Ghost Walk

by Cassandra Gannon

  Those perfect hands settled on her waist pulling her closer, a low groan rumbling in his throat. She might have started this, but Jamie was in no hurry to see it end. Strong arms lifted her against his chest, like he wanted even more of her. Grace’s feet left the ground, clinging to him as she kissed him back. All her therapist’s jabber about “unrealistic expectations” and Robert’s whining about her semi-frigidity faded to nothing with Jamie. Everything inside of her reached a flashpoint of desire. All she wanted to do was push him to the ground and lick her way down his incredible body.

  And Jamie certainly wouldn’t have put up much of a fight. The guy was holding her so tight, it was a wonder she could still breathe. “Mine.” He got out hoarsely. “Finally.”

  Grace’s insides clenched at the hot words. Human or ghost, he was a pirate who took what he wanted. It turned her on to have all that possessive focus aimed her way. Whenever he looked at her, Grace could feel him claiming her and now that they had the ability to touch, there was no hesitation, at all. Large palms grabbed handfuls of her skirt, clearly wanting to rip it right off of her. He might have no earthly idea who she was, but he sure seemed interested in learning.

  …Too bad she didn’t have time to explain it all to him.

  If there was one person who could help her solve this case, it was Jamie. But, what the hell could she say to him now that he would ever believe? Nothing. If she tried to explain it all, he’d have her locked up for her own good and eighteenth century asylums were an even worse option than modern ones. She needed to do this on her own.

  And she needed to do it now.

  Grace pulled back, breathing hard. “I gotta go.”

  Jamie reluctantly loosened his grip as she squiggled free. His gentlemanly instincts were warring with his desire to keep her right there in his arms. “Wait…”

  “I can’t.” She backed away from him. “I gotta go, Jamie. It might already be too late.”

  He didn’t bother to ask what she was late for. He was too busy following her right down the rabbit hole. “I do know you.” He said, closing the small distance of her retreat. “God, I would know you anywhere.”

  Grace hesitated. “You remember me?” How was that possible?

  Jamie shook his head. “I never met you a day in my life… but I’ve still been waiting for you.” Dazed blue eyes traced over her face, memorizing it. “I always knew I’d recognize my bride when she finally showed up.”

  Revolutionary era pick-up lines, now? Unbelievable! “Just stay here and make sure you have an alibi until morning.” She took off running, her sandals thudding against the cobblestones. “Then, get out of town!” She called over her shoulder. “I mean it!”

  Jamie didn’t seem eager to take that advice. “Where the hell are you going?” He shouted after her. “You didn’t even tell me your name!”

  Grace didn’t have the time or oxygen to answer that. She hiked up the length of her dress and jumped over a hedge in her mad dash across town square. Most days, she was embarrassingly unathletic for someone named “Grace” but this wasn’t most days. She needed to get to Lucinda’s house before Jamie’s ex got herself killed.

  The Wentworth mansion was three streets over and six blocks up. The quickest way to get there was to cut right through some flower gardens. One of the benefits of living in a place that hadn’t changed since George Washington was president was that time travelers didn’t need a map. It was simple for her to navigate through the familiar landmarks of Harrisonburg. Sure the houses were painted different colors and the trees were smaller and the stars overhead were a thousand times brighter, but this was still her town. She could’ve found the Wentworth house blindfolded.

  She’d just prefer to find it in a car.

  Grace hadn’t run full out since high school gym and her lungs really weren’t thanking her for the trip down memory lane. It took way too long for her to cover the relatively short distance across town. She was wheezing like a broken accordion by the time she shortcut-ed her way into the Wentworth’s backyard.

  Instantly, she saw that Ghost-Jamie had left out a very important detail about the back of Lucinda’s house. While he’d been right about the lack of a porch under her bedroom, he’d forgotten about the rose trellis. It was attached to the side of the house, providing a perfect improvised ladder for anyone who wanted to climb up to the second story.

  “Goddamn it!”

  It was the worst language she’d used in years, so of course Jamie was there to hear it.

  “You’ve got a sailor’s mouth on ya, lass.” He cheerily reported, coming up behind her. “I like that in a woman. Never did care for the timid ones. Much more fun when a girl swears a blue streak and drags you down for a kiss, now and then.”

  Grace spared him a sideways look, not very surprised that he’d followed her. Dead or alive, the pirate was incapable of following directions. “You’re going to lecture me about cursing?” She scoffed. “Please.” He used the word “fuck” a half-dozen times just saying “good morning.” She did a quick scan for any footprints in the soft dirt. If she had hairspray and plaster of Paris, she could have made casts of them for comparison. For better or worse, she didn’t see any prints, though.

  …Also, she doubted hairspray had been invented yet.

  “And, FYI, you called me timid yesterday.” She tacked on, distractedly.

  “Doena recall knowing you yesterday, so perhaps you’re thinking of another dashing Scottish captain. One far less perceptive than me. Also, far less handsome, I’m sure.”

  Grace flashed him an exasperated glance. “Must you flirt with every girl you meet?”

  “Just the one I’m going to wed.”

  “I knew you weren’t going to take this seriously. What are you even doing here? I thought I told you to go establish an alibi.”

  “Aye, ya did. But, I’ve got no bloody clue what that means, so I decided to join you here in the Wentworth’s shrubbery instead.” He gestured to the bushes, where they were hiding. “Besides, you never told me your name and I’d like to know what to call my future wife.”

  He really was an incurable scoundrel. “Any future wife of yours could only be called ‘crazy.’” She assured him.

  “Not true. I distinctly recall you telling me you’re not crazy and you don’t seem one to lie.” He leaned a bit closer. “Come on, lass. Just tell me your name. Please?”

  God, he was pretty. “Grace.” She fumbled in the pocket of her sundress, refusing to be distracted by his charm, and came up with her smartphone. “I’m Grace.”

  His mouth curved. “Of course you are.” He murmured. “No other name would suit you, a’tall.”

  She didn’t even bother to ask what that meant. It was much darker in the past than it was in the modern age of electricity and light pollution. How was she supposed to investigate if she couldn’t frigging see? Grace clicked on her flashlight app and shone it up at Lucinda’s room. “Goddamn it!”

  The window was open, white curtains blowing in the summer breeze.

  “What the hell is that?” Jamie’s tone went from seductive to astonished. He gaped at the glowing smartphone and she realized that she had zero ways to logically explain it. Ben Franklin flying a kite in a lightning storm was a long way from Apple’s newest technology.

  “Okay, fine.” Grace shrugged. “I’m a fairy. Just accept the magic. And, for God’s sake, keep your voice down.” The last thing she needed was someone spotting him at the crime scene. He’d be hanged ahead of schedule.

  Jamie obligingly lowered his voice to a baffled hiss. “What are you doing here, pray tell? If you plan to rob the Wentworths, I’d suggest doing it when they aren’t all home and abed.”

  “I’m not robbing them, idiot. I’m trying to protect them.” Unfortunately, she had the bad feeling she was already too late. How could she be too late? The murder shouldn’t happen for hours, according to Gregory Maxwell’s book. Why would she be sent back to save Lucinda, if she didn’t have time to actuall
y save her?!

  “Protecting them from what? I’ve an acquaintance with Miss Lucinda. So if she’s in some kind trouble, I’ve a vested interest in knowing about it.”

  “Yeah, I know all about your ‘vested interest’ in Lucinda.” Grace muttered in irritation.

  Jamie shot her a quick look. “There’s nothing arranged between us, if that’s what you’re insinuating. I’ve a fondness for the girl, but it isn’t a’tall serious.”

  “Like I care about that, right now.” She totally cared about that. Grace sent him a sideways look and Jamie caught hold of her gaze, not letting go.

  “Lucinda’s not the one I’ve been waiting for.” He said quietly. “I promise you. The woman does not belong to me and nor me to her.”

  Grace shook her head, before those sincere blue eyes hypnotized her and she got sidetracked. “You and your love life are your own business. I’m just here to stop a murder.”

  “You’re…?” Jamie’s expression went slack. “Wait, a what!?”

  “Keep your voice down! Look, you have no idea what’s going on, so just let me handle this and stay out of sight.” She started across the lawn, her attention on that open window.

  A feeling of dread settled in her stomach. The same feeling she always got when she arrived at a crime scene. Something moved in Lucinda’s bedroom. Someone. A silhouette of black against the white curtain.

  Goddamn it.

  “Stop!” Grace shouted, heading for the house. “Stop right there!”

  Behind her, Jamie let out a curse. “Weren’t we supposed to be keeping quiet? That surely woke the whole neighborhood.”

  In the bedroom, the shadowy figure vanished. Grace heard footsteps pounding inside the house as the person fled, but she couldn’t tell how big they were or what they looked like. “Jamie, go around to the front!” They needed to cut him off before he fled. “Hurry!”

  He was staring up at the window, his snarking silenced by shock. “Was someone inside Lucinda’s…?”

  “Go!” Praying that the wooden slats held, Grace pulled herself up the trellis. “But whatever you do, don’t get caught here yourself. They’ll think you did it.”

  “You can’t go up there by yourself, woman!”

  “You think this tiny little trellis is going to support you?” Thorns cut her hands and rose pedals cascaded to the ground as she climbed. She seriously needed to get in better shape if she was going to do insane stuff like this. “Hurry!” Her arms burning from strain and hair full of leaves, she finally managed to heave herself over the window sill and into the room.

  Even in the darkness, she saw the blood.

  The killer hadn’t had time to clean up the crime scene, yet. Lucinda was sprawled there in a white nightgown, already dead and gone. It looked as if her throat had been slashed. More than just her throat. Her blood covered the flowered floor cloth, pooling under her body. Thick and sticky, it soaked so deeply into the wooden slats beneath the bed that it would still be there two centuries later.

  Grace bit back a scream, her hands shaking so badly she nearly dropped her phone.

  Oh God, oh God, oh God.

  She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t deal with this. It was all too much. She told Jamie it was too much. She’d failed to save Lucinda, and she was somehow back in time, and she was looking at another dead body, and she was going to lose her mind for real this time. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

  Peaceful green cornfields. Peaceful green…

  Wait.

  She swallowed, her brain piecing facts together even through her shock. Wait. Was the blood already cold? The edges of the puddle were beginning to dry. She blinked rapidly, her training kicking in. It was sometime around eleven, according to Jamie, and Lucinda had been dead for over an hour. She was sure of that. That meant she must have died almost as soon as she said goodnight to his sister and went to bed.

  Her killer had been waiting for her. Maybe he’d left a clue.

  Panic gave way to sudden determination. If she couldn’t save Lucinda, at least she could catch who did this. This was a crime scene, after all, and she was the only one capable of investigating it.

  Grace’s eyes narrowed and she quickly grabbed the camera that was still looped around her neck. Pictures. She needed pictures. Her finger repeatedly slammed down on the shutter button. Photos lit up the cameras LCD screen. The flash revealed much more than her eyes could see in the darkened room. Whoever killed Lucinda had been furious with her. Wrathful. Not only had they cut her throat, they’d stabbed her again and again.

  She hadn’t been raped, though. Overkilling like this could often be a sign of a sexual predator, but Grace didn’t get a feeling of impersonal evil from this scene. This killing was all about rage and punishment. Someone had hated Lucinda. Someone who knew her. The camera picked up distinctive smears in the blood, evidence of the killer’s frantic movements.

  Grace crouched down to examine them closer. Bare feet? Had the killer been naked to avoid getting blood on his clothes? That wasn’t unheard of, but it hinted at a high level of criminal sophistication. Who in this town had the smarts to…?

  Something under the bed caught her eye. A book hidden was behind the mattress, impossible to see unless you were at floor level. Maybe it was something the killer touched. Maybe she could get fingerprints. Grace leaned over to grab it, trying to make out the title in the dim light. A diary maybe? It was all hand written.

  As she flipped through the pages, her thumb brushed against an unseen drop of blood that had spattered on the leather cover.

  Instantly, the disorientating sensation of the world shifting around her struck again.

  Just as quickly as she’d left, Grace was back in the twenty-first century.

  It was as if nothing had happened, at all. She was kneeling on the floor of Lucinda’s former bedroom, surrounded by modern odds-and-ends, and Ghost-Jamie was staring at her. Only something had happened. Something that left her scared and shaken and forever unnormal.

  Her gaze went up to Jamie’s taunt face. “I saw her.” She whispered. There was no denying it. Lucinda’s book was still in her hand. “When I touched the blood, I went back to 1789.” And the drop that sent her forward again was still wet on her skin. “I saw Lucinda dead. I really saw her, Jaimie.”

  Peaceful green cornfields.

  Peaceful green cornfields.

  Peaceful green cornfields.

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” He knelt down beside her, looking as traumatized as she felt. “Are you alright, Grace?”

  She let out a wheezing laugh. “I have no idea.” She suddenly wasn’t sure of anything. Nothing at all. She stared into Jamie’s concerned eyes and swallowed hard. …Well, maybe one thing. “But, I’m going to prove that you didn’t kill those girls.”

  Chapter Seven

  June 23, 1789- HC was quite agitated at our meeting today. Apparently, he’s heard rumors in town that connect my name to a “mystery man” and he’s worried his wife will discover that it’s really him. As if I would ever allow my reputation to suffer like that! The fool probably started the rumors himself, with all his bragging.

  I calmed him down, of course. HC can never resist me. …But then, no man can.

  From the Journal of Miss Lucinda Wentworth

  “You’re going to have to talk about it sooner or later.” Jamie called through the bedroom door. “You said you needed time to ‘process?’ Well, I’ve given you all afternoon. Now it’s time we have a bloody conversation.”

  Grace had no desire to discuss what happened. It seemed like a one way ticket back to the crazy house. Far better to seal herself away in her favorite fuzzy bathrobe until she could make some sense of what happened.

  Her striped sundress was in a heap on floor, all ready to be bleached and burned. Her sandals were already in the garbage. She’d scrubbed her skin clean. But it would still take a long time for her to feel clean again.

  There had been so much blood.

  Grace p
ressed her lips together. Once the adrenaline had faded, her old fears and insecurities had come flooding back. Along with all their new friends. Holy cow, she’d really been standing over Lucinda Wentworth’s dead body. How was this happening? Why was it happening? She was nothing special. Why was she the one traveling through time? Why not someone braver or smarter? Had she done something right or wrong or was it all just random? Regardless, what the hell was she going to do about it?

  Jamie wasn’t giving up. “You can’t just go back to ignoring me.”

  Grace sank farther into the heap of pillows on her bed. Oh yes, she could. At least until she figured out her next step, which was going to take a heck of a lot longer than one afternoon. She’d done her part. She’d calculated the smeared footprint photos and, as far as she could tell, the killer was between 5’ and 5’5’’. Which eliminated basically no one in Revolutionary War era America, where people tended to be smaller than their modern counterparts. …Except for a certain tall, Scottish pirate, anyway.

  She’d also skimmed through the diary, which was mainly just Lucinda complaining about her dull life of privilege, rating her lovers, ridiculing her sister and parents and friends, and using gratuitous exclamation points. Unfortunately, Lucinda had described most of her boyfriends with initials, so the mystery man was still nameless. (The JMR entries got skipped entirely, because it made Grace nauseous to read about Jamie and Lucinda together, but the others revealed nothing useful.) In short, Grace had done all she could, with the evidence she’d gathered.

  Now she was going lie in bed and be crazy for a while.

  “Damn it, we need to talk, Grace!”