I lowered my voice and asked, "Why haven't we seen him before now?"
Steven smiled at me without answering and knocked very hard, three times. We listened as someone called from inside, and after we opened the door I knew exactly why we hadn't seen Willis.
"Steven!" a frail-looking black man in a wheelchair said as we stepped inside.
"Hello, Willis," Steven said, moving to him and squatting down next to the wheelchair. "How is the leg?"
"Oh, it'll be all right," Willis said, smiling as he reached out to clasp Steven's hand. "That's the thing about diabetes: You can't let it get you down." He laughed.
I could see that Willis's right leg was propped up on a foot stool in front of the chair.
"Mind if I examine it?" Steven asked as he moved to inspect Willis's leg.
"You doctors are all alike," Willis said. "You know your daddy was just here about an hour ago, and he's already fussed over it."
Steven paused ever so slightly as he asked, "My father was here?"
"Yeah. Ever since we lost Andrew he's been coming up here to check on me. And I know the two of you don't get along, but I'll tell you, your father is a good man. We've been having ourselves some good talks, he and I."
"Really," Steven said, and I watched as his back seemed to stiffen.
"Yep. He's been trying to talk me into moving back to Jamaica Plain with my daughter; you remember her?" Willis said as he pointed to a series of photographs on the mantel above the fireplace.
"I remember. How is she getting along?" Steven asked.
"Janelle is doing great. She became a nurse, you know. Works in the same hospital as your father, in fact. And I'd love to move back with her, but there's no sense in being a burden on your children. That's why your father's been trying to get me well. He's been talking to me about this new drug he's working on that might be able to help out an old man like me," Willis said. "He says he thinks he can even get me back up and walkin'."
Steven looked hard at Willis. "Does my father come here… er … with frequency?"
Willis cocked his head inquisitively and thought about it for a moment. "I think just about every couple of days for the past two months or so."
"That's great," Steven said tightly, and stood up. "Listen," he said, walking over to sit on a nearby couch and patting the seat next to him for me. "We are having some big trouble at the lodge."
"Was that what I heard earlier this afternoon? I was taking a nap when I thought I heard thunder, but when I woke up there wasn't a cloud in the sky," Willis said.
Steven nodded and started to explain to Willis what had happened to us earlier. While he talked, I took a moment to look around the small cottage. The place had the look and feel of a log cabin, with log walls, hardwood floors, and an A-frame roof. A stone fireplace dominated the living room, and behind where we sat I had noticed a galley-style kitchen.
My eye finally settled on a small table by the front window, where a chessboard was set up with what looked like a game in process. As I looked at the arrangement I felt my radar begin to hum. The letter A drifted into my head, and something that sounded like a… drew buzzed around inside my mind.
I elbowed Steven, who stopped talking and turned to me. "What?"
I pointed to the chessboard. "Watch," I said.
Just as Steven turned to look, we could clearly see one of the black chess pieces move across the chessboard and knock over one of the white chess pieces. As that happened I felt a sense of celebration at the edge of my thoughts. "He says, 'I win,'" I said as I got up off the couch to take a look.
From behind me I heard chuckling and the squeak of a wheelchair as Willis followed me to the table, parking his wheelchair opposite the other chair there. "Well, would you look at that," Willis said. "That old man still knows how to play."
I knew nothing about chess, but understood as soon as Steven joined me and announced, "Checkmate."
"Andrew's here," I whispered.
"Of course he's here," Willis said. "He's been playing chess with me almost every day since he died."
Steven and I both turned to Willis with a mixture of shock and surprise. "Has he ever spoken to you?" I asked. Sometimes the average layperson could be a better conduit than a trained medium.
"Spoken? You mean have we had ourselves a conversation?"
"Yes," I said.
"Well, sure. But I'm afraid I've done all the talking and he's done all the listening. I can feel when he's around, which happens to be right around this time every day. That's how I knew something had happened to him, you see. We had a chess game planned and Andrew never showed. I could hardly believe it when they told me how he'd died," Willis said as his eyes became moist.
"We are not believing it either," Steven said. Turning to me, he asked, "M.J., can you talk with him?"
"I'm trying," I admitted. I'd been calling out to Andrew in my mind for several seconds, hoping he would acknowledge me, but he wouldn't come forward. Thinking of something, I said, "Willis, I need you to do me a favor."
"What's that?" he asked.
"I need you to tell Andrew that it's okay to talk with me. I'm here to help him make sense of things."
"Who are you, anyway?" Willis asked, really looking at me for the first time.
Steven blushed. "That's my fault," he said to me before turning to Willis and explaining. "I'm sorry for my manners. Willis, this is M. J. Holliday. She is here to try to find out what happened to my grandfather. She is an expert in talking with people like him. People who can't move on to where they belong."
"You mean she talks to ghosts," Willis said succinctly.
"Yes."
“Then why does she need me?"
I answered, "Because Andrew may not be able to. see me until you point me out. You see, I think he is currently stuck in his daily routine. He can see you and knows to interact with you, but he may be unwilling to acknowledge anything outside of his comfort zone in his current state of confusion. It's my belief that he hasn't realized he's died, Willis."
Willis listened intently to me and seemed to absorb what I was saying. "I'm with you," he said after a moment. "So what do I say, exactly?"
"Just call out his name, tell him you'd like him to talk to me for a bit. That I'm here to help him sort things out. I think he might listen to you."
Willis creaked backward away from the table and pointed his chair toward the big living room. "Andrew," he said in a commanding voice. "It's Willis. I have company today and I'd like you to join us for some conversation. You know your grandson is here to visit you, and he's brought along a lady friend. Her name is M.J., and she's here to talk with you."
I closed my eyes as Willis talked and opened my intuitive mind as wide as I could. Right after Willis stopped, I felt Andrew's energy come forward. Hello, Andrew, I called in my mind.
Hello. Have we met before? he asked, his energy strong and our connection very clear now that I had been introduced.
No. I'm a friend of Steven's. We've come to visit you and learn about your fall.
My fall?
Yes, Andrew. A little while ago you had oatmeal for breakfast; do you remember?
There was a pause, then: Yes. That was this morning. I'm looking after my heart these days.
I smiled inwardly at the irony and continued, So what happened after you had your breakfast; can you remember, Andrew?
Another pause. I went upstairs to make a phone call.
Who did you call?
Roger. I wanted to make sure he took care of things.
Then what happened?
There was a long silence. Finally Andrew said faintly, Something happened.
"What happened?" I said out loud, my eyes tightly closed as I concentrated. I could feel Andrew pulling away from me, as it was harder and harder to hear him.
I don't…, he said. I can't…
"Andrew!" I insisted. "Don't go yet! You must tell me what happened!"
No… M… trouble… get help! With a suddenness tha
t startled me, the connection broke. I could feel Andrew's energy sever from mine. I opened my eyes and stared right at Steven, who looked anxious. "What happened? What did he say?"
My shoulders drooped. "He wouldn't tell me everything, but I managed to get a little information out of him."
“Tell us," Willis said.
"He said that on the morning he died he finished his breakfast and went upstairs to call Roger to make sure he took care of things. Then someone with the first initial M or someone nicknamed Em, maybe an Emily, was either in trouble or was causing trouble, and he tried to get help, but then he jumped back into the mist and that's all I got."
Steven ran a hand through his hair and turned to Willis. "Do you know who my grandfather was talking about?"
Willis puckered his lips in thought, then slowly shook his head. "Your grandfather and I kept limited company, Steven. It's true I worked for him for almost forty-five years, but our friendship was restricted to this cabin and our daily chess games."
"So you're saying you didn't know any of his acquaintances or friends on a first-name basis?" I asked.
"In a nutshell," Willis said. "But I do know this: Every time I try to tell your father that Andrew wasn't the kind of man to commit suicide, he changes the subject. So I'm glad that you're looking into this, Steven. Something happened to him up there, and I know in my soul that Andrew couldn't have taken his own life."
A thought seemed to occur to Steven, and he asked, "Willis, on the day of my grandfather's death, did my father come here?"
"No, I can't say that I remember him coming by that day," he said to us. "But he was here the week before. I remember because Andrew was angry when he came to our chess game. He wasn't one to hang his family's laundry out, even to me, but he was so angry from something that had just happened that he let it slip that your father was a fool, and it was time Andrew taught him right from wrong."
"And you have no idea what he was referring to," I said.
"I didn't press. It was none of my business."
Steven nodded and offered, "Is there anything you need before we leave?"
Willis smiled good-naturedly. "Naw, thank you, Steven, but Maria should be coming over a little later with some groceries for me."
"I'm glad to see you are taking care of each other," Steven said kindly. "It was good to see you, Willis. We'll be at the house if you need anything."
Steven and I took our leave. Once outside I noticed that the small dirt road led to a driveway to the side of the log cabin that I assumed was the way Willis and those who took care of him got to and from the cabin. I pointed to the drive and said, "Anyone could come down that road, park a little way away from the cottage, and make it onto your property."
"I was just thinking the similar thing," Steven said. "What I want to know is who knew about the tunnel, and why did my grandfather have it built?"
"You said you spent summers here as a kid; you never saw any hint of it?"
"None."
"Unfortunately, your grandfather isn't very talkative. He's still in serious denial."
"Denial?"
"He's not willing to accept that he's dead. He's acting as if nothing has happened to him, and he's just going through his daily routine."
"How do we get him to accept that he has died?" Steven asked.
"We find out what happened that morning on our own, and repeat it back to him."
Steven gave me a sideways glance and said, "I was afraid you were going to say that."
I smiled and continued, "We start by finding out who this Roger is. Come on; I happen to know someone who's perfect for this kind of job."
We walked back to the house, where I immediately went to the kitchen to retrieve my purse and dig out my cell phone. Punching in the speed dial I waited and was rewarded with a "Hi, M.J. How's it going over there?"
"Fine, fine," I said easily, not wanting to worry Gilley over the details of nearly getting killed. "How's the fairy tail?" I kidded.
"Hurts like a godmother, but I'm suffering through it."
"I have a job for you."
"Thank God, I was starting to get bored."
"I was able to connect very briefly with Andrew a little while ago, and all I could get out of him was something about a phone call he placed to someone named Roger. I need to know who this Roger is, and if and when you find out, I need you to try to get some info about what they might have talked about. Pull the phone records, ask around, figure it out."
"Got it. Anything else?"
"Yes. There's a second ghost in this house. Her name is Maureen. Andrew keeps referring to either the letter M or someone named Em, like Emily. Nose around; maybe some of the locals know who this Maureen was and what her connection was to Andrew. Also, see if there's a link to an Em or Emily while you're at it, just to cover all the bases."
"I'm on it. I'll call you on your cell when I get something."
"Thanks, Gil. Hope the tush feels better soon."
I clicked off with Gilley and set the phone on the counter. What'd he say?" Steven wanted to know.
"He's all over it."
"Do you think he'll find out something?"
"I do. Gilley's a whiz at this stuff. Trust me."
Steven nodded, then pushed away from the counter he'd been leaning on and said, "Time to go."
I cocked my head at him and asked, "Where to?"
"The second branch off the path. I believe it leads somewhere. Remember the little orbitals?"
"You mean the orbs?"
"Yes, those too. They were leading us somewhere on the second branch before we lost them. I think we need to find out where it goes to in the daytime."
Steven and I exited the kitchen door again and searched for a bit at the edge of the woods trying to find the path, as it was well hidden. We finally located it and moved forward on the trail, passing the tree with the hidden door and continuing on deeper within the forest.
After about twenty minutes we could see a break in the trees ahead. I tugged on Steven's sleeve to make sure he saw it too, and he looked back at me to say, "I see it. Come; we're almost there."
We broke through the woods a few moments later and saw that we stood on a hilltop that overlooked a large open field. Immediately visible was a small house, down the hill and to the right.
The house looked like something out of a storybook, painted a buttercup yellow with bright blue shutters and a large blue door with a heart-shaped wreath over it. Window boxes bloomed with spring flowers on every sill of the house, and a white picket fence enclosed a small yard around the perimeter. A walkway led from the door to the gate of the fence and was also lined with flowers. To the right of the house was a driveway that dumped out onto a dirt road that headed south and disappeared at the end of the field to tunnel through more woodland.
At the back of the house little white huts dotted the landscape every five yards or so. I wondered what they were, but my attention was redirected by Steven, who nudged me and pointed a few feet to our left. I looked over and saw a tombstone, and it was then that I realized that the path we'd been on led directly to the grave.
We walked over and squatted down to take a better look, noticing fresh flowers at the grave. Steven read the engraving and my mouth fell open. " 'Maureen Emerson. Born nineteen twenty-seven. Died nineteen seventy-four.'"
"The woman from the photo," I said.
"Who was she?" Steven asked, and I shrugged my shoulders. I had no idea.
"Let's walk down to the house. Maybe we can get some answers," I suggested.
Steven nodded, and we both headed down the hill. I was a little self-conscious, as I realized we might be trespassing on this person's property. "Do you think we should have come by the road?" I said. "You know, so that these people don't think we've been snooping around on their land?"
"It's not their land," Steven said. "It was my grandfather's, which means that it's now mine."
We arrived at the house, and Steven opened the little gate for me and
bowed, allowing me to enter first. I smiled at his theatrics and walked to the front door, giving it a hearty knock. We waited several moments, listening to the silence before I knocked again. Still no response, so I turned to him and asked, "Now what?"
"Let's check around the back," he suggested, and we went to the rear of the house.
The backyard was just as tidy as the front, with close-cut green grass and a garden lining the house. There was also a small sitting area with two metal chairs and a table. Everything looked freshly painted, planted, and well maintained. Steven headed over to a window and cupped his eyes to peek inside. "Steven!" I hissed. "Don't do that!"
"Why not?" he said, still doing the Peeping Tom thing.
"What if someone's in there?"
"Then they'll come to the back door and yell at me, and we can ask them about Maureen and why they're on my property."
"Maybe your grandfather rented them this house?" I offered.
"If he did, then he didn't tell me about it," Steven said, backing away from the window.
"So what did you see?" I asked, curious about what the interior looked like.
"Oh-ho," Steven said, smiling at me. "It's not okay for me to look in, but it is okay for you to ask me what I saw?"
I narrowed my eyes. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just tell me what you saw."
Steven thumbed toward the window. "That's the kitchen. Very neat and clean in there, just like out here. I am thinking that an older woman lives here, no kids and no husband."
"So now you're the psychic?" I said with a smirk.
Steven smiled broadly. "You do not need to be a psychic to put clues together and know about things."
"What kinda clues?"
"Well," he said, rubbing his chin, "there is one cup and one bowl in the dish rack. Curtains and the paper on the wall are … very female with lots of lace?"
"Frilly?" I supplied.
"Yes, that too. Also, there is no newspaper, just a book on the counter."
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"Men like the news with their morning coffee. Women, on the other arm, enjoy some romance with their tea."
I scowled at him. He was just too smug for his own good. "Great job, Sherlock, but while you were peering into windows, I was taking a gander at something far more interesting."