Ghouls Gone Wild

  Heath unzipped a duffel bag and pulled out two electrostatic meters—the only two left after the fire besides the ones we’d left in the close. He handed one to Gil and the other to Gopher. “Wouldn’t one of you need this?” Gopher asked him.

  Heath tapped his temple and smiled. “We’re good,” he said. “I’ve got my internal meter turned up high.”

  I nodded. “Me too.”

  Once we were adequately armed, we set off. I was in the lead and kept us close to the house, which was a two-story gray stucco structure with a beautiful mahogany door and black shutters. A flower box near the window held the withered remains of some old blooms, and leaves had collected around the bushes, but otherwise the house was quite charming.

  “Do you want to ring the bell?” Gilley asked.

  “No one’s home,” Heath and I said together. I looked at him, surprised that we kept saying things in unison, and he added, “We’ve got to stop doing that.”

  I could feel the heat begin to creep back to my cheeks, so I hurried along and tried to distract myself. “Let’s check the back,” I suggested.

  We rounded the corner of the house and came up short. From the road the house appeared to sit on a small parcel of property, as it was close to the street with only a small front yard.

  The back was an utter surprise.

  Huge trees lined an enormous yard that stretched down a low sloping hill for several hundred yards. Near a pond at the bottom of the hill was a small guesthouse, which mirrored the structure behind us except for being about one-quarter of the size. Far beyond the guesthouse and the pond, however, and up another sloping hill was the thing that really took my breath away.

  “Whoa,” said Gopher.

  “Holy cow,” said Gil.

  “No way,” said Heath.

  “Way,” I said. “And, on that note, Heath, your grandfather rules!”

  We were all staring at the remnants of an ancient castle, weathered and crumbling but still with enormous appeal. It proudly perched itself at the far end of the lawn about a half mile away, and I knew it must be part of Joseph’s parcel because the green pattern of the freshly mowed yard indicated that it was one contiguous piece of property. There was also little doubt that the castle represented the very ruins Samuel Whitefeather had suggested we should look for.

  “Which one should we check out first?” Gil asked, completely forgetting about our first priority to find Joseph’s ghost.

  “Hold the phone,” I said, and motioned to Heath to survey the rest of the back of the house, hoping for any sign of the man who’d died the day before. After ten minutes I shrugged. “He’s not here.”

  “Nope,” Heath agreed. “Let’s hit the guesthouse.” Heath spoke in a way that suggested he had a strong intuitive feeling.

  Gopher and Gilley turned to me. “I’m with him,” I said. “Let’s go talk to the current Witch of Queen’s Close and see if she’s been playing with fire.”

  I immediately regretted my choice of words when Gilley blanched, and yelled, “My fire extinguisher!” He then dashed back to the van to retrieve it.

  We waited for him to get back and my heart went out to him when I saw how firmly he was gripping it. Without another word, I led us down the path to the small house with a plume of smoke snaking its way from the chimney.

  Chapter 11

  We got another surprise the moment we stepped onto the porch of the guesthouse. It made both Heath and me jump and immediately reach for our grenades. I uncapped one as fast as I could and threw the metal spike toward the offending object staring us in the face . . . and nothing happened.

  Well, nothing except there was a delighted giggle from inside the house right before the door opened. “Now, what did that poor defenseless broom ever do to you? I wonder,” said a tall woman with long silver hair and beautiful green eyes from the doorway.

  My heart was hammering hard while my gaze swiveled from the woman in the doorway to the big black broom in the corner, which was identical to the three that had chased and beaten Heath and me the day before. “Where did that come from?” I barked, pointing to the broom. I wasn’t trying to be rude, but in light of the circumstances, I felt I was owed a few answers.

  “I made it with me own hands,” said the woman as she placed those hands on her slender hips. “It’s an exact replica of the sort the famous Witch of Queen’s Close used to carry through the village. It was a way of embracing her title as the village witch,” she said. “It was also a way of showing off how powerful a figure she was. To carry a broom about in those days took true courage as accusations of heresy were quite common. Many poor souls were hanged for much less in fact. But the Witch of Queen’s Close wasn’t afraid. She was a powerful lass, and no one dared challenge her, that is, until the plague struck the village in sixteen forty-five.”

  “She a friend of yours, this famous witch?” I practically growled, convinced that we’d just found the very person who had in fact called up Rigella’s ghost.

  “Not especially,” said the woman, evasively. “But I hold her in the highest respect, and after seeing her about these parts the last few nights, I thought it best to place the broom on the porch out of reverence.”

  There was a long awkward silence that followed as those green eyes just stared at me in challenge. I didn’t know what to say next, so I glared back, trying hard not to blink.

  Finally the woman said, “Sir, would you mind not pointing that directly at me? You’re rattling me nerves.”

  My eyes swiveled to Gilley, who was standing right next to me holding his fire extinguisher chest-high while aiming the nozzle at the woman. With his wild eyes he looked like a frightened little kid, on the verge of shouting, “Stranger-danger!”

  I placed a hand on his shoulder and whispered, “It’s okay, Gil. Let’s give her a chance before we jump to conclusions.”

  Gilley lowered the extinguisher but kept his eyes fully trained on the woman. She surprised all of us when she stepped forward suddenly, causing all four of us to leap back. Belatedly we noticed that she had her hand extended and a smile on her face. “I’m Katherine McKay,” she said.

  No one moved to take her hand. Instead we all just looked at it uncertainly. This made Katherine laugh, and she finally pulled her hand back to cross her arms over her chest. “For ghost hunters you’re a bit squeamish, aren’t you?”

  “Are you a witch?” Gil asked.

  “Aye,” she said. “I am. But I’m not the sort that’ll harm the likes of you, so why don’t you come in for a bit of tea and talk?”

  I looked uncertainly at Heath. He gave an almost imperceptible nod and said, “That would be very nice. Thank you.”

  We followed Katherine into her home and I was surprised by the spaciousness of its interior. From the outside it looked much smaller than it actually was. The door we walked through led into a beautifully furnished living room with two love seats and matching wing chairs upholstered in cool celery green and pale yellow with a bit of light pink for accent. There was a fire in the hearth that filled the room with cozy heat, and fresh flowers on two of the nearby tables. The whole house smelled of antiques, sandalwood, and fresh flowers. It was a lovely combination.

  Katherine pointed to the seating area. “Make yourselves comfortable,” she said, and only arched an eyebrow when Gopher held his camera up to get a good shot of the surroundings. “We’re filming an episode of our television show,” he explained.

  “So it seems,” she said with a chuckle. “I’ve already got the kettle on. Tea and bikkies will be just a moment.”

  “What’s a bikkie?” Gilley whispered, sitting down uneasily on the edge of a wing chair and eyeing the fire in the hearth nervously.

  “It’s slang for biscuit. Or cookie,” I said, my eyes and sixth sense roving the atmosphere for any sign of spooks. “You getting anything?” I asked Heath quietly.

  “Nothing.”

  I made a head motion at Gilley. “Anything on the meter?”

  He pulled it out of his back pocket and looked at the dial, then shook his head. “Weird, right?” he whispered. “I mean, we should b
e getting something, shouldn’t we?”

  I frowned. It was weird. I would have expected that this woman, if she was the person who called up the witch, would have one or two spooks lurking about. Katherine came back into the living room carrying a large tray with several beautifully decorated porcelain teacups. As she set the tray down, I noticed that no two were alike. “Choose your cup,” she told us before heading back toward the kitchen again.

  I was reminded with a pang of the coffee shop back home that I was a frequent visitor to. Patrons were encouraged to choose from a huge display of one-of-a-kind coffee mugs. Mine, of course, was a Halloween-inspired cup, with a black cat and ghost for the handle.

  Thinking I should choose something a little lighter, I went for a peacock blue cup with gold trim. Gilley looked troubled and did not select a cup. “Don’t like tea?” I asked him.

  “What if she tries to poison us?”

  The question was so unexpected that it actually made me laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous,” I said, but immediately noticed that Heath and Gopher had set their chosen cups back on the tray.

  I rolled my eyes. “I doubt she’d poison all four of us, guys. I mean, that could get a little messy, don’t you think?”

  We had no time to discuss it further because Katherine came back into the sitting room carrying a large steaming pot of tea and a plate of cookies. “I have a variety of bikkies today,” she sang happily, setting the teapot in the center of the tray and handing the plate directly to Gilley.

  He took it obediently and observed the arrangement. I knew it was really hard for him to pass up sweets. Gil loved his sugar. And sure enough, his hand wavered over one gooey chocolate and caramel creation while he licked his lips. “Go on, then,” Katherine encouraged as she sat down. “It’s not going to bite you, now, is it?”

  Gil’s cheeks tinged a slight red and he took the cookie, placing it directly onto his plate. Katherine then poured tea into all the cups, both those still on the tray and the one I still held.

  “Cream?” she asked us politely. I declined, but Heath and Gopher and Gilley nodded as one.

  “Sugar?” she asked next. That won her the same reaction. And it also won us a laugh as she saw through everyone’s discomfort. “Now,” she said at last when the refreshments had been seen to. “What brings you by my humble home?”

  I decided that the best approach was a direct one. “We’re looking for the person responsible for calling up the witch.”

  Katherine’s eyebrows shot up. “The person responsible?” she said. “Why, the witch rises on her own, Miss . . .”

  “Holliday,” I said. “M. J. Holliday. And that’s Heath Whitefeather, Peter Gophner, and Gilley Gillespie.”

  Katherine sucked in a breath and stared hard at Gilley. “Gillespie?” she whispered. “Oh, no, sir, you shouldn’t be here on this side of Edinburgh at such a time as this!”

  Gilley, who’d been ogling the still-uneaten cookie on his plate, looked up in surprise, and when he saw Katherine’s expression, he seemed to shrink in his chair. “Tell me about it,” he squeaked. “But I’m stuck here until I get my passport back.”

  “Who’s got your passport?”

  “The authorities.”

  “Why do they have it?”

  “Because our van hit Cameron Lancaster, and they’re not convinced yet that I didn’t have anything to do with his death.”

  Understanding seemed to dawn on Katherine’s face. “Oh, aye,” she said, taking a bite of cookie. “But they’ll clear all that up soon, now, won’t they? As soon as they realize the witch is loose and where she flies, well, the dead bodies usually follow.”

  Gilley audibly gulped.

  “Which brings me back to my original question, Katherine. Did you call up the witch?”

  She looked at me oddly, as if I’d just asked her a question she couldn’t really understand. “Now, why would I do that?”

  I thought her choice of words was interesting. She didn’t deny calling up the witch; she simply turned the question back on me. “We know Rigella and her coven are thirty-five years early,” I said. “They always come in one-hundred-year intervals, and no one expected them to arrive here now, did they?”

  Katherine appeared uncomfortable for the first time since we’d arrived. “I didn’t call her up,” she said, her eyes avoiding my own.

  “But someone did,” I insisted.

  “Perhaps,” she admitted, and seemed to want to say something more, but caught herself, and took a sip of tea instead.

  I took a deep breath and pulled in my temper. “Who would be capable of calling her up, then?”

  “I’m sure I wouldn’t know,” Katherine replied a bit too quickly.

  I set down my teacup and fixed her with determined eyes. “Hypothetically speaking, then.”

  Katherine sighed. “Three decades ago when I was very young and stupid, I was the head witch in a small coven of women who were quite enchanted with the legend of Rigella. Though she has been immortalized as an evil witch who placed a terrible curse upon our village, before that, she was a master healer and a keeper of great wisdom and knowledge.

  “Most of the villagers reviled her, and yes, some even feared her. So, when the plague struck and she tended to those most loyal to her first, many of them survived, while so many others did not.

  “That incited fear and panic and eventually rage against the very woman who was trying so desperately to save the village. She and her entire family were killed unjustly and by a terrible cruelty. So back when I was young and silly, I sympathized with Mistress Rigella and did not fault her for wanting to exact her revenge.”

  “What changed?” I asked, seeing the regret in her eyes.

  “I met Cameron,” she said simply. “I never thought I’d fall in love with a Lancaster, but I did. And although we never married—Cameron was against it because of the curse—we were certainly as close as any husband and wife could be. After I fell in love with him, I disbanded the coven and vowed to keep him and any of our children safe should the witch arise again. But Cameron and I were never blessed with little ones. No matter how much care I took, I was never able to carry a babe to term. It put a terrible strain on our relationship, and soon we drifted apart and our discussions became one terrible row after another, until we couldn’t stand the sight of one another. I left him for good eight months ago when I learned that the lass he’d been seeing behind me back became pregnant.

  “I’ll admit, I cursed him then, but I had nothing to do with calling Rigella up early, and as much as I was hurt by Cameron carrying on behind me back, I would never use the witch to hurt him.”

  “But the witch wasn’t used to hurt him,” I said to her. “She was used to cover up his murder.”

  Katherine’s mouth fell open. “What lie is this?” she demanded.

  “It’s no lie,” I told her. “Cameron was murdered, possibly several days before our van ran over him. During that time he was frozen, then thawed and placed in the street directly in the path of the van. I believe Rigella’s real target that night was Gilley.”

  Katherine appeared genuinely surprised, and I stared hard at her face to see if I could detect any theatrics, and saw none. “Someone murdered Cameron?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  Katherine got up and began to pace. I knew she was withholding something, but what it was I couldn’t say for sure. Into the silence Heath said, “And now the witch is killing other people. As you well know. That maintenance worker down in the close, we’re pretty sure the witch scared him to death. And your landlord, Joseph Hill. We’re also convinced the witch got him to hang himself.”

  Katherine’s expression turned to a scowl. “That’s no great loss, now, is it?” she muttered.

  “Excuse me?” I asked.

  She stopped pacing and regarded me. “Joseph Hill was a dodgy old bloke if ever there was one! He owned a great deal of property here in the village and was disliked by many people. He even turned against his closest friend, Fergus. The two had been chums since primary school, but in the past year, Joseph had become sullen and withdrawn and even avoided his oldest an
d closest mate.

  “We had no idea what’d got into him until we learned that Joseph had a brain tumor and likely had less than a year to live. The cancer affected his mind, you see. He thought everyone was out to get him, so I wasn’t surprised to learn he’d taken his life, what with that for a prognosis and a few screws loose in the ol’ belfry.”

  “So what happens now that Joseph is dead?” Gilley wondered. “I mean, will you have to leave your home?”

  Katherine smiled in amusement. “I suspect not,” she said. “Fergus had told me privately after we learned of Joseph’s terminal condition that when his old friend died, he’d step in and buy the whole parcel. He didn’t want to see the property next to him be divided up into smaller sections with lots of noisy neighbors and his ghost tour has been a smashing success these past few months, so he can certainly afford it. I’m sure he’ll honor my rental agreement once he’s purchased the parcel.”

  We were getting off track again so I said, “The thing is, Katherine, we need to find the person who unleashed Rigella’s ghost. You mentioned that you were part of a coven of women who used to worship her. If you didn’t call her up, could one of the others have done it?”

  Katherine wrung her hands. “No,” she said. “Only one of that original group aside from me could have done that,” she said, her eyes thoughtful. “But it’s not possible that it was her.”

  “Why not?”

  Katherine merely smiled and said, “She’s not capable of that kind of malice, miss. Not capable at’all.”

  “Are you?”

  Katherine’s smile broadened. “Aye,” she admitted, and I felt my shoulders tense. “But as I’ve said before, I did not call up the witch.”

  “Then it must be this other woman,” I insisted.

  But Katherine was shaking her head. “No,” she said firmly. “ ’Twasn’t her.”

  I sighed, exasperated by the conversation. We were going in circles. “Then who else could it have been?”