Together Again: Spirit Travel Novel - Book #4 (Romance & Humor - The Vicarage Bench Series)

by Mimi Barbour

  “Are you an investigative reporter?”

  “Uh-huh! After a couple years in college, I couldn’t stop the restlessness from taking over and decided to get my learning on the streets. I pick a topic of interest involving a specific crime, or ongoing political corruption, or even a possible scandal, and I write an exposé that can take months to work on. I’ve been in so many different countries I’ve had to add a back page in my passport. Hiding, being undercover, seeing the meanness and dishonesty in the world has all but left me burnt out. It’s time I settled down in one place to build my career.”

  “You’re a truth bloodhound.”

  “I’ve never heard it put quite like that before, but I guess it’s better than being called a nosy pri-, er, jerk. After I got shot during my last sojourn in a country not my home, writing about a story that wasn’t based on my own people, I took it as a sign—time to go stateside and stay there. Since then I’ve been hanging around the city, until this story about Ellie Ward broke. I knew it could be the one to put me behind a desk at the Chicago Sun-Times. I had to get it at all costs, even if it meant travelling again.”

  “You were shot? Where?”

  “In Thailand…”

  “Not that where—where in your body? It must’ve hurt something wicked.”

  “In my shoulder, and yes—it did hurt something wicked. But I got a great story, so I’m not complaining about a little scratch.”

  “You love the business, don’t you? I can feel that radiating throughout your system every time anything to do with journalism comes into our conversation.”

  Before he could answer, a man sitting at a table just behind them cussed at the fellow next to him. Fists swung and glasses flew everywhere.

  “Oh, oh! Time to get you outta here.” He started to rise.

  “Don’t hurry on my account. I’m sure they’ll sort things out. Remember, an author needs to experience every aspect of life if she wants to be able to write convincingly.”

  “Not sixteen-year-old authors.”

  “Almost seventeen!”

  Wavering on the stool next to him, an old drunk grabbed Troy’s arm. “Aye, there, hang on, mate, what’s yer hurry? They’ll settle down.”

  Troy released the gripping fingers by lowering his shoulder and leaning back on his stool. The spittle from his neighbour, now out of range, sprayed the bar instead.

  “Hey, pal, time for me to call it a night. It’s been a long day.” Troy made as if to rise again but hesitated, knowing his answering grin gave the fellow a green light to carry on.

  “Cor! You’re a Yank. I need ta buy you a pint. Me brother’s a dockworker in America, and he’s always blithering on about his cushy job and his mates. Says they’re a fine bunch of lads, he does.”

  “Where is your brother living?”

  “In the United States.”

  “There are fifty of them, which one does he live in?”

  “Fifty what?”

  “States. Is he in the eastern part of the country or in the west?”

  Grinning slyly, the balding man slapped his hand down hard on the wooden surface in front of him. “He’s in the state of Baltimore.”

  Beginning to enjoy himself, Troy settled back down and nodded when the blonde bartender’s eyebrow rose. “Baltimore is a city. It’s in the state of Maryland. Your brother’s lucky—it’s a beautiful city.”

  “Who’s in Maryland? What’s a beautiful city? I don’t know is on third.” The chap even looked a bit like Abbott—or was it Costello?

  Troy laughed, lifted his mug at the twinkle-eyed sot next to him, and settled in for a visit.

  An hour later Troy made his way to his room, knowing his four-legged friend would be expecting a walk and a treat to nibble, if preceding evenings were any indication of their nightly routine.

  It was during the walk that Dani finally spoke up.

  “You stayed to talk with that inebriated old boozer. Why? He was obnoxious.”

  “No! Not obnoxious, honey, just lonely. He needed to talk.”

  Oh, God! She was going to miss him!

  Chapter Twelve

  Nurse Joye followed Dr. Andrews into their young patient’s room. “Did you get the results from the second set of tests yet, Doctor?” She eyed him, noting the shattered look on his face when reminded of the first test’s results. With hands clasped tightly, she waited.

  “No, my dear. Nothing so far. I’m sure there’s an error in the earlier ones we received, a mix-up of names, or some such nonsense.” He moved closer to Dani. Unaware of the turmoil those around her suffered, she lay solitary, uncaring—comatose.

  Flattened curls diminished the size of her face, leaving her features starkly pronounced. The few tiny freckles sprinkled across her straight nose had become more noticeable, enhanced by the paleness of her skin. Even her cheeks, translucent in the dim light from the small blue bedside lamp, looked overwhelmed by the long auburn lashes. The whiteness of the pillowcase, a crude frame, reminded all who saw her that she lay in her sickbed.

  Doctor Andrews gently lifted the hand not attached to the intravenous tubing and smoothed her skin before he took her pulse. To give him privacy, Nurse Joye walked to the window overlooking the garden. She opened it, letting in the fresh air to billow the sheer ivory lace curtains.

  From force of habit, she kept her face carefully angled as she approached the bed. Her trained eye surveyed the sparkling-clean room, double-checking her housekeeping efforts. The antique brass bedstead gleamed from constant polishing, and the faint hint of the air freshener she’d used earlier lingered and added to the fresh smell. The large vase of garden flowers, reflected in the dresser’s mirror, gave her pleasure and brightened the otherwise melancholic atmosphere. Visually, the room presented a pleasant scene, but emotionally it radiated anxiety.

  “She’s doing as well as can be expected, Nurse.” Doctor Andrews stepped back from his patient and lowered his bulk to sprawl in the rocking chair next to the bed. With his elbows resting on each wooden arm, the tips of his fingers met together to form a tower that covered most of his face. He rocked, closed his eyes, and sighed, the noise loud in the otherwise silent room.

  Nurse Joye moved near and patted his shoulder, concern apparent in her gentleness. She admired Dr. Andrews and had always appreciated his chivalrous manner for her delicate sensibilities over the large, unsightly birthmark on her left cheek. He invariably remembered to place himself so he faced her right side, and he never forced her to make eye contact for an overly long period.

  “Would you like to tell me what the real truth is about Dani, Robert? I’m most terribly sorry for her condition, but I know there’s something, well, strange going on, and since I trust you implicitly, I haven’t asked. Maybe it would make you feel better to share, and I’m happy to listen.”

  “You’ve been wonderful, Grace. My sister might not know how lucky we were that you were available, but I do.” He hummed another sigh, long and low. “I could tell you the truth, but then you’d likely think me bonkers and have me institutionalized.” His weak smile and heavy grunt contained enough sadness that she quickly admonished him.

  “Doctor, you are one of the sanest, most competent men I have ever worked with in your field. If there is something unorthodox going on, then I’d wager it isn’t because of a lack of skill on your part.”

  “No, it has nothing to do with me. Actually, it’s about a case that Dr. John Norman brought to my attention a few years back. We collaborated to help a young woman in a strange, very uncommon…umm, rather difficult situation.” Not being a man who normally had trouble expressing himself, his hesitation in choosing his words sparked her interest.

  “I know John. He’s a good doctor.”

  “Yes, he is. We handled that particular case with positive results, and since then there have been similar incidents that have popped up. Look, I’ll give you my personal notes and various reports to read, but I must be able to rely on your discretion.”

  He d
idn’t trust her? Dismay attacked until she noticed the stark anxiety on her mentor’s face. The poor man hadn’t slept well for days and wasn’t himself. Her sympathy split the bonds of friendship wide enough to let devotion settle in.

  He admonished himself at once. “What am I saying? Of course you’re trustworthy. I’m sorry, Grace. I’m that worried about my niece, I forgot for a moment who I was talking to.”

  “Doctor, you know I’d never let you down.” The shock in her voice fractured his last vestige of resistance.

  “If Dr. Norman weren’t on holidays, I’d call him in, but he and Lucy, his wife, are on a cruise and can’t be reached. Therefore, your help in dealing with this situation could be critical to a successful outcome. I’ll go and get the case notes, then leave you to study them in peace. But when you’re finished, I have no doubt we’ll have a lot to discuss. Trust me, Grace, and keep in mind that I’m not insane.”

  She smiled, thinking he intended to tease.

  He stopped at the doorway, his back to her, his palm clasping the handle. She waited, and for the first time in the years she’d known and admired him, she noticed his shoulders were stooped and his movements stiff.

  The tension so apparent in the troubled man now attacked her also. Uneasiness, like a shroud, encircled her. Silence reverberated. Then he opened the door and stepped forward, letting it close behind him with a soft thud.

  ****

  Dr. Andrews hurried from the sick room straight to his office, aiming for the locked bottom drawer where his most critically important files were stored. But first he plonked down in his leather chair and took a few minutes simply to breathe.

  Grace Joye had the distinction of being the best nurse he’d ever known, a natural who’d adopted the career God had put her on the earth to do. The perfect match! A girl with a big, soft heart looking after the sick and the sad in the world. The injured, desperate for a gentle touch, cared little about the cruel twist fate had played on her face. By putting his trust in her, the pressure would be halved. That alone would be a marvellous help.

  He shuffled the mess on his desk and double-checked the calendar. Tomorrow was Saturday. He had no choice but to let her in on the secret. At exactly noon, he’d need her to help him with Dani’s body at the rosebush. If naught transpired… God forbid. He’d be a basket case. The thought of dealing with his sister for another week generated such panic that he felt his stomach recoil. Quickly he dug in his drawer for the bottle of antacids.

  Having Grace as his accomplice would be even more vital should Dani remain in the coma. And if the second set of test results proved the first ones correct, Dani would eventually need as many supporters in her corner as possible. Good grief! Just thinking about that scared him into a state of pure misery. On the other hand, could it by why she’d needed to talk to him so desperately?

  The ringing phone shocked him out of his meditation and back into the present hellish situation. Reflex forced his hand to lift the receiver before the warnings, nattering in his brain, kicked in. Aggrieved by his carelessness, he nevertheless feigned pleasure.

  “Hello, my dear. Yes, I’m glad you caught me, also.”

  His sigh, the loudest yet today, resonated.

  “No, I didn’t moan, Marion. The desk drawer sticks and makes an awful racket.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Dew embellished the grass with a million diamonds, while the birds sang their songs to welcome Troy as he stepped from the inn and filled his lungs.

  “We didn’t need to leave this early to get to the vicarage bench. I’ve a strange feeling you’re a bit keen to get rid of me.”

  Since their time was coming to an end soon, Troy chose not to hurt her feelings. His natural instincts of gallantry and his basic impulse to be nice, to reassure, kicked in.

  “Look, brat, I’ll give you the straight goods. You’ve been very considerate about my privacy, not bugging me all the time, and I appreciate it.”

  “So all the whistling and smiling means you’re only having me on!”

  “I wouldn’t go that far, kiddo.” Outright lying didn’t sit easy with him, and anyway she’d know. How she did it, he couldn’t be sure, but she seemed to know most of what he felt. If he lied, guilt, the emotion he most disliked, would attack, and he had no doubt, she’d call him on it.

  From as far back as he remembered fibbing registered as the worst sin in his family. They were big on punishment for the offence. He’d learnt early that his nose might not grow but his backside would surely be blistered.

  “I don’t lie, either. Or hardly ever. It can be tricky not to hurt feelings and still stay out of trouble.”

  “Tell me about it!”

  He sauntered along the sidewalk, aiming to hit the little pub, just a street over, that made the best breakfast in town. Eggs, bacon, sausages, fried bread, mushrooms, and baked beans would sit well with him this fine morning.

  Sometime later an astonished Dani commented, “I don’t know how you can eat all that food and not gain weight. You must be lucky.”

  “I come from good genes. No one in my family has a weight problem. Plus, I never stop moving. Guess I’m a bit hyperactive, if the truth be known.”

  “Me, too. Drives my mum round the bend. Where are we going?”

  “Time to head over to the vicarage, my little roomie, and wait for the moment of truth.”

  “You still don’t believe me about the bush?”

  “Since it’s all we have to go on, I’m pretty well forced to.” He felt vibes of frustration jangling throughout his system and smiled. “Okay, settle down. Let’s just say…”

  In the distance a scream split the balmy morning atmosphere. Other screams and yells joined in until ignoring the noise became impossible. Troy lowered his head and listened. Drifting whiffs of smoke grabbed his attention.

  Swivelling towards the sounds, he started off at a run. Black billows stained the blue sky above and turned the white fluffy clouds to a horrible grey. From a block away he could smell the stench of a burning building, and the closer he got, the more it intensified. Many others ran with him, all having the same goal in mind.

  Fear, obvious on their faces, caught him up in its tentacles. Utterances of “Oh, my Lord!”, “What in the world!” and “Call for help!” added to the catastrophic tone.

  “Oh, no! It’s the Kingsly boarding house that’s on fire. Troy, it’s mostly full of seniors.” Dani’s horror was obvious.

  On approach, the place looked like a huge, older-style mansion, but the sign in front boasted rooms for rent and, in smaller letters, Home Care.

  Smoke streamed from the dormer windows of the upper story, and flames burst free from the confines of the roof, where sections of tiles exploded and plunged down into the interior. Bits of sooty debris shot out like blackened hailstones.

  Troy could taste the grit on his lips, and he blinked to clear his irritated eyes. The stench of fear and fire intermingled. Heat seared his skin, warning that the monster had taken over—it had control.

  People, some still in their nightclothes, poured out the double front doors, a few walking on their own while others used walkers, canes or caring shoulders.

  Aged victims shuffled along like lost souls. Others, less fortunate, were in wheelchairs lined up on the sidewalk; bodies dumped without care, hanging every which way, many close to falling over.

  Troy scanned the scene and felt his horror merge with Dani’s. Her whispered words jabbed his heart. “My God, these poor, poor people.”

  One woman, tears flowing, screamed for someone to help find her cat. Still others zigzagged over the grass, calling names of friends and loved ones. Neighbourhood children intermingled amongst the adults, creating more chaos. Barking dogs added to the overall confusion. A black mutt gave chase to a frenzied kitten, stopping at the bottom of freedom’s tree to whine at the escapee.

  A white-haired man, wobbly, confused, and crying, called for Mary, over and over. His eyes streamed from a mixture of smoke an
d tears, and his hand knuckled to try and clear away the wetness. He searched every which way until, overcome, the poor fellow crumpled to his knees, falling directly in Troy’s path.

  Troy felt Dani’s sympathy. It overwhelmed, cutting through his insides, slashing any resistance he might have felt about stopping to help the poor old guy.

  As he leaned over to support the elderly grandpa, Dani spoke before he had a chance to even form the words.

  “Sir, let me help you. Are you hurt?” Gentleness rang in tones not quite his.

  “Me missus, she went to the laundry room to do the wash. I can’t find her. I don’t know if she got out.” Sobs blocked his ability to speak further. His trembling hands sought the strong ones helping him, as if by touch he could convey his torment.

  “Where is the laundry room?” Troy took over, his tones firm, unruffled, intense.

  “In the basement, sir. There’s an outside entrance.”

  “Can you show me where it is?”

  “Yes, sir.” Getting to his feet with difficulty but perseverance, the man held to Troy’s arm and shuffled across the driveway to the side of the house. He pointed his finger at a small, veiled door, hidden by bushes and nowhere near the congested area. “It will be through this entrance, at the end of the hallway, first door on the left. But this way’s always kept locked.”

  “Stay here and wait for us—uh, me.” Troy led the elderly man to a large boulder out of the danger zone and helped him sit down. With a glance at the nearby bed of flowers, he spotted a sizable rock that filled the palm of his hand. He approached the door the old man had pointed out and smashed his weapon through the glass, then reached inside to undo the lock.

  “Mary! Mary!” Dani’s words echoed in Troy’s voice. “Where are you? Mary?” Calling forced deeper breathing, and the deadly air soon claimed victory. Dani stopped.

  Clouds of smoke mushroomed, becoming thicker, drawn by the fresh oxygen from the open door. Troy took off his green shirt, wrapped it over the lower half of his face, and put his sunglasses on to protect his eyes. The instant gloom made vision difficult, but since he knew his destination, he didn’t hesitate. He lurched forward, making his way directly towards the laundry room.