by Wendy Webb
Kate didn’t want to find out. She shut the third-floor door and turned the key that Simon had left in the lock. Kate knew it was silly, the notion that a locked door could keep whatever was on the third floor out of the rest of the house, but she felt safer all the same.
She found Simon in the living room.
“What is it?” he said to her. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Kate thought of telling Simon about what had just happened on the third floor and then thought better of it. She had no idea how to find the words.
“Look what I found,” she said instead, holding the stack of books out in front of her.
Simon stared at the datebooks, his mouth open. “I can’t believe it! Have you sifted through them?”
“I thought I’d do it after lunch,” Kate said as she set the stack down on an end table. “Do you have time to break free and go?”
A short while later, Simon and Kate were walking down the hill toward town. The early fall day was crisp and bright, and Kate could see the first whisper of color in the leaves on the maples that lined their route. The cool air felt good on her skin—calming, restorative.
Kate was turning phrases over and over in her mind, trying to find the words to tell Simon about what she had experienced earlier. She knew she had to say something—he and Jonathan lived in the house, after all. But she still wasn’t sure what had happened herself. In the end she just blurted it out.
“I think we’ve got a ghost on the third floor.”
“Is it Casper? Does that make one of us Wendy?”
“No, really. I’m not kidding.”
He looked at her. “Why? Did something happen when you were up there?”
“I think so,” she said.
He considered this as they walked. “You know,” he said, finally, “I wouldn’t be surprised. Jonathan and I have had experiences since we started the renovations—things that go bump in the night, so to speak. But we’ve never thought too much of it.”
“Why not?”
“The house has so much history. People lived and died there. So it’s really no surprise that there’s a spirit or two floating around. But the one thing to remember, Kate, is that they were all our people. Our relatives. Grandma Hadley, for one. If there are spirits at Harrison’s House, they’re family. They’re not out to harm us.”
“Except the lady in the portrait.”
Simon hooted. “Well, yes. Except that old shrew, whoever she was.”
Kate thought back on her experience earlier in the day. “I know what you’re saying about the ghosts being family, but this seemed sort of . . . I don’t know. Malevolent.”
Simon stopped her. “In what way? What happened up there, Kate?”
“I know this sounds really strange, but I felt hands around my throat. Scratching. And Alaska went insane, snarling and trying to take a bite out of whatever it was. She was in full attack mode. Had it been a person, she would’ve shattered bones with those bites.”
Simon’s face went white. “You’re kidding.”
Kate shook her head. “No, I’m not. It was really weird. And frightening. I felt like whatever it was was trying to choke me.”
Simon squinted at her, pushing her collar aside to look at her throat. He took a quick breath in, his eyes wide.
“What?” she asked.
He took Kate’s hand and marched her into the women’s clothing store on the opposite corner of the street. He led her back to the mirror outside the dressing room.
“Look,” he said, taking her by the shoulders and pushing her toward the mirror.
Kate opened her collar and saw it—a line of scratches on the side of her neck, as though they had been made by fingernails. She stared at Simon in the mirror.
“What is this?” she asked him, her eyes wide.
He shook his head. “I don’t know. Nothing like this has ever happened at Harrison’s House. Nothing. Before or after Grandma died. Like I said, if we have ghosts, they’re family.”
“So, who or what did this to me, then?”
He hugged her from behind and rested his chin on her shoulder, staring into the mirror and their shared reflection. “And, why?”
Kate felt a chill work its way up her spine. “I had just found the datebooks,” she said. “I wonder if it didn’t want me to know what was in them.”
But later, after Kate and Simon had finished their lunch and she was settled by herself at a table by the window in the coffee shop, datebooks strewn before her, she couldn’t figure out what the third-floor ghost was trying so hard to keep her from finding.
To Kate’s eye, these were just simple datebooks, records of dinners, parties, and other events. They made for interesting reading, to be sure. Menus, lists of guests, who came, who didn’t. What her great-grandmother Celeste was going to wear. “18 for dinner. Cornish game hen. Blue dress, taffeta.”
She was hoping to find the name Addie, but it was not to be. Kate saw that, back then, couples were referred to by the husband’s name. “The Preston Hills,” “the Olav Johnsons.” She did not know that another name in the margins, “the Jess Stewarts,” was the name she sought. It didn’t mean anything to her, and she passed right over it, unaware.
Kate was so immersed in dinners eaten and outfits worn during the last century, she lost track of time until the buzz of her cell phone drew her back into this century.
She didn’t take the call, but she did notice the hour. Nearly three o’clock! She had to get back up to the house to meet with Nick Stone. She gathered the datebooks and put them back into her tote, dropped her phone into her purse, and headed out the door.
Out of breath and panting by the time she got back up the hill, Kate found Detective Stone sitting in the living room with Simon, cups of what she presumed to be coffee or tea in front of both of them. Alaska was curled up at Nick’s feet, but when Kate came in the door, the dog stretched and trotted to greet her.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said, taking a few deep breaths and giving Alaska a scratch behind the ears.
“No trouble at all.” Simon grinned. “I was just getting to know your detective.”
Nick stood up as Kate joined them, eyeing her cousin. “Simon, will you get me something to drink?” she said, wanting him out of the room for a minute.
“Coffee or tea?” He sniffed.
“Surprise me.”
When he had gone, she turned to Nick.
“Hi,” she said, settling into the armchair across from him. “Thanks for coming.”
“My pleasure,” he said. “I’ve been wondering all day what this was about, actually.”
Kate ran a hand through her hair. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. But he was here now, and she had to tell him something. It might as well be the truth.
“I’d start off by saying this is going to sound crazy, but I think you’ve heard that phrase enough from me for one lifetime, and frankly, I’m tired of saying it.”
He chuckled and leaned back, crossing his legs. “Go on, Kate. What’s this all about?”
She reached into her purse and pulled out the photograph she had put into her wallet for safekeeping.
“I think I know why you can’t find any information about our victim,” Kate said, sliding the photo across the coffee table toward Detective Stone. “You’re looking in the wrong century.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Nick reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a pair of glasses.
“I’m not sure what to say about this, Kate,” he said, picking up the photo to get a better look. “Could it be her? Maybe. There’s a resemblance, sure. But I think that’s all there is to it.”
Kate was silent for a moment as he stared at the photograph.
“It really does look like her, though,” he said. He shook his head as he stared at the image. “I’m assuming this is the husband you mentioned?”
Kate nodded. “That’s him. This is why I couldn’t find anyone resembling him in your
treasure trove of mug shots.”
“Where did you get this?” he asked.
“In one of the trunks upstairs,” she told him. “Simon and I were looking for old mementoes to display. The other couple in the picture are my great-grandparents. Harrison and Celeste Connor, the people who built this house. We think it might have been taken sometime around 1905.”
Nick leaned back and let out a sigh. “This doesn’t make any sense, you know,” he said, eyeing her. “The condition of the body . . . There’s no way she could’ve died a century ago.”
“I know.”
Nick ran a hand through his hair. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but if we don’t get a break, this is going to slip into cold-case territory. We’ve got a murdered woman and a baby, and every lead we’ve had has taken us down a dead end.”
He didn’t tell her that if she and Kevin hadn’t been so close to Johnny Stratton himself, they’d have been building a case, however flimsy, against them.
“Johnny wants me to keep at it, but the only clue we have—the Anderson Mills tag on her dressing gown—is pointing us right into the center of your mystery.”
“That’s right!” Kate said. “That is, at least, a shred of proof that I’m not making all of this up. Mary Jane’s thrift shop here in town hasn’t carried any vintage nightgowns like that. Sure, she might have bought it someplace else but . . . How else could that tag be explained?”
“I have no idea,” Nick said. “I really don’t. Did you find anything else in those trunks?”
Kate smiled. “Not anything too helpful. This morning I was looking for datebooks. I found a bunch of them, actually.”
“Why datebooks?”
“I thought I might find some names in them. ‘Mr. and Mrs. So-and-So, dinner, April twenty-fifth.’ To help me search online for who this woman and her husband were.”
“But I don’t get it. Even if you found the right name, how would you know it was the right name?”
“Well, I think I already know her first name. That’s the thing. I was talking to my cousin and I blurted out a name when I was mentioning the woman. ‘Addie can wait,’ I said to him. I was looking for that particular name in the datebooks, but I didn’t find it. All of the couples are referenced by the husband’s name. ‘The Harrison Connors,’ for example.”
He nodded. “Ah, yes. That’s how they did it back then, didn’t they?”
“Supremely unhelpful,” Kate said. “I don’t know what to do now. It seems like I’m in front of that brick wall again.”
Nick leaned forward, putting an elbow on his knee and resting his chin on his palm.
“You could just let it go,” he said. “This is a police matter, Kate. It’s not up to you to solve this crime.”
“I don’t agree!” she said, louder than she intended. She pushed herself to her feet and walked over to the fireplace. “I’m the one who’s dreaming about her. She washed up on the beach in front of my parents’ home. This feels really personal to me. And, forgive me, but there’s no way you are going to find a living, breathing person who is responsible for her death. If her murder is going to be solved, it is up to me.”
“But why, Kate? Just for the sake of argument, say everything we’ve been talking about today is true. Say the woman lying in the morgue right now is the very same woman in this photograph. She died more than a century ago! As you said, there is no living, breathing person to bring to justice, to pay for this crime.”
Kate wheeled around to face him. “That’s not the point!”
“Justice isn’t the point? Then what is?”
Simon had come into the room, carrying Kate’s cup of tea. He stood still, eyeing her.
“What?” she said to him.
He raised his eyebrows. “I wasn’t sure if I should come in or not. It sounded rather . . . heated in here.”
Kate let out a sigh and folded herself back down into her chair. “I’m sorry,” she said, looking from Simon to Nick and back again. “I’m just so frustrated with all of this. You’re right, Nick. She’s been dead for a century, and whoever did this died long ago, too. So, for me, this isn’t about catching a killer and making him pay for his crimes.”
“For all we know, he did pay,” Simon said, setting the cup in front of Kate.
“What do you mean?” she said.
Simon settled into the other armchair. “We’ve got the body, but we don’t know anything else,” he said. “For all we know, somebody did pay for the crime, all those years ago.”
Kate nodded. “You’re right. I hadn’t thought of that.” Kate paused for a minute. “For me, it’s about something else. I only know that I can’t stop looking until I find out what that ‘something else’ is. But without a name, I don’t know how I can find out anything online, and . . .” She let her thought dissolve into a sigh.
Kate took a sip of the tea that Simon had placed in front of her and found her hands were shaking.
Simon eyed her and then turned his gaze to the detective, who had also noticed.
“She’s thought of nothing else since she arrived,” Simon said to Nick. “It’s taking its toll on her, physically and emotionally. I’ve been begging her to take a break. We both can see she needs it.”
Kate set her teacup on the table. “Thank you for talking about me as though I’m not sitting right next to you.”
Simon smiled at her. “Well, Grandma’s not here, so that kind of slight is up to me now.”
Nick leaned forward, toward Kate. “Listen,” he said. “I think your cousin is right. I really shouldn’t be doing this because the investigation is still technically open, but how about we go somewhere for a beer and talk about anything other than this case?”
“I think it’s an excellent idea,” Simon piped up. “You need something else to think about.”
“Well . . . ,” Kate began.
“Well, nothing,” Simon said. “And you don’t have to go anywhere, either. We’ve got no guests right now. There’s an entire bar at your disposal. Charles isn’t here to make you any dinner, but feel free to whip up anything you’d like to eat. And I will put a ‘Closed’ sign on the door on my way out.”
“Since when are you going out?” Kate asked him.
“Since right now,” he said. “Have fun, kids.” He turned on his heel and walked out of the room.
Nick looked at Kate, smiling. “He gets his way all of the time, doesn’t he?”
“You have no idea,” she chuckled, pushing herself to her feet. “We had better get into the bar before he comes back and drags us in there himself.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Wharton, 1910
Addie and Jess walked toward the Connors’ grand home, hand in hand. Jess had hired a car, but Addie never felt comfortable in those contraptions and told her husband that she wanted to walk in the cool night air.
“Not a good idea, darling.” Jess had looked at her through narrowed eyes. “In your condition?”
“You act as though I’m fragile as a china teacup.” Addie had smiled, putting on her coat.
“You are.” Jess patted her growing belly. “You’re carrying precious cargo, you know.”
“Please?” she asked, making her way out the door and striding ahead of him down the street. “It’s just a little walk.”
“Are you sure you’re up to this?” Jess stood in the doorway and called after her. “It’s quite a climb. I don’t think—”
“Nonsense.” Addie kept walking. “With all the lying about I did today, I can use a bit of exercise.”
“Follow us,” Jess called over his shoulder to the driver as he jogged down the street to catch up with his wife. “If she gets tired, I want you close by.”
He caught up with Addie and grabbed her hand. “You vex me, Miss Cassatt,” he smiled at her.
“That’s ‘Mrs. Stewart’ to you.” Addie smiled back at him.
They walked in silence on the raised sidewalks for a bit, and then Jess said, “Darling, I’m so sor
ry about this morning.”
“Let’s not talk about it anymore,” Addie said, squeezing Jess’s hand. He squeezed back. She didn’t want to think about the bitter words they had exchanged that morning, but they were still hanging in the air between them.
“I just don’t understand why you cannot seem to make small talk with these people,” Jess had said to her at the breakfast table. “It’s just a dinner party, Addie. Once again I found you in the library instead of socializing with the wives of my colleagues. Why must you be so shy? Don’t you understand how embarrassing it is for me?”
Addie looked down at her untouched oatmeal. “I didn’t realize I was an embarrassment to you.”
Jess pushed his chair back from the table with a huff. “That’s ridiculous. You know you’re not an embarrassment. It’s just . . . Addie. Aren’t you happy here?”
She met his gaze. “I love our home and the town of Wharton and especially the proximity to the lake. I love you! And I love Celeste and Harrison. But the parties and socializing . . .” Her words trailed off into a sigh.
“What is the problem, Addie? How difficult is it to make a little small talk with the wives of my colleagues? To laugh? Can’t you even appear to be having a good time? I just don’t understand why you can’t bring yourself to be more helpful to me in this way.”
With that, he had grabbed his briefcase and stalked out the door without even a backward glance.
It didn’t help matters that he had come home from the office and found Addie swimming instead of dressing for the dinner party they were to attend at the Connors’ that night. He didn’t know—as she rushed onto shore and into the house after him—that it was the lake that soothed her after his outbursts.
Now they turned the corner and started up the hill. “It will be just Harrison and Celeste tonight, my dear,” Jess let her know. “Celeste wasn’t up to hosting a crowd.”
“Darling, I’ve made a vow to myself to be better about all of these dinner parties,” Addie said, squeezing Jess’s hand.
He stopped and looked into her eyes. “Do you mean it?”
“Of course I do,” she said. “I’d do anything for you, Jess. And as you say, it’s only a little laughter and light conversation. It’s just that I can never think of anything to say. But to solve this problem, I’ll ask Celeste to give me some advice.”
