The Ghost and Katie Coyle

by Anne Kelleher

  “I will. And you, too. And call me next time, will you?”

  Katie replaced the receiver. Despite the time, she sat a few moments, staring out the window. Academic fraud was a serious crime and was almost certainly a death knell for one who wanted to make his name in the academic world. It couldn’t possibly be true. No one—surely no one as serious as Alistair was about his work—would take the risk. It simply wasn’t worth it.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  By the time Katie pulled into the library parking lot, the late-morning sun was high in the sky. She dashed into the library and recognized Daphne Hughes’s white head bent over the circulation desk. The woman was stamping books with a loud, satisfying thump. Katie watched as Daphne carefully closed each book and placed it precisely in one of a row of neat piles of books. “Hello, Daphne.”

  The woman looked up and smiled more broadly than Katie had thought she would have, given the fact that she was almost thirty minutes late. “Well, good morning, Katie! How have your first few days of teaching been going?”

  “Quite well, thanks. I’m enjoying it a lot. I’m really sorry to be so late. I hope it’s still convenient for me to look through those archives.”

  “Why, certainly.” Daphne put down her stamp and closed the inkpad. She beckoned Katie into her office.

  “I had you down for eleven. I had John Sneed get those records out for you. Here’s the key, and just tum off the light and give me the key when you’re finished, all right?”

  “No problem.” Katie started toward the staircase, but Daphne’s voice, continuing the conversation, made her turn back.

  “You know, you’re the first person since Ronan to have an interest in those old records. He’d be thrilled to think that someone was living in Pond House who cared about its history.”

  “I’ve always been interested in history,” said Katie, sidling toward the stairs.

  “He’d have been heartbroken when Mrs. Monahan sold it to East Bay. He would never have parted with it—he loved that property too much.”

  “Well,” Katie took a step toward Daphne. “Why didn’t she leave it to one of her children?”

  “They only had one child—Mary’s father. He died in World War II—never even knew he had a daughter. There wasn’t anyone but Mary, and by the time Ronan died, she’d run off to goodness only knows where. And frankly, Mrs. Monahan needed the money. But it was a shame to see the house pass out of the family. Old Ronan sure loved it. “ Daphne shook her head and would have said more, but a tall, lanky man with white hair dressed in work clothes emerged from a doorway on the other side of the desk and leaned across it.

  “I got all the cartons moved, Daphne. Now, what were you saying you wanted done with the flower beds out front?”

  “Ah, John. I’ll come right out and show you.” Daphne gave Katie a bright smile. “Let me know if you need anything, dear. I’ll send John right up.”

  Katie went up the steps silently, shaking with suppressed laughter. East Bay certainly didn’t lack for characters.

  She flicked on the lights and settled down in front of the pile of bound leather books. She opened the first. Spidery handwriting, faded with the years, covered the page from top to bottom. It was one of the books that listed the shipwrecks along the coast.

  August 19, 1886-August Morgan out of London lost at sea. Cargo washed up on Somers Point. No survivors.

  August 19. 1886-Arrow out of Boston. Twelve crewmen lost. John McNair, sailor, survivor. George Austin, sailor, survivor.

  Katie shuddered. The details of her dream came back to her in all of their frightening realism: the cold and the water and the crashing timbers as the ship was torn apart. The list went on and on, chronicling disasters at sea. Some lists included the names of the dead as well as the survivors, some only listed the number of those who had died in the waves and those who had managed to live. The recordings were listed chronologically, and she surmised that groups of wrecks meant that there had been a large storm. Or maybe, she thought, it was simply easier for the chronicler to get the job done all at once.

  She skimmed back to the beginning of the book. It began in 1861, far too late to have anything to do with the ghost of Pond House. Carefully, she closed it up and laid it to one side. She reached for what looked like the oldest of the volumes. Its leather cover was cracked with age, and she whipped her head around and sneezed as a cloud of dust rose from the pages when she gently opened it.

  Bits of yellow paper flaked away at the edges as she touched it. These records should be better preserved, she thought. Surely there was someone at East Bay skilled in preservation. She would have to inquire at the library. Even if someone had to come from Boston—it would be a shame to have so much authentic history crumble into dust. A wry thought crossed her mind. These were invaluable documents—original source materials that could provide a wealth of information to any number of historians and antiquarians. They deserved to be preserved.

  The volume began in 1787, the earliest surviving record of shipwrecks along the shores.

  A shiver went down her spine, as it always did when she was confronted with evidence from the past. In all the years she’d studied history, the tangible evidence of lives lived and lost never ceased to fill her with awe. She scanned the list of dates and names.

  She paused, reading more carefully. She didn’t really have a clue what exactly she was looking for. A notation caught her eye. Privateer. Hmm, she thought. That might be as close as she was likely to come to the word “pirate.” A map of the coast would help, she realized. She got up with a sigh, ready to ask Daphne for help, and noticed a large map of the town pinned to the wall. Excellent. Just what she needed. She got up, found Pond House, and noted that the beach it overlooked was labeled “Forest Cliff.” She returned to the book. There was no annotation where that ship had been wrecked.

  She carefully noted the name, Maggie Moore, and kept reading.

  She’d worked her way through over ten years of disasters when a chill went down her spine. The notation was as bald as any of the others, but there was something about it that made her pause.

  October 11, 1799-The Wild Rose of Kerry out of Cork, Ireland. Slaver. All lives lost. Wreckage washed ashore on Forest Cliff Beach.

  A slave ship out of Ireland? It was possible, of course, but by 1799 the English slave trade had slowed. What was more likely was that the ship held convicts, bound to Canada as indentured servants.

  The memory of the dreams she’d had of the man with Derry’s face rose up before her as she stared at the faded black ink. He’d been chained at the wrists. Was it possible, she wondered, that the ghost of Pond House wasn’t a pirate captain at all, but the ghost of some poor convict who’d managed to crawl up the beach, calling out for help?

  But nothing explained why, in all her dreams, it was Derry who wore manacles on his wrists, his clothes soaking wet. What possible connection could her mind make to him? That was one mystery the old records couldn’t possibly help her resolve.

  She noted the name, the date, and the originating port, and resolved to call Meg the next morning. Perhaps her sister could access records in Ireland that would tell her what kind of ship the Wild Rose of Kerry had really been.

  “Katie?”

  Katie startled. Daphne Hughes was standing in the doorway, smiling. “I was just checking to see if you were okay. It’s after two.”

  “Oh, my goodness.” Katie got to her feet, carefully closing the book. “I had no idea it was so late.”

  “No, I figured you’d gotten lost in these old books. Old Ronan was the same way. I could’ve left him up here for days, I think.”

  “Thanks. Is there anything I can do? Should I put them back?”

  “No, no, John Sneed will take care of everything. Did you find what you were looking for?

  Katie glanced down at the book on the table. “I think I may have. They’re very interesting, these old records.”

  Just as Daphne opened her mouth to reply, a bell
rang from somewhere downstairs. “Oh, there’s the front desk bell. Just leave everything as you found it, and don’t forget the light!”

  Daphne was gone before Katie could reply. She straightened the books into precise piles. Although she’d spent more time than she’d expected to spend today, her work had turned up an interesting twist. It might explain the chains on the man in her dreams. But it didn’t explain why that man was Derry. Or looked so much like him, she thought as she flicked the light switch and started down the steps.

  At the front desk, Daphne Hughes was talking into the telephone while Mary Monahan leaned against the desk. “I’m sorry, could you say that again? Try New York? The public library? Yes, yes, I understand. It is an unusual request. All right. I’ll try New York. In the meantime you will keep checking?” She paused long enough to flash Mary a smile. “All right. Thanks again.” She replaced the receiver and shrugged. “Mary, I’m sorry. I think that’s the best I’m going to be able to do. Are you sure you need this book?”

  “I wouldn’t ask you to get it for me, Daphne, if I didn’t.” Mary glanced in Katie’s direction and smiled. “I really appreciate your efforts.”

  “Hi, Mary.” Katie nodded a greeting. “Daphne, I closed the door on my way down.”

  “Oh, very good.” Daphne nodded approvingly and Katie felt inexplicably like a good child. “You turned off the lights?”

  “Absolutely. And tell Mr. Sneed I appreciated his help, please.”

  “Of course. Come back any time. And Mary, I’ll let you know about that book as soon as I hear anything. New York, my, my!” Daphne disappeared back up the steps shaking her head.

  “Where’s she going?” Katie asked as the two women walked out of the library.

  “To make sure you turned off the lights,” Mary replied with a laugh. “I knew she was going to give me a hard time about that book, but it’s out of print and I can’t think of any other way to get it.”

  “What book?”

  “It’s a book on earth energy. Written in the thirties. I was sure my grandfather had a copy, but I’ve searched his books high and low and I can’t find it. Gram probably got rid of it.”

  “I can check for it at the university library, if you want.”

  “Thanks, but Daphne already called over there. Some people call her ‘Daffy,’ but she’s thorough. I know she’ll figure out how I can get my hands on a copy somehow. What were you doing?”

  “Checking through some of the old town records for more information about Pond House. I found the record of a very interesting wreck. Well, interesting to me, at any rate.”

  “What was it?”

  “A ship called the Wild Rose of Kerry went ashore here in 1799. She was listed as a slaver…” Katie paused at the look on Mary’s face.

  “You found that?” The older woman’s jaw had dropped and she was staring at Katie, her surprise plain.

  “Well,” Katie began, bewildered by Mary’s reaction. “Historical research is what I do. Or one of the things, you know. It’s such a big part of academics.”

  “Of course it is,” Mary said with a little laugh that sounded nervous. “I’m just surprised. I had no idea it would be so easy for you.”

  Katie stopped next to her car. “I’m going to contact my sister in Ireland. She might be able to discover who was aboard that ship. It seems more likely that the supposed ghost is someone who died in a wreck like that, rather than a pirate guarding his treasure. He is, after all, calling for help.”

  “Well, that’s true.” Mary glanced around. “How’s teaching going?”

  “It’s going well. I’m not sure how long I’ll be there, but it’s going well so far. First-semester freshmen are so eager to please, they’re cute.” She paused, wondering if she should change the subject. Oh, why not, she thought. In for a penny, in for a pound. “I—uh—I was wondering if you and Derry might like to come for dinner some time. I’m not a bad cook, and uh—well, even my twin sister says my food isn’t dangerous.”

  Mary was flushed. “That’s so kind of you to think of us,” she said slowly. She spoke over Katie’s shoulder, refusing to meet her eyes. “I…‌I would have to check with Derry, though—he’s in and out a lot, and I really don’t see all that much of him.” She glanced at her watch. “Goodness, it’s getting late.” She backed away from Katie. “I shouldn’t be holding you up. Thanks for the invitation.”

  Katie watched the woman practically run across the parking lot. What on earth could she have said to upset Mary? Was it the dinner invitation? She shook her head and climbed into her car. She’d email Meg tonight. That way, Meg would see it first thing tomorrow, and the time difference wouldn’t be a problem. And she had so much reading to do if she was going to stay ahead of her freshmen comp classes. She drove off, still wondering what about an invitation to dinner could have upset Mary so much.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Bay rum filled her nostrils, spicy and sweet and strong, and Katie drew a deep breath. Ordinarily, such a scent would be too strong, but this time it seemed to wrap around her like a caress, wrapping her from head to toe in a secure cocoon.

  “Caitlin.”

  The voice echoed in her mind, and somehow Derry Riordan was with her, dressed in ragged clothes with chains on his wrists. She stared at him curiously, wondering once again why he was dressed that way, and why he called her Caitlin. “That’s not my name,” she said.

  “But it was, “ he replied, and she thought it could be true. “And, oh, how I loved you then.”

  “Then?”

  “A long time ago.” In his voice she heard the echo of the years and felt an anguish running through it like a river, an agony that had gone on for years and years and years. “Who are you?” she whispered, holding out her hand.

  “I’m Derry,” he replied. He took her hand and pressed a kiss into the palm.

  Desire sparked through her, sudden and wild and she gasped, even as her fingers tightened involuntarily around his. “But who are you?” she repeated, with greater intensity. “And why are you dressed like that?”

  “It’s what I wore when you lost me. “

  “When did I lose you?” she breathed. The scent of his bay rum made her dizzy—or maybe it was the way his body was pressing against hers, lean and hard and insistent.

  “A long, long time ago,” he said. He released her hand and she sensed that his presence was slipping away, out of her reach.

  “Don’t go!” she cried.

  “You know where to find me,” he whispered, and the scent of the bay rum faded, even as he receded into the mists.

  Katie opened her eyes. The red numbers on the face of her clock read 4:25. Outside the sky was still dark, and the house was very still. The hum of the refrigerator was the only sound. She turned on her side, drew a deep breath and started. The unmistakable fragrance of bay rum was fading. She bolted upright, her heart beginning to pound. With a trembling hand, she reached over and turned on her bedside light. Shivering, she reached for her bathrobe and pulled it around her shoulders, but she knew the sensation of cold had nothing to do with the temperature. What did the dreams mean?

  This wasn’t the first time the image of Derry had invaded her dreams. Who was he, and why did he affect her so much? And what on earth did that one mean? Calling her Caitlin, and telling her he’d known her a long time ago? Why did it seem so real?

  She got out of bed and walked over to the window. She stared into the woods in the direction of the Stones. And why did she think that if she got dressed and went out there right now, he’d be there? Waiting for her?

  She shook her head and as she turned away, she caught a glimpse of a flash of white beneath the trees. No, she thought. It couldn’t be. No one would be out in the woods at 4:30 in the morning. But even as she told herself it couldn’t be possible, some other part of her grew even more certain that Derry did, indeed, await her among the Stones.

  She walked into the living room and switched on the light. The floor was cold b
eneath her bare feet. She sat down at her computer. The keyboard clicked as she typed in the necessary commands. The modem whirred. A white envelope flashed in the bottom right corner of her screen.

  Curious, she clicked on it. Although she knew her sister wouldn’t have any information for her, at least Meg must’ve opened her email.

  “Hey there,” the message read. “Since when are you so interested in shipwrecks? Is that house you’re living in haunted or something?”

  Katie smiled. It wasn’t the first time that her twin had put her finger uncannily close to the truth. She trained her eyes back on the screen to read the rest of the email.

  “I’ll do what I can. I’m not sure exactly where to start looking, but a friend of mine is into that period. I’m sure he might have a clue where to check. Heck, if I offer to buy him a pint or two, he might even do it for me. :) I’ll let you know as soon as I hear something. And don’t forget, it’s your turn to call me next time!!!! Kisses. Meggie.”

  Well, that was that, then. With any luck, Meg might turn up some information in a week or two. Katie glanced out the window. Above the brightly colored trees, the sky was turning a pale gray-blue. A gust of wind made the branches sway back and forth. Autumn was definitely in the air. Soon she’d be able to have a fire. She rose and went to the window. In the early morning light, she could see the ripples as the wind blew across the surface of the ponds.

  She stared into the trees. Why was she so certain that if she dressed and went out into the woods, she’d find Derry already there? What did her dreams involving him mean? She’d had vivid, lifelike dreams before, but none quite so…‌quite so…‌she fumbled for the word. The dreams were real in the oddest way. Real wasn’t how she wanted to describe them. But “real” was definitely the word she kept coming back to. But what were they trying to tell her about Derry? Or more to the point, what was it that he was trying to tell her? Unlike the aftermath of other dreams, that faded almost immediately, with Derry she could remember the details of their conversations with crystal clarity.