing his eyes for a moment. “I’m really sorry, Lark.” As they entered the woods between their houses, the dogs came flying from the side of the yard to join them.

  “It’s okay.” She adjusted the blanket, hunching her shoulders and pulling it tighter. “Honestly, there’s nothing waiting for me in New York. Not even a job or an apartment, at this point. It’s just…what I’m used to. I grew up going into the city for dinners and events. I went to college there, and then I lived there for three years after school. There are so many cool places…there’s always something to do.” Clearing her throat, she shrugged inside her blanket. “It’s home, you know?”

  “I do know,” he said as they crossed the bridge. Beneath their feet, the river ran sluggishly along its course to the ocean. Something slipped into the water, the small splash catching the dogs’ attention. “No! Don’t go in,” he commanded in an authoritative tone.

  “Have you always lived here?” she asked, picking her way around a shallow ditch along the trail.

  “Well, I grew up here. My mom’s family was from here, and when my parents married, they decided to settle down here, and my father opened the vet clinic. But I went to college in California.”

  “Wow…that’s a long way from Cape Cod.”

  “Well, my older brother, Ryan, went to school on the west coast, so I had visited a few times. He still lives there. I came back east for veterinary school, and got accepted into a military program called HPSP. Health Professionals Scholarship Program. Basically, the army paid for my grad school, and I served as a military vet for three years. So I moved around quite a bit during active duty.”

  She slowed, turning to look at him. “Whoa. Did you live overseas?”

  “For my second tour, yes. I was in Afghanistan.”

  “Jeez. That must have been scary. You must be glad to be back here.”

  “I am. I mean, it is awfully quiet here sometimes in the off season, but after a war zone, there’s something to be said for the peacefulness.”

  As if on cue, a breeze rustled the branches overhead. Through chinks in the forest canopy, stars blazed with fiery brilliance, their luster intensified in the absence of manmade lights.

  Lark murmured a small sound of agreement. “It is peaceful.” She glanced up the hill as they came to the edge of her yard. “I just wish I didn’t live in a haunted house.”

  “Yeah, it’s less than ideal.” They chuckled together, and he added, “The offer stands, by the way…if you ever need a different place to stay, I have room.”

  “Thanks.”

  He sensed her guard going up again, which seemed to happen any time he offered her help. What had happened in her past to make her so wary? She seemed afraid to appear vulnerable—even more afraid than of sleeping in a house she felt was haunted.

  Maybe she just didn’t want his help. Maybe the chemistry he felt sparking between them was completely one-sided. And if he was imagining romantic connections, it was probably time to get back to dating. He’d had a brief relationship with a grad student spending the summer here when he’d returned stateside last year, but she returned to her studies around the same time his father suddenly passed away, and there just wasn’t enough holding them together to keep it going. Autumn and winter had been a whirlwind of grief and planning as he took over running the clinic and helped his mother move. He hadn’t had the time or interest in dating, despite Heather’s attempts to insinuate herself into his life again during the fallout of his family’s loss.

  He sighed inwardly. That wasn’t fair. Maybe he was being too cynical. Heather wasn’t a bad person—he wouldn’t have dated her for three years if she was. It was just that she was used to getting what she wanted, and she seemed to have him in her sights. She’d brought over prepared meals from her family’s market long after other friends had stopped…but she’d also used every visit to get close to him physically, forcing him to summon the strength to resist her while remaining polite. It was flattering—and sometimes tempting—but mostly just exhausting.

  “Have you always wanted to be a vet?” she asked, dragging him from his dark thoughts.

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yes. I loved watching my father work, loved helping him at the clinic when I got older. I did my undergrad in three years so I could move on to vet school faster.”

  “That must have been nice.”

  “What, finishing undergrad in three years?”

  “No, knowing what you wanted to do with your life. Having a passion that’s also a career.”

  “It’s been good,” he agreed, shortening his stride to keep pace with her as they climbed the sloping hill. “What do you do?”

  “I studied business in college, mostly because my dad insisted that was the practical thing to do. So I ended up with a job at a brokerage firm, but I got laid off.” She hesitated, as though she were about to say more.

  “I’m sorry. That sucks.”

  “Yeah. It happened literally a week after I inherited this house, so coming here seemed like a good option to regroup.”

  Bosco raced by, eager to investigate a new place. Benny loped along a few moments later and slowed to walk beside them. “And you’re hoping to sell the house?”

  “That’s the plan. I need the money, frankly. I think I’m going to need to make some upgrades, though, and I’m not sure how I’m going to afford that. There’s a trust attached to the house that was meant for upkeep, so I need to check with the lawyer to see if I can access that. I don’t think there’s much left, though.” She sighed. “And I suppose I need to get rid of the ghost, too.”

  He called Bosco back as they rounded the side of the house. The outdoor lights glowed from the porch, and the front door stood wide open to the night. Moths swirled around the bright beacons in an excited cloud of activity.

  “Great. I guess I forgot to close the door when I took my midnight stroll.”

  “You want me to check the house?” he asked, climbing the porch steps behind her. Before the dogs could barrel into her house, he commanded them to sit and stay.

  She peered inside, then turned back to him. “No, that’s okay. But thanks. For everything.”

  He didn’t want the conversation to end. He still wanted to know what her passion was. What her childhood had been like, and what had happened to her family. Why she seemed determined not to accept his help. What made her happy and what made her sad. Her favorite food. Hell, he wanted to know all about her. But it was late, and they both needed sleep. And she was standing by the open door, wrapped in a blanket, waiting for him to leave.

  “You’re welcome. You still have my cell number if you need me, right? Just call if something weird happens. I leave it on all night, and I can be here in five minutes.”

  Her eyes glistened with moisture, and she looked away, fighting back tears. “Thank you,” she said again, her voice breaking slightly.

  His heart contracted. “Really, it’s no problem.”


  She swallowed hard, meeting his gaze again. “Would you really ask your mom for information about the house? I think I need to know what happened here. I’m going to do some research tomorrow, but…” she trailed off, shrugging a shoulder.

  “Of course. I’ll be at the clinic, but I’ll give her a call when I have a break. My mom would love a project like this. She’ll have all her friends in the retirement community gathering intel.”

  Emotions played across her face, and then suddenly she was hugging him, her arms wrapped around his neck. He instinctively embraced her, pulling her closer as his stunned mind fought to catch up. The blanket had puddled to the floorboards of the porch, and his hands slid in soothing circles over her back. Beneath the layers of their combined shirts, her flesh trembled slightly.

  “Thank you. For everything,” she whispered. “I know I keep repeating myself.”

  “It’s fine. If you need help, I’m here.” Bosco pressed against their legs, desperate to share the affection.

  She loosened her grip, and he released her, inhaling her scent as they stepped apart. Citrus, sleep, and the woods. Reaching out, he pulled a pine needle from her hair.

  “Get some rest,” he instructed as she bent to pick up the blanket. “And stay in bed this time.”

  “I’ll try.” She gave him a wan smile as she held the blanket out to him. “You get some rest, too.”

  They locked eyes for a moment, the air between them growing still and heavy, as though an electrical storm was gathering strength to break open the sky. She turned away, stepping toward the open door, and the moment passed.

  “Night, Lark.”

  “Goodnight, Doc—“ She cut herself off and started again. “Jesse.”

  6

  The boxes she’d brought from New York were still in the dining room, stacked against the wall. No need to unpack the personal items she wouldn’t use on a daily basis—it would just be that much more work when she was ready to leave. She hadn’t had time to label anything before she fled from the apartment, so she hefted the first one from the floor and set it on the long table. Chewing on her lip, she lifted the flaps cautiously, as though a creepy puppet on a spring might pop out.

  No jack-in-the-box surprise greeted her, and she exhaled. God, living in this house was really getting to her. She glanced at the jagged scratch on her arm from last night’s sleepwalking incident. At least she’d fallen back asleep—and stayed asleep—until the morning. But it had been another night spent on a couch.

  After Jesse had left, she’d joined Preston in the bathroom, giving the snoozing cat some head scratches before taking a quick shower and then disinfecting the cuts on her skin. As she’d run a comb through her wet hair, she’d flicked her gaze between her steamy reflection and the borrowed shirt lying beside the sink. Eventually, she’d lost her internal debate and pulled Jesse’s T-shirt back over her head before going downstairs for the remainder of the night. It made her feel more secure—what was the harm in that? A stern inner voice had quickly begun listing the potential harm, but she’d shut it out. She needed rest, and she’d use whatever means necessary to get it.

  Of course, there was no explanation for why she was still wearing it now. Sighing, she bent forward and pulled a few file folders out of the box.

  Her gaze fell on a black strap, and she sucked in a breath. Her camera case. Grief clamped around her heart like the steel jaws of a trap as she lifted it out with trembling fingers.

  Photography had been her mother’s passion, and when Lark began taking an interest, Carol Cavanaugh had been thrilled to share her knowledge. Over the years, they’d spent countless hours together scouting locations and capturing images, usually relying on nature for inspiration. They’d frame their favorites, giving them as gifts or selling them at craft fairs. Lark even won a contest once with a photo of the sun setting over Silver Lake.

  She’d received this camera for her 21st birthday, as a replacement for the hand-me-down of her mother’s she’d been using. She’d been working on a series of photos set in Central Park, a theme of the four seasons, when her parents died. She’d never finished the winter shots. After the crash, she’d put the camera away.

  Cradling the case to her chest, she glanced across the dining room and beyond the slider, to the sunlit backyard. Maybe it was time to start taking pictures again. There were so many beautiful places here. And her friend Madison had insisted many artists and photographers come to Cape Cod just for the spectacular light.

  Two tiny sparrows flitted around the inexpensive birdfeeder she’d set up, finally landing on the thin rail around the seed tray. Preston’s tail twitched as he watched from his new cat perch. That hadn’t been inexpensive, but she’d decided he needed a spot of his own—somewhere he’d feel safe—if she was ever going to get him downstairs. So she’d headed to Wellfleet to find a pet store, and come home with both the cat tower and the bird feeder—entertainment she knew he wouldn’t be able to resist. She had to admit, she was enjoying watching all the different species suddenly coming to visit. Even the squirrels were cute, if exasperating. Despite the seed she scattered on the ground, they still seemed determined to get to the hanging food.

  Nodding to herself, she gently placed the camera down on the table. She could start taking pictures of the birds, maybe. Slowly get back into it. Her mom would like that. When her parents had been planning their anniversary trip to Hawaii, her mother couldn’t stop talking about all the beautiful locations and breathtaking vistas she was hoping to photograph.

  A fresh spike of pain lanced through her, and she turned her attention back to the contents of the box. Right now, she had a different project she needed to focus on. After digging through the remainder of the items in the first box, she put everything but the camera back and then exchanged it for the next.

  Bingo. This one held what she was looking for: her baby book. As difficult as it was to even look at the pink cover of the collection of memories, she knew there was a family tree inside that might help her piece together the history of this house. Steeling herself, she carried it into the kitchen, pausing on the way to stroke Preston’s back.

  She placed the baby book on the kitchen table, beside her laptop, which was open to the email folder containing the correspondence about the house. A warm breeze drifted through the open window above the sink as she rinsed out her coffee cup, and she breathed in the scent of pine needles and ocean air. Then she poured the rest of this morning’s coffee into her mug and heated it up. She’d probably had enough caffeine already today, but she felt like she needed something stronger than water for the task at hand, and it was too early for wine. Not to mention she had to be at work when the lunch shift began at 11:00.

  By the time the last sips of her coffee had grown cold, she’d come up with a timeline that, while not offering any glaring revelations, at least gave her a clear idea of who this house had belonged to and how it had ended up in her possession. When John died, the house went to Martha’s older sister, Elizabeth. From there it passed down to Elizabeth’s oldest daughter, Joan. Sadly, Joan’s only child died as a teenager, but Joan lived until the age of 90, spending some of her last years in Holloway House before moving to a nursing home. Joan’s younger sister had been Lark’s grandmother—her mother’s mother. Which technically made Joan her grand aunt, although most people just used the term great aunt. An online search of the specific family names didn’t produce much more than basic dates and obituaries.

  She tapped her pen against her chart. What did she have for clues so far, in terms of who might be haunting this house? A figure in the spare bedroom window. Bumps in the night, moans and cold air. A picture falling off the wall. Sleepwalking in the night and nearly falling into the river in a trance.

  Scrunching her mouth, she sat back in the chair. Honestly, all those things could be chalked up to imagination mixed with events that had reasonable, completely normal explanations. Sure, she’d never heard nonexistent voices or had night terrors before
, but she was in an entirely new environment, not to mention still reeling from the upheaval of her former life. The change and stress could be causing unusual actions and perceptions.

  But…the rumors. And the figure Jesse’s mother had seen. Perhaps it was all just the power of suggestion stemming from the combination of an abandoned house with a tragic history and a need for drama in a quiet town.

  She glanced over at Preston, his muscles tense as he tracked the birds from behind the glass. The cat had certainly seemed uncomfortable in this house. But then again, maybe he was just picking up on her emotions. “Maybe there’s no haunting here at all, Pres,” she murmured in his direction. “No ghosts.”

  A sharp thud cracked above her head, and she screamed, launching herself out of the chair. It toppled backwards as she scanned the ceiling, her hand clutching her chest as though she might be able to control her wildly clattering heart from the outside. From the corner of her eye she saw Preston bolt around the corner, a blurry streak of gray and white. She slowly backed into the counter, her fingers gripping the edge as she waited for something else to happen.

  No sound followed beyond the rush of blood in her ears, and as her breathing slowed, she made her way back to the table on wobbly legs. Righting the chair, she leaned on the back for a moment. It’s okay. Something just fell again, like the picture. Her gaze drifted to the family tree she’d been working on. The timing seemed a little too convenient—she suggests, out loud, that there’s no ghosts here, and the answer is a loud bang from upstairs? With a sigh, she pushed herself away from the chair and trudged up the back stairs to go investigate.

  Upstairs, the bathroom and its adjoining walls were above the area where the kitchen table sat, so she surveyed the bathroom first. Nothing seemed amiss, which didn’t surprise her. Every cell in her body relayed the same message—the sound had come from the study off the master bedroom. The wall where the fallen picture had hung was on the other side of the bathroom. She’d left the pastor’s portrait on the floor, but perhaps the matching portrait of his wife had tumbled down to reunite with its mate. A shudder ran through her as she made her way toward the study door.