She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel as a light mist of rain turned the windshield opaque, blurring the glass.
Then, she threw her hands up in the air. “Darn! The woman! I should have followed her...found out who she is. I could have gotten some firsthand information about the spirit and what’s going on inside that house! Why didn’t I think of that?
She raced down the road to the intersection of County Line and Main. After looking in all directions, she did not see any sign of the blue sedan.
“Stupid. Stupid!”
The nice side of her ego was kinder. It reminded her of the terrible sight that she had just seen in the Blake window. She had been scared to death. How was she supposed to think rationally under such circumstances?
She parked beside the road, trying to think about her next move with a clear mind.
Karl...I should go see my son. He won’t believe me, but maybe he could escort me into the house, so I won’t have to go alone. But what then?
She didn’t know, but something had to be done before anyone else was murdered.
Chapter 17
The spirit was disappointed to see the short-haired woman go. He stuck his finger in the pie and pulled it out, dripping with warm succulent cherries. He licked it and savored each drop. It was good...really good. Red juice dribbled down over his beard as he stood behind the parlor curtains and watched her car disappear down the road.
Something about the shape and color of her eyes tugged at the hole in his chest and made it ache.
He had followed her around the house from room to room, remaining in an invisible state as he floated behind her. There was only one moment, when he was so mesmerized by her beauty and the complexity of her perfume, that he let his guard down and found himself briefly rematerializing into his human form. He vanished before she flung back the bath curtain out of suspicion that she wasn’t alone.
The event both amused and saddened him. He enjoyed having the power to frighten people. It was such a rush of pleasure after feeling so impotent in the past. But, he was disappointed that he had caused her to rush out of the house after that instead of lingering longer.
He laughed. This new life was certainly going to be a never ending game of juggling his newfound skills. There was no doubt that it was going to be hard to restrain his desires enough to keep them from impetuously ruling his actions.
When he had his fill of the pie, he tossed the tin on the coffee table and paced, muttering to himself. His words dribbled out in a mixture of archaic slang and Italian.
Then, he wandered up to Virginia’s room. On the dresser, not far from Margaret’s cracked frame, he found what he was looking for.
It was a picture of the woman who had just visited. Her hair was longer, and she was just a girl at the time of the photograph, but there was no mistaking her.
He held the pictures of Margaret and this woman together. Yes...of course they must be related. He could see it in the way their eyes crinkled at the outer corners and their noses turned up into a button-shaped circle. A granddaughter of Virginia’s perhaps? At the moment, he couldn’t remember her name.
In frustration, he left the room and stomped back downstairs.
Reaching the kitchen, he leaned over the counter and looked out the window towards the gardens. He always found himself there when he was perplexed or upset. The smell of the roses and pungent vegetables seemed to clear his mind when he needed it. Now, he let himself mentally wander out there, but retreated when he remembered what a shambles they were in. What hadn’t been neglected to death by Virginia in the end had been destroyed in one of his rages.
He noticed the knife in the kitchen sink, a forgotten memento of the battles with the old woman. He picked it up, and with a dramatic thrust, plunged it back in the butcher block. Silly Virginia. Had she really thought that it would protect her? He remembered her brandishing it like a sword.
A noise like the raspy sound of a metal file on wood caught his attention. It came from the back door.
In less than a second, he was there—a watchdog ready to defend his home.
He stuck the ectoplasm form of his head through the door and saw the striped beast, more wild raccoon than cat, on the doorstep. It seemed to sense him before it looked up with its wide orange eyes. Arching its back, it hissed then ran through the yard and disappeared into the field.
When he tried to pull his head back through the door, he found an odd resistance. In previous attempts at moving through solid objects, he found it as easy as sticking a finger through soft butter. But, this time something made it more difficult.
Once he had his entire body back inside the house, he cursed his luck. Wouldn’t it be a cosmic joke on him if he became fully human again, but found himself stuck in the house like a thief locked in a rich man’s gold safe with no means of escape?
Then, old man Crawford would have the last laugh from his grave.
He was determined that such a scenario would never happen. The house was certainly his prize now. But, he wanted more. He had escaped from his homeland during a time of great misery when the vineyards had failed to produce for years only to find greater affliction in this country when he couldn’t find steady work. Now, he wanted assurance that he would never be cold again, never hungry, or have to worry about a place to lay his head at night.
No, it wasn’t just Crawford’s house that he wanted. He wanted a woman at his side and a dinner table dripping with succulent meats and fruits.
All those things were denied to him when he worked as a gardener and was forced to sleep on a hard mattress on the dirt floor of the shed with the ticks and the spiders.
Though, he was still very much a spirit more than a whole man at this point, he needed sleep just as any flesh and blood human. In the evenings, he slept in Margaret’s old room on the second floor. Many nights his dreams began with work—digging holes, planting rosebushes, pruning, picking off insects, cutting his hands on the thorns. Then, they turned to the object of his love and his lust. He remembered how all that labor had become fruitful in time with Margaret stealing glances at his sweating, tanned chest as he passed by the patio with his wheelbarrow when she took her afternoon tea with her mother. The dreams continued with the blossoming of their secret romance, but always ended with her cold lifeless eyes staring up at him.
In his conscious hours, he wondered. Had he pushed her too far too soon? Perhaps if he had waited just a little longer, he might have won her over despite her fear of her father’s disapproval.
No, he mumbled. It wouldn’t have mattered. She found me handsome and entertaining, but from the beginning she thought that I was beneath her—just a simpleton from another land with nothing to offer someone of her status.
He should have found a better way to impress her. If nothing else, he might have told her that he had wealth hidden away in another city, forced her to come with him...but then what? She would have seen through the lie eventually when they slept under the stars in their beautiful clothes with nowhere to go and nothing to eat. No matter what he might have done differently, it still would have ended as badly as it did.
In this new life, he had decided that he would stay here in Crawford’s house, Margaret’s house, and plant roots that would reach down until they metamorphosed with molten rock and bring up the confections of gold, silver, and jewels.
He would not make the same mistake that he had made with Margaret with the beautiful woman who had just left the house.
She’d be back. He knew she would.
But, if that other woman came around again, the older one with the long messy hair and black-rimmed glasses that had been watching him from across the street in her motorcar, he would make sure that it was her last visit.
There was a strong energy field around her...and he knew that he could put it to good use.
Chapter 18
“You’re not listening to me, Karl!”
“Shhh...” he said with a finger to his lips, looking back towa
rds the receptionist as she filed her nails. “Will you keep your voice down?”
“No,” Opal said louder. “I’m not leaving until you hear me out.”
His fingers dug into her arm, and she winced as he led her out the front door of the Sheriff’s station. Then, he released her and spoke in a whisper. “I can’t have you in there jabbering all this nonsense about ghosts. Don’t you know I’m in the running for Sheriff? I’ve got a reputation to—”
“Your political position isn’t going to look too good when people start dying in this town. I’m worried that Virginia may not be his only victim if you don’t help me.”
“So, you want me to do what? Arrest a ghost? Aren’t you being just a bit irrational?”
Opal bit her lip and felt on the verge of tears as she looked up at the imposing physique of her son, her only living relative in town and what seemed like her last hope in dealing with the evil spirit. “No...I’m—”
“That’s breaking and entering. We can’t just barge into someone’s house.”
“But—”
“As an officer of the law, I can’t just help you break in to see if there’s some sort of ghost living there. Do you realize how ridiculous your story sounds? Maybe you should go to the doctor and have a checkup...just make sure everything’s okay upstairs.”
“That’s harsh. You haven’t seen what I’ve seen. I’m not making this up.”
“Even if I did go with you, I can imagine you pointing at a blank wall and saying, ‘There! Did you see that?’ And, I would say, ‘No,’ and go on my merry way.”
“So, go just to prove me wrong?” she pleaded as she looked up into his blue eyes.
“Not a chance. When I looked in on Virginia for you while she was still alive, she seemed very irked at you. You must have done something that ticked her off. She’s not even cold and in the ground yet, and I’m not going to offend her memory by helping you sneak into her house.”
Opal leaned against the brick wall. “You never did approve of my psychic work.”
“It’s not that...”
“You think I’ve got a screw loose just like all the other non-believers in this town.”
He put a hand on her shoulder and lifted up her chin as it began to tremble. “I’m sorry. I’m not a bible-toting churchgoer passing judgment. Hell...I’m not even sure what I believe. I’ve just never had cause to believe in anything that I can’t see and experience with my own eyes. You know me…I’m as straight-laced and old-fashioned as they come. I’ve never run across anything in my own life to make me think that there’s anything to all this bugabaloo about ghosts and spirits.”
She tried to keep herself from losing it as he hugged her and even managed a stuttered laugh. “You mean you were faking astonishment all those times I told you what card you were holding?”
He laughed into her ear. “I figured you had a mirror rigged up behind me somewhere.”
“Maybe, sometimes I did. But, not always. Sometimes, I really saw your card in my head. My sensitivities have always been like that—hit or miss. There’s nothing so tentative about this spirit, though. I’ve never run across anything so frightening in all my life.”
She pulled away and fumbled for a handkerchief in her purse as he wiped a tear from her nose. “Why don’t you just lay low on this ghost thing until after the election, then I’ll find some excuse to go over to that house with you and we’ll check it out together from top to bottom.”
“I don’t think it can wait. There was a woman at the house today. If somebody buys it and moves in, I’m really afraid of what might happen to them.”
“Well, if I hear of any trouble out there, I’ll be sure to check it out.”
He gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “I have to go finish some paperwork before my shift is over.”
As she opened her car door, she looked back at him with one last pleading glance. But, he remained in his firm stance, with his arms crossed in front of his chest, shaking his head.
She drove away, purposely turning in the opposite direction from her house. Her nerves were so fragile, if she went back home right now, she just might hole up there for a few weeks too afraid to step outside her door.
Instead, she went to the park across from the high school. Then, she sat down on a bench and watched some geese floating on the pond.
She wished that she could shrink herself down as small as a fly, then hitch a ride on one of their backs when they began to migrate south for the winter. Then, if she was lucky, they’d go to some warm sunny place where the sky is always blue and there are never things that go bump in the night or make your hair stand on end.
But, after a few minutes of contemplation, her thoughts circled around again to the dilemma at hand. She understood her son’s non-believer’s attitude, but she felt angry with him.
Fine, if he won’t help me now…I’ll wait until Virginia’s funeral when it’s not likely that any innocent bystanders will be lurking around that house. Then, I’ll go back there and just face the bastard. My blood will be on Karl’s hands if something happens to me.
Chapter 19
It was nearly dark as Georgia crept up the dirt road to her sister’s home. Rain droplets dotted the windshield as she saw the little cream-colored farmhouse next to the barn and stables. As she approached, her headlights illuminated a couple of rusty tractors that Steven had been telling Marsha he was going to restore and sell at a collector’s price.
She parked in between his new diesel pickup and a petite pink bicycle with sparkly tassels.
As she stepped out of the rental car, the cool rain was just light enough to be a nuisance, not heavy enough to warrant an umbrella. She zipped up her sleek red leather jacket and wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck. Then, she took a deep breath of the moist Kansas air. There always had been something different about the air in Calathia. Tonight, it smelled musty sweet with the fragrance of damp earth and hay.
She walked past the stables and saw a mare poke its head through the gate. It had been just a colt last time Georgia saw her.
“Pretty girl. You’ve grown so big.” She stroked her head and saw misty plumes of cold breath pour out of her nose.
As the horse enjoyed the attention, the front screen door to the house creaked open. “Georgia, is that you?”
She looked toward the house and saw Marsha’s impressive figure standing in the doorway. She looked like the perfect combination of beauty queen and housefrau with her frosted blonde up-do and apron covering well-worn jeans. Her nails were seashell pink and a length that seemed impossible for someone that lived on a farm and cut hair to help make ends meet.
At the door, Marsha gave her a hasty hug. The mingled scents of fresh baked bread and roasted chicken wafted around her. It was a clear sign that it was Saturday, and she had the day off. More often, Georgia knew that she would smell like perm chemicals and hairspray from the beauty salon.
“Well, look at you...still looking like ‘Uptown’. I thought a divorce might have relaxed you a little.”
Georgia unzipped her jacket and ran her fingers through her damp hair. “You’ve been watching too many soaps. Not everyone jets off to an island for a fling and a tan afterwards.”
“Humph,” Marsha said as she took Georgia’s jacket and hung it on a wooden peg over a bench lined with muddy boots and sneakers.
Then, they stood in the hallway with an awkward moment of silence.
“Jarrod’s over at a friend’s for the night. But, Clarissa and Stevie are in the den watching a movie. My old man’s gone to a neighbor’s to borrow some tools.”
Clarissa was the youngest of Marsha’s three children. Georgia remembered that after Marsha had miscarried two more boys, she had been happy to finally have a girl.
None of them knew her very well. She always remembered their birthdays and sent gifts at Christmas, but remained little more than a long-distance present fairy to them otherwise. Clarissa called her, “Aunt Gorgie”. The name stuck, and they al
l called her that now.
She felt like a skunk for not remembering to bring them anything. They always expected t-shirts or fancy confections from Le Chocolatier.
“Aunt Gorgie!” Clarissa yelled as she jumped off the couch and offered a buttery popcorn-smelling hug. Now almost six, she looked like a ragamuffin with mousy dark hair falling into her eyes.
Stevie, now almost nineteen, had grown nearly a foot since she had seen him last. He looked like a thin wiry version of his father with rumpled hair the color of wheat, not moving from his relaxed position, he merely said, “hey,” as teenage boys are want to do.
Clarissa was a bundle of energy. “Can I have a ride in your rental car? Do you want to go out and see my rabbits? See this scar on my knee? I fell off the bicycle yesterday. Didn’t even cry. I’m in the first grade now. Did you know that, Aunt Gorgie?”
After a few minutes, Marsha broke up the reunion. “Okay...your aunt has had a long day traveling. Watch your movie, and you can catch up with her later.”
Clarissa folded her arms then slumped back to the couch.
As Marsha shuffled her back to the kitchen, Georgia whispered, “Stevie’s home on a Saturday night watching a Disney movie?”
“He’s grounded for the rest of the weekend. His dad found a marijuana pipe under the seat of the truck after he drove it this afternoon.”
Georgia remembered the truck full of teenagers. She realized now that it had been him and a couple of other boys, but decided not to dig him any deeper into trouble. Poor Stevie had been the black sheep of the family since before he was born. When Marsha got pregnant with him out of wedlock, their grandmother had raised such a ruckus about it, that it had still been a sore spot between them almost two decades later. She laughed to herself as she imagined Marsha going out to their grandmother’s gravesite each year on Stevie’s birthday just to raise her fist in the air and rant.
The Gardener Page 8
