The Ghosts of Misty Hollow

by Sue Ann Jaffarian

  “It says here,” Emma noted as she got up and joined the group around the album, “that this photo was taken sometime in the 1870s and the other, the formal photo in front of the new house, was done in the 1880s, but the children in both photos look like the same children. In fact, Chester and Clarissa seem to be in both of them. Do you remember how long passed between these two photos?”

  Again, there was murmuring between the collection of spirits. Finally, Warren spoke, “None at all, except maybe a few days. As I recollect, these photos were both taken the year this house was completed, which was in the spring of 1881.” Emma looked at Abigail and Warren. Both were fading. Abigail looked worn out.

  “Did the children like Mr. French?” Fran asked.

  “They all seemed kind of shy around him,” Abigail said, her voice low and breathy as she lost energy. “I don’t think they liked having their pictures taken. Especially the ones where they had to sit still.”

  Blaine stepped forward. “Emma, do you know what happened to Chester and Clarissa?”

  Emma shook her head. “Not exactly, Blaine, but now at least we have some more information to go on.” She looked around at the gathering of spirits. “Before you go, tell me, do any of you remember where Mr. French lived and where he went after he left Whitefield?”

  “He was from Worcester,” Warren said. “I remember that.”

  “Yes,” Abigail agreed. “I remember that, too. I don’t remember his exact itinerary, but I know it included Passer Heights and the villages of Balser and Hampshire. I had people in Hampshire and Passer Heights and he would take their photos also. I remember because we would use Mr. French to pass along letters and small packages.”

  “Wait a minute,” Warren said. Stepping away from the group of spirits, he paced the room, coming more into focus. Emma looked down at the big family portrait, running a finger across the rows until she found Warren in the group. He was dressed in a stiff suit in the photo and his hair and beard were neatly trimmed and dark as night. He must have been in his midthirties when his children went missing. Studying his spirit, it looked like he’d died in his fifties.

  “Wasn’t that summer the last one French came through here?” Warren asked the group of spirits. Again, murmuring, like bees on a summer day, filled the room. Another spirit, a female Emma couldn’t make out, spoke up from the crowd. “I think you’re correct, Uncle Warren. I don’t recall him coming back through these parts again.”

  “But didn’t Mr. French help us look for the children?” asked Abigail.

  “That he did, Abigail,” Warren agreed. “He helped us search until he had to leave for the next town. Then I don’t think we ever saw him again.”

  “How long did you search for the children?” Emma asked.

  “Months and months,” Warren said. “Some of our boys rode into neighboring towns and put the word out.”

  “And when was the last time you remember actually seeing them?” Fran asked.

  The ghosts were quiet, then the unidentified woman spirit said, “At the dance. They were playing with some of the other children. That’s the last I saw them.” More murmuring could be heard as the group of spirits agreed that it was at the dance.

  “Peculiar thing, I’m now thinking,” Warren said as he ran a hand through his thick beard, “that we never saw Beau French again after that summer.”

  “Are you saying,” began Blaine, “that Beau French might have had something to do with the twins going missing?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m thinking,” Warren said to his family. He turned to Fran and Emma. “That’s where all your questions are heading, is it not, ladies?”

  “I’m afraid it’s crossing our minds as a possibility,” admitted Emma. More muttering from the crowd of ghosts as they all considered the possibility.

  “But why would Mr. French want to hurt Chester and Clarissa?” Abigail asked, her voice growing reedy and thin as her image faded.

  “There are a lot of sick and evil people in the world, Abigail,” Fran explained in a sad, slow tone. “It happens to the children in our time, so why not in yours?”

  • CHAPTER FIFTEEN •

  “A FAMILIAR traveling salesperson would be good cover for a murderer and predator,” noted Gino as soon as Emma and Fran brought the men up-to-date. He got up and went to his laptop on the desk. The Brown clan had left and once again warmth filled the room.

  “Exactly,” Phil agreed. “The children would know him and the adults would trust him.”

  “Abigail said a lot of the children were shy around French,” Emma noted, “but young children are often shy around strangers.”

  “Young ones are also quite perceptive,” added Fran. “They often get gut feelings about people without knowing why, much as animals do.”

  Phil picked up the bound newspapers. “Boy, I wish this was scanned and searchable. It would make it much faster to find out about other missing kids.”

  “But even if we do decide that Beau French was preying on the area’s children,” Emma pointed out, “it doesn’t help us locate the spirits of Chester and Clarissa, which is what the Browns want and need for closure.”

  Fran sat back down on the sofa and put the album on the table. “Do you think,” she said after taking a long pull on her brandy, “that they will stick around after they’re united with the spirits of the twins?”

  Emma shrugged. She’d sat back down, too, and was also nursing her drink. “I don’t know. They might, deciding their mission is accomplished. But maybe some will linger because of their affection for Misty Hollow.”

  “Ha!” said Gino, slapping the desktop with the palm of his right hand. “Beau French is on the Internet.”

  “You’re kidding?” said Phil. Getting up, he went to look over Gino’s shoulder.

  “Right there,” Gino said, pointing at a spot on the screen. “His name popped up under serial killers on this Wikipedia page.”

  “He was a known serial killer?” asked Emma with surprise. She and Fran turned to face the men.

  “Now we’re cooking,” came a voice near the bar.

  Fran and Emma turned quickly at the familiar sound to see Granny coming into view. “Granny’s back,” Emma announced to the men.

  “I’ve been here all along,” Granny said coming closer, “but I’ve been hanging back and watching. That was all pretty interesting.” She and Emma exchanged looks, and Granny shrugged. “Sorry, Emma. I couldn’t find Vanessa.”

  “That’s okay, Granny,” Emma told her with a small smile. “I know you tried.”

  “Who is Vanessa?” asked Fran. “Another member of the Brown family?” The men turned and watched them with interest.

  Instead of looking at Fran, Emma looked Gino straight in the eye. “I sent Granny to see if she could find Vanessa, but she couldn’t. I’m sorry and so is she.”

  “I just couldn’t get a bead on her,” the ghost said with genuine sadness.

  Gino looked at Fran as he answered her question. “Vanessa is my wife. She stormed out of here this morning after we had a fight.” He turned to Emma. “You and Granny can stop looking. I know where Vanessa is, at least for the moment. About the time I got the text from T, I noticed one from my bank that had come in earlier. I have that service where they text me whenever a major purchase is made on my credit card. Seems Vanessa checked into the Plaza Hotel in New York earlier today.”

  “I’m very sorry, Gino,” Fran told him with sympathy.

  Gino took a deep breath, his powerful chest expanding with the effort. “I’m actually glad she wasn’t here for this, or my assistant Leroy for that matter. Vanessa would have been scared to death and Leroy would have made a mockery out of it.”

  “And you?” Phil asked.

  Gino expelled a tiny, rough laugh. “I’m not sure what to think, but here it is right on the Internet.” He jabbed again at
the screen. “It says that Beau French was a traveling photographer. He was hanged in 1884 for murdering two little boys in New York, and was suspected of killing other children who had gone missing in the area.”

  “New York,” Fran repeated to no one in particular.

  “I’ll bet it got too hot for him here with the Browns nosing around day and night,” Granny said, “so he moved on and decided not to return.”

  “Granny thinks French might have moved to New York because things were getting too complicated around here,” Emma told the men. “I think she has a good point.”

  “I do, too,” agreed Gino. “Back then, communication wasn’t instant like it is now. It might take months or even years for investigations or concerns about someone to catch up to him, even if the Brown family put a lot of time and effort into it. New York isn’t that far away to us, but back then it was a major distance.”

  “And French could take his occupation with him,” Phil pointed out. “No one would think twice about an itinerant photographer showing up in town. He could support himself wherever he went.”

  “Saying for argument’s sake,” Gino began, “this Beau French did abduct and kill the Brown children, where would he have stashed their bodies?” He looked from Emma to Fran. “If we find the bodies, will the children be reunited in the hereafter with their families?”

  “Hard to say,” Emma answered honestly, “but often that happens.”

  “French could have disposed of the bodies almost anywhere,” Phil pointed out. “There is quite a bit of undeveloped property and acres of woods in the area even now, probably more then.”

  “And if he was an experienced killer,” noted Gino, “I doubt he hid them anywhere near Misty Hollow. We could be looking for a needle in a haystack.”

  Gino found his discarded glass and retrieved the brandy bottle. “Would any of you care for another drink?”

  “What the hell,” Phil said, picking up his own glass for a refill. “It’s not like we’re driving anywhere tonight.” Both women turned the offer down.

  “We have pie,” Emma announced. “Marta made pie today before she left,” she told Fran. “Would you like some with coffee?”

  “Thank you, Emma,” Fran said, “but if you all don’t mind, I think I’m going to head for home. It’s been quite an emotionally charged night, for which I want to thank you. I’ve never been part of something like this and I can’t wait to tell Heddy about it.” She walked over to Emma and the two women exchanged warm hugs.

  “Can I keep the book of newspapers?” Phil asked. “I’d like to keep looking through them, at least through 1884.”

  “Of course, Phil,” Fran said. “Be my guest. One last question though.” She looked at Emma. “Where do we go from here to find those children?”

  Emma had been wondering the same thing. “I was thinking that maybe tomorrow we should hike around the area where the family last saw them.”

  “You mean the town square?” asked Fran.

  “Yes, and fan out from there,” suggested Emma. “The area isn’t that large, is it?”

  Fran closed her eyes in thought. “Not really. It’s about five miles from here to the town of Whitefield. But fanning out would mean covering quite a bit of territory.”

  “I doubt French would have disposed of the children near town,” Gino offered after refilling Phil’s glass. “If he had, they probably would have been found during the initial search.”

  After considering the puzzle, Phil added, “And I’m sure the town has expanded a great deal since then, so if he buried them near the village, wouldn’t they have been found during excavation for the new roads and buildings built over time?”

  “That’s an excellent point, Phil,” Gino said, clinking his glass against Phil’s. “I’ll make a crime writer out of you yet.”

  “I have a really good map of the town at home,” Fran said. “As well as some historical ones. How about we meet tomorrow, go over them, and decide where to look? Now that we know where the children were last seen, we might have a better shot at finding them. All these years, I’ve been focusing my search around Misty Hollow and the surrounding woods.

  “There’s a donut shop right across from the town square,” Fran said. “How about we meet there around nine thirty? That will give the commuters enough time to get their coffee and donuts and clear out before we get there.”

  “That good for you, Granny?” Emma asked.

  “Sure, except for that donut part,” the feisty ghost answered. “It doesn’t seem right that I can smell them and not taste them.”

  “Granny’s good to go,” Emma told everyone with a sly wink at Fran.

  As Fran headed for the door, she said, “This storm is supposed to clear out by morning, but it’s going to be muddy and wet where we’ll be tramping around. If you have boots, I suggest you wear them.”

  Emma and Phil exchanged looks of worry, which Gino caught. “Don’t worry, guys,” he told them. “There’s this great place I discovered just on the edge of town my first few days here that has fishing and hunting equipment, including cheap boots and gear.”

  “That must be Fish, Field and Farm,” Fran said with a big smile. “I was going to suggest it myself. And it opens at eight a.m.”

  “That’s the place,” Gino said with a grin. “It’s real close to Frank’s restaurant. Much to Vanessa’s dismay, I came home from there with a couple of plaid flannel shirts and some rubber boots. I also got Marta some birdseed. She’d noticed the first day here that the feeders just outside the kitchen window and along the back porch were empty and she couldn’t find any seed. I think she said there’s even a few feeders down by the guesthouse.”

  There was a vibration and Gino glanced at his phone. “It’s Leroy,” he said after looking at it. “He said he’ll be back in the morning.” He turned to Fran. “That’s my assistant.” He started writing a reply. “I’ll let him know we’ll be gone most of the morning so not to rush back.”

  • CHAPTER SIXTEEN •

  EMMA and Phil were running the loop they had not taken the day before, starting down the drive and onto the paved road for the first leg, instead of down the road toward the old house. The rainstorm had passed through the night before, leaving the area soaked but fresh. The air was crisp and clean as they jogged side by side, burning off the calories from the fried food the day before and sparking their energy for the busy day ahead. When they left the house, they’d not seen Gino but had heard him running the shower in his bathroom. They left him a note in the kitchen that they had gone for a run.

  “I think the road that circles back by the old house is coming up,” Phil said after they’d gone about a mile. “Do you want to take it or run farther on the paved road?”

  “Let’s take it back to the house,” Emma said. “We’re going to get plenty of exercise today tramping around the woods and I want to see if any of the Browns are about.”

  They ran several more yards until an opening in the tree line exposed a driveway on the right. Continuing their pace, they turned down it. The drive wasn’t paved but covered in a sturdy packed surface of dirt and gravel dotted with occasional small puddles. The narrow road was lined on both sides by trees and shrubs.

  “Are you sure this is the right way?” Emma asked.

  “Pretty sure,” Phil said as they put one foot in front of the other. In spite of the chill, both of their faces were starting to shine with perspiration. “It was the only drive on this side of the main street,” he continued. “They probably don’t use it very often so don’t bother paving it. The road from the big house to the old one is much larger and paved.” He glanced down at the road. “Although it looks like someone has used this one recently from these tire tracks in the wet dirt.” He stopped and squatted, examining the tracks. “In fact, there’s more than one set here.”

  They’d gone about another half mile when Ph
il pointed ahead. “See, there’s the house just up ahead.”

  A few more steps and Emma pulled up short and stopped. Phil took a few more steps before stopping himself and turning around. “What’s the matter, darling?”

  “I’m starting to feel the spirits, Phil, and they’re disturbed.”

  “Are they saying anything?” he asked with concern.

  She shook her head. “No, but there’s a negative vibration in the air.” She closed the short distance between herself and Phil. “We need to see what’s there,” she whispered, “but be quiet about it.”

  Together they moved forward, keeping close to the trees and moving in single file. Phil went first, with Emma close behind him. “Let me know,” he whispered back at her, “if anything changes, ghost-wise.”

  They approached the house quietly. “Anything?” Phil asked. She shook her head.

  “You gotta come quick,” Granny said, popping up and scaring Emma.

  “What’s going on, Granny?” Emma asked, a hand over her heart to calm its machine-gun beating.

  “Someone’s dead,” the ghost said. “Someone new! In the kitchen!”

  “Granny says there’s a body in the kitchen,” Emma said to Phil as she started running for the house.

  “Emma, wait,” he shouted as he took off after her. When he caught her, he grabbed her arm and pulled her to a stop. “You don’t know what’s going on in there. If there is a body and it’s a murder, the killer might still be around.”

  “But maybe whoever it is isn’t dead but just hurt,” she countered. “It’s not like Granny can check for a pulse.” She yanked her arm from him.

  “Trust me, Emma,” Granny said, “I know death when I see it.”

  Emma looked at Granny a moment, then at Phil, and conceded. “Is there anyone else in there, Granny?” Emma asked. The ghost shook her head and started for the house.

  “Granny said no one else is there,” Emma told Phil. Together, they quickly made their way to the old farmhouse.