The Deed in the Attic

by K. D. McCrite

  “Wait a minute, Annie,” she said in a low voice, holding out one hand, fingers splayed. “Feel that? The cold breeze is gone.”

  Annie paused, took note of the air around them.

  “You’re right. It’s gone now.”

  Kate scoured every wall of the room with her light beam, leaning forward, peering intently.

  “And,” Annie added, “that awful moaning has hushed.”

  Kate glanced at her. “When the door opened, it all stopped.”

  Annie stood in place, looking and listening as carefully as if she were at a train crossing.

  “Kate,” she said after a moment, “there is not a blessed thing paranormal about that.”

  “You two girls, get out of the house!” Alice hissed through the open doorway.

  “Not yet,” Annie told her. “Kate is onto something.”

  She joined her light to Kate’s, and they both tracked the beams along the far wall. Annie looked at her friend, and Kate met her eyes. They shared a smile and walked across the room together, straight toward one of the fearsome ghosts of Fairview.

  11

  “Annie! Kate! Get out of there!” Peggy shouted. “Fairview is not like those places on the TV shows. C’mon. Get out.”

  “Peggy, please!” Kate said. “Quit yelling.”

  “Whatever are you doing in there?” Alice hollered.

  Annie did her best to ignore the fretting voices of the less intrepid of the Fairview Ghost Stalkers, but the two women outside continued to plead. Turning a deaf ear proved to be difficult. Annie wanted to cover both her ears with her hands. Instead, she trained her beam on the large stone fireplace that had been built at the midpoint of the wall. Her gaze followed the light as it exposed the layers of dust coating the stones of the chimney. Cobwebs draped like downy ropes from crumbling mortar joints. One of webs swung out in a gentle arc and then swayed in the air as another cold breeze flushed over the two women.

  Annie slowly sought with her hand until she found the draft that blew chill air across her fingers.

  “There!” she said to Kate. “Right there about six inches above our heads. And look! It’s big enough you can slip your hand right in there.”

  With their two flashlights focused, the gaping hole in the old fireplace seemed to leap into view. As the wind gusted outside, so did the cold breeze through the hole.

  “Girls,” Annie called to Alice and Peggy. “Come here.”

  “Is this a trick?”

  She wasn’t sure which one of her chickenhearted friends on the porch asked that.

  “Come in here if you want to find out why you got so cold. And I promise there is not one thing paranormal about it.”

  A few seconds ticked by. Then, one behind the other and holding hands, Peggy and Alice shuffled into the house. Annie forced herself not to laugh out loud at their cowardly sideways approach.

  “What is it?” they asked at the same time.

  Outside the wind picked up, hammering itself against the house, shoving through the crack to trail its icy fingers along their faces.

  “Oo!” Peggy squealed, taking a step back.

  “Stop that!” Kate snapped. “I’m ashamed and surprised at the both of you. You two are the ones who were so determined to go on this ghost investigation, but let a little wind slip through the cracks, and both of you are out the door in a shot.”

  “Wind through the cracks?” Alice echoed faintly.

  “Yes,” Annie said. “Come here.” She focused her light on the opening.

  The pair drew near with as much wariness as they would if they were approaching an autopsy table.

  “Come closer,” Annie encouraged. “Put your hand right here.”

  Alice slowly lifted one hand and held it up next to Annie’s. Peggy did the same.

  “It’s damp and cold, just like … .” Peggy bit her lower lip. She shot a glance at her cohort.

  Alice, swaying slightly back and forth on the balls of her feet, avoided all eyes by staring at a spot on the dark, dirty ceiling.

  “Damp and cold …” she said, her voice quivering. She took in a deep breath and added, in a squeak, “... as a ghost.”

  Annie looked at her friend closely. Was the woman about to breakdown? Oh, why had they chosen to embark on this foolish, foolish enterprise! Alice might never forgive her.

  Alice’s shoulders began to shake. She closed her eyes, clamped her mouth shut so tightly that her lips formed a hard, thin line. Then she bowed her head, and air hissed from her lips, sounding like the release valve on a pressure cooker. To Annie’s astonishment, laughter shrieked loose as if held captive too long in the depths of her lungs.

  Peggy’s mouth flew open as she gawked at her friend. Alice bent double, laughing hysterically. The other three exchanged looks. Peggy’s face crumpled.

  “I know!” she exclaimed. “A damp, cold ghost!”

  A moment later Peggy had clapped both hands over her mouth, gasping as she guffawed like a maniac.

  The two women pointed at each other, cackling, stomping, and finally fell weakly against other as they fought to gain control.

  “Quivering m-masses of j-jelly”! Alice gasped.

  “Yes! Quivering. Jelly. Masses of it,” Peggy said. She took a deep, fortifying breath. “I can’t believe we just did that. Galumphing that way, right out the front door and into the night.”

  “Galumphing?” Kate echoed, snickering.

  “Stampeding is the better term, I think,” Annie told them drily, but giggling all the same.

  “But, Annie!” Alice shrieked. “Can quivering jelly stampede?” Her question sent the gutless duo into fits of laughter again. Kate and Annie stood grinning helplessly at them.

  As if refusing to be outdone by women, the wind shifted, howled, and rushed around them. The front door slammed shut, startling all four and abruptly halting their merriment. Almost immediately a mournful cry shivered through the dark room. The hair on the back of Annie’s neck prickled. The wailing died, but only slightly before building to a crescendo that caused Annie to yearn for escape. She refused to cover her ears and run outside, but she wanted to. Very much.

  “I know what that is!” Peggy declared, yelling. “These old windows aren’t sealed, I bet.”

  “I’m sure they aren’t,” Annie agreed. “They are old—probably original to the house. Some of them are cracked. That horrendous shriek is the wind whistling around them.”

  “Bet my bottom dollar it is,” Peggy said, “and I’m not a betting woman.”

  “Isn’t it awful?” Kate said. “Almost turns me into quivering jelly.”

  Each woman went to a different window and shone their flashlights across the windowsills and cracked panes. At last, they tracked down the alarming doleful cries that had so terrified not only Peggy and Alice, but years of trespassers and adventure-seekers. One shriek came from the kitchen window above the old farm sink, and another came from the window in the first bathroom.

  “Now do you wonder why no one else has ever figured out something so simple?” Annie said, her fists on her hips.

  “Because,” Kate told her, “they were probably too busy running out the door, squealing like little girls.”

  They shared another snicker or two at Alice’s and Peggy’s expense, but Annie had one more observation.

  “Well, I am more than happy to disprove all this haunted-house nonsense. In fact, I am thoroughly relieved. But I wonder … you remember all those footsteps and breaking glass we heard in the bedroom, Kate? Something else caused that, because I sincerely doubt any of that was wind coming through gaps around the windows or the fireplace.”

  Peggy’s eyes rounded. “What are you talking about? What exactly did you two hear?”

  “Just what Annie said,” Kate told her. “Knocks and thumps.”

  “And glass breaking,” Annie added, hoping Peggy would not flee again.

  “Yes. Breaking glass.”

  “Except for the sound of that glass, that is mo
re or less what you and I heard the other day, isn’t it, Annie?” Alice asked. She looked to be about half sick. “I think you have … ick! … mice.”

  She shuddered, but Annie was gratified to see her good friend did not hightail it out the door. Annie decided not to mention the shadow she had seen that day. For now, it was good that her two normally down-to-earth friends seemed to have regained most of their wits.

  “Let’s go have a look,” Peggy said, back to her old self. “Annie, you lead the way.”

  They trailed her like ducklings following their mother. With four flashlights blazing on it, the corner seemed bright as day. Peggy reached out, rapped on the wall, paused, rapped again. Silence greeted them. She looked closely, up and down, examining from floor to ceiling. Then she pressed her cheek close to the wall, shone her light behind the old highboy nearest the corner and tried to see if anything was there. She squatted and continued to peer behind the dusty bureau.

  “Aha,” she said finally.

  “Aha?” Annie and Alice echoed.

  “What?” Kate said. “What’s back there?”

  “You’ve had visitors,” Peggy said at last, getting up and brushing the dust and cobwebs from her head and arm.

  “Hoboes?” Alice asked hopefully.

  Peggy trained a baleful look on her and shook her head as if Alice was a pesky child.

  “No. What is it with you and this newly discovered fascination with transients, anyway?” She turned to Annie. “You’ve had, and probably still have, rodents.”

  Alice gave a little shriek. “Rodents?”

  “Big rodents.”

  “Rats?” Alice moaned weakly.

  “Undoubtedly. Maybe something else, something bigger.”

  “Ewww!” Alice shuddered as if shaking off something disgusting. Annie was proud that her neighbor stayed in the room with them.

  “I think you ought to get my Wally out here to look into this,” Peggy continued. “He’s a great one to prowl around, find out what is coming in from where. He can fix it so they will not crawl, creep or slide in here again.”

  Annie smiled at her. Another opportunity to help the Carsons!

  “I’m sure he can. And I’ll call him, for sure! Thanks, Peggy.”

  The wind gave an extra exuberant howl about then, and for the first time they could hear the first telltale skittering against the windowpanes.

  Annie went to the window, cupped her hands around her eyes and peered outside.

  “We have precipitation coming down, ladies. The frozen kind that the weather forecaster on television promised this morning. Maybe we should get home. I still have that Thermos of coffee. If you would like to hang out at Grey Gables for a while, I will fix more hot chocolate and those sandwiches I promised earlier.”

  “I think that’s a good idea,” Peggy said. “Everyone, please put your equipment in my bag, and we’ll head back to town.”

  “Peggy,” Kate said as they all walked back into the living room. “I think you ought to be on that ghost-hunting show. You’re a natural.”

  12

  Saturday morning dawned as lovely and sunny a day as Annie could have asked for. It was rather cold outside, but she loved being outdoors. She sat in the old wicker rocker on the front porch, a crocheted red-and-black plaid afghan around her and Boots curled into a warm, snoozing ball in her lap. On the little table next to her, her cordless phone lay silent but available in case LeeAnn or anyone else called.

  Annie sipped from a large mug of hot chocolate and watched the restless movement of the ocean. Sunlight poured unobstructed from the azure blue sky and winked off a couple of lobster boats that bobbed along the undulating water. She watched them for a while, enjoying the cool breeze and the briny smells from the ocean.

  After a bit, she set the empty mug on the little table, and plucked out the nearly finished table runner from her crochet tote. She straightened the thread to be sure no kinks or knots could form, and then examined the runner with a critical eye. She only needed to crochet the scalloped edge that framed the whole piece and gave it a sophisticated finish. She thought of edging as a final flourish, something like what a touch of mascara adds to a pair of lovely eyes.

  She worked a couple stitches, and Boots popped open one curious eye as she heard the soft whisper of Annie’s crocheting. The cat gazed at the thread as it moved from ball, across hook and into a scallop. Boots awakened fully, lifted her head, and lazily batted the thread with one soft, white paw.

  “No, no,” Annie said, softly. “Mustn’t touch.”

  Boots, of course, had heard this before, and as always, completely ignored the directive. She swatted with more interest, energy, and purpose, and then she stretched her neck and bit the thread.

  Annie stopped to gently remove the thin strand from between Boots’ sharp teeth. The cat pawed her, claws retracted, and gave her a baleful look.

  “If you insist on this, Miss Boots, you will find yourself without a warm lap on which to nap.”

  Boots blinked, silently meowed as if mouthing, “Please?”

  “That argument never works,” Annie reminded her.

  She crocheted three more stitches before Boots had the thread in her mouth again.

  “That’s it! I refuse to allow you to wreck Alice’s birthday gift, especially as I am almost finished with it.”

  She put the crochet in the tote, and gathered up Boots, who went as limp as a furry rag. Annie started to place the cat on the porch floor, but paused when she heard a car pull into her driveway. She looked up and watched it approach as she absently stroked the cat’s head. The driver was familiar, ruggedly handsome with graying hair and a winning smile. In spite of her age and experience, her heartbeat sped up like a schoolgirl’s.

  “Well, look who has come calling on us,” she murmured to the cat. “The good mayor of our fair little town.”

  “Good morning, Annie—and Boots,” Ian Butler called out as he stepped from the car and approached the porch steps.

  “Good morning, Ian,” Annie said, pleasantly surprised by his unexpected visit. If she had known Ian had planned to drop by, she would have at least styled her hair, powdered her nose and put on a little lipstick. She would have changed her clothes as well. Nothing she could do about that now, though. “Please join us.”

  She indicated the chair on the other side of the table and refused, absolutely refused to smooth her hair with her fingers, even though she was sure it was a fright being blown about by the sea breeze the way it was. There was not much she could do about her lack of lipstick, or her comfy old jeans and sweatshirt.

  “You look lovely today,” Ian said, smiling. “This cool, brisk wind brings out the color in your cheeks. But aren’t you chilly out here?”

  “Boots is keeping me warm,” she said, returning his smile. He reached out and scratched the cat under her tiny chin. Boots stretched out her neck, closed her eyes half-way and purred like an outboard motor.

  “Are you expecting a phone call?” he asked, nodding toward the phone on the small table next to her chair.

  “Oh, you never know when someone will call. I’m so popular, you know.” She laughed.

  “Well, a terrific lady such as yourself will always be in demand.”

  She felt her face burn, hoping he knew she had only been joking about her popularity.

  “I so enjoy being out here on the porch that I simply didn’t want to get up and go into the house if someone should call,” she explained. “Call me lazy.”

  He laughed. “Now that is something no one will ever call you, Annie Dawson. You inherited your grandmother’s industry, along with her house and her cat.”

  She laughed again. “Thanks for saying so. Would you like some hot chocolate, Ian? Or some coffee?”

  “Sure. Either one is fine; whatever is easier for you.”

  Annie threw off the afghan, got out of her chair, and without thinking twice about it, deposited the cat onto Ian’s lap before she went inside. When she returned, Boots
was sprawled across Ian’s legs, tummy up, enjoying a rubdown.

  “I thought my schnauzer was much indulged, but I believe this feline has Tartan beat,” Ian told her as he accepted a large dark blue mug of hot chocolate. She had added a generous dollop of marshmallow crème on top.

  “I refuse to accept the blame for spoiling that silly kitty,” she told him with a laugh. “She was that way when I got her. That was either Gram’s or Alice’s fault. Here, let me take her. I’ll put her in the house.”

  She picked up the cat, carried her to the door and settled her inside. Boots twitched her tail, looked insulted for a bit, and then regally strolled toward the kitchen in search of food.

  “This is great,” Ian said, after he took a drink. “Obviously not made from a mix the way I do.”

  “No. It’s from scratch, but so easy to do. And it tastes better, I think.”

  “It certainly does,” he agreed emphatically, and then discreetly used a crisp white handkerchief from his breast pocket to wipe a bit of marshmallow crème off his upper lip.

  He glanced at the table runner when she picked it up again.

  “And what have you there?”

  She held it out. “A table runner. I made a couple of matching place mats, and I’m giving the set to Alice for her birthday. The Hook and Needle Club is having a surprise party for her next Tuesday.” She gave him a conspiratorial look. “Don’t you spill the beans!”

  He raised one hand in a gesture of promise. “I would never dream of such a thing.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  He smiled into her eyes.

  “You are generous to spend so much time and thought—and hard work—on such a lovely gift. That is very sweet of you, Annie.”

  She felt her face grow warm again, so she turned from his gaze and focused on the crochet in her hands. As she resumed stitching, she changed the subject.

  “You know, crocheting has long been one of the joys of my life,” she said. “It always brings me closer to Gram.” She glanced at him, smiled, and turned her attention back to working the corner of the runner. “She taught me how to do it when I was quite young. She was always so patient and encouraging. After all these years, anytime I get worried or stressed out by anything, I still find that I can lose myself with hook and yarn or thread. Crocheting helps me to relax.”