by Eryn Scott
There were many signs the man was dead. First, he wasn’t moving. Second, he appeared to have washed up onshore from farther out in the ocean based on the condition of his clothing. Third, and most telling, the body was bloated and … not entirely intact. His skin had a grayish color to it.
But in my shock, I didn’t immediately follow Asher’s request. Instead, I came closer to him and the thing we now recognized as a man’s body. I stopped at the edge of the water.
“Can you sense his spirit too?” I asked as I approached a confused Asher—who had to be wondering why the heck I wasn’t calling the police.
Asher narrowed his eyes at me. “No, it looks like he’s been dead for a while.”
Closer examination of the body proved Asher told the truth. I spun around, dry heaving for a moment before setting my hands on my knees and catching my breath.
It was from this position that I eventually called the police.
“There’s a body in the water, near Tea by the Sea on Pebble Beach off Misty Drive,” I informed the dispatcher in rushed tones as if timing mattered at all.
Information I did NOT tell the operator: There’s a ghost standing next to me.
“I have a unit coming out to you now. Is the person deceased?” she asked as if we could just as well have been talking about the weather.
I gulped. “Yes.” I hoped she wouldn’t ask me to explain how I knew this, really not wanting to describe what lay in the sand before me.
Proving that I sounded as unsteady as I felt, she said, “I’ll send Dr. Ellis too. She also works as our medical examiner.” The quick clicking of fingers across a keyboard sounded in the background. She asked for my name and address just in case. I gave both to her. “Rosemary, I’ll stay on the line with you until they get there so you’re not alone.”
Almost blurting out that I wasn’t alone, I pressed my lips together tight. That was close. Even though Asher stood nearby—appearing as real as the beach surrounding me—as far as anyone else was concerned, I was alone.
“Thank you,” I whispered into the phone.
When the police arrived, I would need to be careful.
Looking up at Asher, I caught him observing me. His blue eyes flicked away the moment mine met with his. I kept the phone pressed to my ear as Asher moved closer, standing next to me so his shoulder almost touched mine—though I knew from experience that even if it did, I wouldn’t feel it.
I wanted to talk with him, to ask him more questions, all the questions. Instead, we stood side by side, watching the waves in silence. Well, we were silent. The ocean churned and crashed in front of us, creating an engulfing din that wrapped around me. Shivering, I pulled my hood on and tucked my long hair inside, happy for the reprieve from the wind.
The skin on the back of my neck prickled, and I turned to see a white-haired man standing in the window of the house next door. Carl. His scowl was clear, even from this distance, and I turned away, wondering if he could see the body next to me.
The tide moved out, so more of the body was visible after each wave. The man appeared to have been middle aged. He was balding and a little overweight. A visual check of his right finger showed there wasn’t a wedding ring. His clothes were business casual, a pair of khakis and a cotton button up. The button up was a light blue color the likes of which I’d seen on countless businessmen who made their way into the library each day.
The one unusual attribute of the shirt, however, were the vibrant blue buttons running up the front of the shirt and closing the cuffs around the man’s wrists. I’d seen white, clear, even pearlescent buttons before adorning such a shirt, but never the vibrant blue color of these. The other odd thing about the buttons was the absence of quite a few of them. Being of a rotund form, I wondered if the man’s large belly had strained the thread so much that the buttons had burst off, especially in his bloated state. Or had the sea ripped the buttons off?
A door slammed somewhere behind me, the sound of it carried on the wind. I turned to see a small group making their way toward us, picking through the sparse, sage-colored grass and ring of driftwood that acted as a barrier between Grandma’s garden and the beach.
They looked as if their goal was to dress as differently from each other as possible. The younger of the two men wore a blue EMT uniform. His blond hair blew into his face as the coastal winds hit him full force. He appeared to be about my age. The older man wore a police officer’s uniform. Gray along his temples and sideburns whispered stories of experience that the grim lines on his leathery face only confirmed. The third in the party was a woman. Her smart wrap dress was confusingly paired with bright green rain boots.
In case she has to step in the water, I realized. Which meant she was probably the Dr. Ellis the dispatcher had mentioned.
Reminded of the person on the other end of the line, I croaked out, “They’re here.” The words left my mouth at the same time a large gust of air whooshed into the microphone, and I hoped she’d heard me.
“Okay, I’ll let you go, then.” The call ended with a click before I could answer.
I deposited the phone into my pocket and trained my eyes on Asher.
“Do you want me to stay near?” he asked.
“I would like that,” I said with a small smile, noticing that though his dark hair was about as long as the blond man approaching, it didn’t move in the wind at all.
I could’ve sworn I saw a hint of a happiness twitch at the corner of Asher’s mouth at my request that he stay. But I couldn’t focus on whether or not the ghost was smiling because the approaching trio reached me. I turned to face them, my fingers grasping at the drawstrings of my hood as the wind threatened to snatch it off.
The EMT gave me a grim nod before bypassing me. The doctor did the same, though her lips pulled into an apologetic grimace before she stepped up to the body. The older man, however, stopped right in front of me.
After glancing around me at the body for a moment, he asked, “You’re the Rosemary Woodmere who called this in?”
I confirmed I was.
“I’m the chief of police, Raymond Clemenson. Can you tell me about how you came upon the scene?” He pulled out a flip-style notepad and clicked open a pen.
The chief exuded a gruff, authoritative air, but I caught something gentle behind his stoic exterior. It was this kind of softness amid firmness that made Atticus Finch such a captivating character to me. Then it hit me. Just as Atticus Finch had, this chief reminded me of my father. My need for his approval skyrocketed.
He cleared his throat, reminding me I still had yet to answer his question about how I’d found the body.
“Sorry, um … we were out here walking when I noticed something in the water. At first I thought it was driftwood, but then I got a closer look and saw that it was a man—or it used to be.” I rubbed my hands up and down my arms.
“We?” the chief asked, brown eyes piercing as he held my gaze. “There was someone else here with you?” He scanned the beach.
My cheeks burned despite the cool wind on my face. Had I said we? I cursed myself for my weird fatherly thoughts about the police chief. They must’ve flustered me enough to make me forget my warning to myself.
I laughed, cringing over at Asher before turning back to the chief.
“Oh, haha. No, just me and my thoughts. Sorry.”
Heat spread from my chest up into my neck as the chief inspected me.
Finally, he scratched a few words onto the notepad he held, face unreadably grim. Observing the way his features set into a frown, I saw how he’d earned his wrinkles. The few times Chief Clemenson’s eyes flicked back up to me as he wrote cemented my worry that he hadn’t quite bought my explanation.
Asher moved behind the man and read over his shoulder. He craned his neck and squinted, the corners of his mouth tipped downward.
“He thinks you’re lying,” Asher said.
I was about to scold him for speaking, when I remembered I was the only one who could hear him.
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Moving to the left, Asher continued, “He’s adding you to his suspect list.”
“What?” I blurted out, before slapping my hand over my mouth.
The chief glanced up, the lines in his forehead deepening.
“Uh—what is that?” I pointed out at the water.
He spun around, peering in the direction I’d indicated, before turning back toward me. “I’m not seeing anything.”
I squinted at the waves. “Oh, I thought I saw something. I guess it’s gone. Maybe it was a whale.” Heat washed over my face.
He looked again, but I could tell it was only to humor me. When Chief Clemenson turned back, his eyes combed up and down me for a moment as if I might be hiding my crazy in my shoes.
“You can go wait up at your house. I’ll have more questions for you.” He turned toward the doctor and the EMT.
I nodded in shock as he walked away. “Chief?” I said, stopping him.
He raised an eyebrow as he pivoted.
“My grandma, she passed away a couple weeks ago. What if I told you there are a few things that are suspicious about her death?” I kept my gaze on the chief, but I could feel Asher watching me.
“Helen?” the chief of police asked. “Helen had a heart condition. The only suspicious thing about her death is why none of her family showed until now.” With that, he walked away.
My shoulders sank under the weight of his words. Feet sliding in the sand as I walked, I made my way back to Grandma’s garden.
“Hey, are you okay?” Asher asked.
I jumped, not realizing he’d followed me. “Just great.”
The phrase was short, fueled by frustration. Asher’s face tightened as I snapped at him.
“I’m sorry.” I let my gaze fall to my feet. “I don’t mean to be snippy. It’s … what he said back there …”
I wasn’t about to admit to this ghost I’d just met how much I wanted the chief’s approval because he’d reminded me of my father. I definitely didn’t want to admit to the extent it hurt that he didn’t believe me, that he suspected me.
Asher furrowed his brow as if he knew, anyway. “Yeah, sorry. That was harsh. Here, come inside. I think there might be a few things to eat in the cupboard.”
Warmth wrapped around me as we entered the beach house. Not only because we were out of the wind, but because of Asher’s kindness. And now that he mentioned it, I became aware of how hungry I was. I’d had an early breakfast before hitting the road and hadn’t had anything to eat since.
Asher walked straight into the kitchen. I followed behind. He pointed to a cabinet. “There might be some cookies in a tin in here. If you want tea, she keeps a personal stash in this one.” He gestured to the next cabinet over. “From the pallor of your skin, I think a cup of tea would do you good.”
My body felt numb, and the initial warmth I’d experienced stepping inside was wearing off. I nodded at his suggestions and got to work. Setting the kettle on the stove, I turned on the burner. Then I plucked a mug off the shelf and set it on the counter. I’d never been one to drink tea, so the loose-leaf options I found in jars when I opened the cabinet left me furrowing my forehead in confusion.
“There’s a measuring spoon in there with the jars. Scoop two spoonfuls into the little wire basket over there. There should also be a digital timer in there. Four minutes to steep, and you should be set,” Asher said as if reading my mind again. “And I think you should try the one labeled Home.”
Not in a space to make my own decisions, I followed his directions. As the digital display counted down the minutes, I turned to face him. A grin spread across his face.
“Sorry,” he said, wiping a hand along his jawline as if the motion might erase the smile. “I know what just happened isn’t a happy thing. It’s been a long time since I had someone to talk to.”
I tried to return the smile, but a burning question took precedence. “What are we going to do about that?” I gestured toward the beach, goose bumps prickling up my arms as I remembered the body lying in the waves. “How are you not more freaked out? Does this kind of thing happen a lot?”
Asher grimaced. “Unfortunately, yes. You know about Desperation Cliff five miles north?”
I nodded, remembering Grandma and I walking up that way one day. Large, rocky cliffs ran the length of most of the surrounding coastline, but there was a mile-long stretch that was treacherous. Between the height, the sheer face, and the inhospitable craggy beach below, the cliffs had earned their name.
“My grandma wouldn’t ever let me go there. She said many people had died from waves that crashed them into the rocks.”
“That’s not the only thing.” Asher’s tone was somber. “That cliff is a common place for people to jump.”
“Commit suicide?”
“Yeah, we get a few each year.” Asher’s shoulders slumped. “Him washing up on your beach is probably just a terrible coincidence.”
My focus drifted to the fridge, to the half-dozen sticky notes stuck to the surface. They were notes Grandma had left herself, ranging from reminders of what to pick up at the grocery store, to people to talk to about different subjects, and even one that simply said, “Frogs?” As odd as it felt to be learning about my grandma like this, posthumously, there was an element of comfort to being surrounded by signs of her life.
While I mused, silence sat between me and Asher, making the moment when the timer beeped to life even more jarring. Asher’s eyes lit up, and I jolted out of my stupor. Turning off the timer, I poured some of the now caramel-colored liquid into a mug and paused. I opened my mouth to ask if he wanted some and then stopped myself.
Right.
Instead, I grasped the mug with both hands as if it were some kind of lifeline, some way to forget the terrible things I’d seen and learned today. The steam swirling off it smelled of cinnamon, cardamom, and vanilla. My eyes closed as I breathed it in.
“Oh, wow.” My eyes flashed open. “That’s amazing.”
I brought the mug to my lips and sipped. The warm liquid filled my mouth, settling in a cozy ball in my stomach.
Asher pointed again to the first cabinet, and I opened it, locating a tin can of shortbread cookies.
“They might be expired, but at least they’re edible.” He grinned and gestured to my mug. “I knew you would love that blend.”
I took another sip as I fished a cookie from the tin. “How? We just met.”
“It was your grandmother’s favorite. She used to tell people how alike you two were.”
Tears pricked at my eyes. “She talked about me?” I asked, taking a gulp of the hot tea after that, hoping to hold the worst of the tears at bay.
Asher’s head bobbed. “All the time. She never talked about why you didn’t come around anymore—the rest of the town speculated about it when she would leave the room—but it was as if she couldn’t help but talk about you.”
Suddenly all the emotions surrounding the day piled onto me. I’d spent so much of my life trying to distance myself from my grandma. But now, back in her house, nothing seemed severe enough to justify not talking to her for so long.
Heck, she’d been right about ghosts; maybe she’d been right about everything else.
5
Just as I was wolfing down my fourth stale cookie, a knock sounded on the glass of the back door. I jumped and coughed as crumbs went down my windpipe.
Asher arched a single eyebrow but followed me when I got up and padded into the next room. Chief Clemenson stood on the porch wearing a stoic expression as cut and clean as his uniform.
I blinked against a gust of wind as I opened the door.
“May I come in?” he asked, squinting against the flurry.
I stepped aside and let him enter, determined to make this interaction better than our last. “Did you find out anything about the man?”
The chief cocked his head. “Quite a bit.” He paused in a way that made me unsure whether or not he had more to say.
I waited
for a beat before asking, “Good?”
The police chief’s jaw jutted forward. “Miss Woodmere, you said you didn’t recognize him. Is that right?”
I scoffed, “Not to be indelicate, sir, but there wasn’t much there to go by.”
“Anything about his clothes? Nothing looked familiar?” the chief asked.
Other than his bright blue buttons, nothing had looked even remotely interesting and definitely not familiar. “No, not at all,” I said. After a moment, I narrowed my eyes. “Why?”
The chief took a seat at the nearest table in the tea shop. I sat across from him. He took out his phone and pulled up a picture. Turning it toward me, he set the phone on the table. The picture showed a man in his forties with dark, thinning hair and a toothy, white smile.
“This was him. His name was Frank Mastronardi. When my officers contacted his office, his secretary told us he was here to stay at The Pines Restorative Center for the week, but he never checked in.”
I stared at him, unsure what that was or why he would tell me this.
“Do you want to tell me why when my officers located his vehicle at the top of Desperation Cliff, they found only one name in his appointment book? Yours.”
“Mine?” I gasped out the question.
“He had your name and the address to this house.” The chief folded his arms on top of the table and leaned closer to me. “And then he just washes up on the beach in front of your house. That’s quite the coincidence, don’t you think?”
Gulping, I nodded.
“You do?” He raised a silver speckled eyebrow.
“No, you don’t,” Asher said, rushing to my side. “He’s trying to get you to implicate yourself; don’t fall into his trap.”
I crossed my arms. “Uh, I mean, it’s odd, but I swear I don’t know that man. I’ve never seen him in my life, and I’ve never heard that name. I think I would remember a last name like that.”
The chief sat back, and I glanced over at Asher in thanks.
“Okay, if you want to play it that way. Don’t leave town, Miss Woodmere.” He got up.
Play it what way? I wondered.
