What a Ghoul Wants

  After getting them (reluctantly) to stay with Hollingsworth, I went in search of Heath. I found him with Gilley, Michel, Gopher, John, and Crunn. Gil was devouring a package of potato chips like it was his last meal, sprinkling crumbs on his bulbous sweatshirt. “What’s the word?” I asked them.

  Heath spoke first. “She was strangled and her neck was broken.”

  “What? Not drowned?”

  Gilley pointed to John, who said, “I overheard the inspector talking on his cell. I don’t know who he was calling, but he said that the coroner confirmed that Mrs. Hollingsworth was strangled and as a result her neck was broken.”

  I grimaced. “God, that’s awful!”

  Heath nudged me. “We should go out and see if her ghost is around.”

  I sighed heavily. Man, I wanted to quit this castle. If poor Mrs. Hollingsworth was another of the Widow’s victims, she’d be one more soul I’d have to worry about freeing. And I had that thought even as the guilt of not having tried to help her sooner hit me hard in the solar plexus. “Okay,” I said, and followed after Heath as we headed toward the garden to the right of the dining hall.

  We got no farther than the door when we were blocked by Constable Bancroft. “No one’s allowed out on the terrace,” he said when we opened the door to peer out. I realized that the terrace overlooked the crime scene, and while I understood why the police wanted us to remain well away from there, Heath and I might be able to help. “Constable,” I said, adopting a smile, “I know this might be an unusual request, but you see, Mr. Whitefeather and I are professional spirit mediums, and if we can find the spirit of Mrs. Hollingsworth, we might be able to help identify her killer.”

  This was a stretch, as most newly grounded spirits are so panic-stricken that getting them to focus on the events leading up to their crossing is often a lost cause. But I had to know if Mrs. Hollingsworth’s spirit was now a prisoner of the Widow, and neither Heath nor I could tell that from inside the castle.

  “Spirit what?” the constable asked.

  “Mediums,” I replied patiently. “Heath and I talk to the dead.”

  The constable looked like he wanted to laugh, but couldn’t quite figure out whether we were joking.

  “We’re not kidding,” Heath told him. “We really do make our living talking to the deceased.”

  “Right,” the constable said skeptically.

  “Who’s Fran?” Heath asked suddenly.

  The constable’s brow shot up. “Who?”

  “Fran. Franny. She says she used to live with you. And I feel she was very short,” he added, putting his hand low to indicate someone about three feet tall.

  Even I looked at him oddly, but the constable’s mouth was agape and all he could do was stare.

  “Hold on,” Heath said, “Fran was a dog, wasn’t she?”

  Ah. That would explain the “very short” comment. And I had to smile because we don’t always know we’re connecting to the spirit of a pet. Sometimes the bond is so strong between pets and their humans that it can feel more like child and parent.

  The constable gulped audibly. “How do you know ’bout Franny?”

  “Did she have a favorite squeaky toy?” Heath asked next, and he closed his eyes to concentrate. In my mind I saw a carrot the moment Heath opened his eyes again and said, “It was in the shape of a carrot, right?”

  The constable nodded and his eyes never blinked. He stared at Heath as if he was afraid blinking would cause the connection to his beloved dog to sever. “You wear something metal of hers,” Heath said, pointing to the constable’s neck.

  The constable reached into the collar of his shirt and pulled out a long silver chain, on the end of which was a dog tag engraved with the name Fran. “She was the best dog ever whelped,” he said, his voice a bit liquid with emotion. “Better than any human friend I ever had.”

  “Was she black and white?” I asked, sharing a bit of the energy that Heath had opened up. “Sort of a dapple color?”

  The constable nodded and wiped at his eyes. “She was an English setter, and so beautiful she’d make you weep at the sight of her. I had to put the poor love to sleep last year, and I miss her more than I care to admit.”

  “She’s very honored that you carry her with you,” Heath said, pointing to the tag. “And you buried her with your dog tags, didn’t you? The ones from your military service, right?”

  Bancroft put a hand to his mouth. “How’d you know that?” he asked. “No one on this earth knows that!”

  “Franny told him,” I said easily.

  Bancroft wiped again at his eyes and seemed to suddenly become aware that there were people around. Leaning in close, he said to Heath, “Will you tell Franny that I love her, and I miss her?”

  He smiled. “She can hear you, Constable. And she knows, and feels the same for you.”

  The kindly man nodded and cleared his throat, but it was a moment before he spoke. “Let me try to get the inspector’s blessing,” he said. “After that demonstration, if it were up to me, I’d let you in, but Lumley would have me head if I let you out here without asking his permission first.”

  We waited at the door and watched the constable give a pretty long-winded explanation of what we could do and, more to the point, wanted to do out on the terrace. It seemed that he managed to wear the inspector down, because Lumley finally waved impatiently at us to come along and Heath and I stepped outside into the cool night air.

  The wind and cold spray off the lake went right into me, and it was difficult to focus on my sixth sense while being assaulted by the elements. Heath moved forward to the railing and looked out over the water, but I stood back and hoped that maybe he’d be the first to discover something.

  I hoped wrong.

  I felt a tingling to my left and turned around with my back to the water. I didn’t see anything on the terrace, but I certainly felt it, and I knew immediately that I had Mrs. Hollingsworth within the perimeter of my sixth sense. I squinted into the darkness, but didn’t see her as much as felt her frantic energy. What’s happening? she asked me desperately.

  I sent her calming thoughts, and told her I was there to help. She seemed to settle down a bit once she knew that I could communicate with her. No one else will talk to me!

  I’m so sorry. I know this must be very upsetting to you.

  What’s happened to me? she asked again.

  “You found her?” Heath whispered next to me.

  I nodded to the far right-hand side of the railing and I felt his energy expand as he attempted to communicate with her as well. I couldn’t hear his thoughts, but I felt that Mrs. Hollingsworth began to communicate with him too. “We’re here to help you,” he said out loud.

  Just tell me what’s happened to me! she pleaded.

  Heath and I exchanged a look. The woman clearly didn’t remember her own murder, and at the moment, it was doubtful that she even knew she was dead.

  “Come over here with us,” I said, knowing how important it was for her own sake to accept that she was no longer part of the living.

  I walked over to the opposite rail and Heath came too. I could also feel Mrs. Hollingsworth follow us. Once we were at the rail, we had a very good view of the authorities as they worked the crime scene, and at that moment, Mrs. Hollingsworth’s body had yet to be covered. She was laid out on a tarp identical to the one that Merrick Brown and Mr. Lefebvre had been set on.

  I braced for Mrs. Hollingsworth’s reaction—it was bound to be emotional—but she actually surprised me. For the longest time her ghostly energy just vibrated next to me and Heath, and then I felt her sort of accept what she was seeing.

  “Do you know who did this to you, Mrs. Hollingsworth?” I asked her.

  What do I do now? she asked, avoiding my que
stion. Where do I go? If you can see and hear me, then you must know.

  “Is she talking to you?” Heath asked me.

  “She is,” I said, then turned a little in the direction of her energy. “Mrs. Hollingsworth, this is very important: We need to know who did this to you. Can you remember anything of the past few hours?”

  At that moment I felt a shift in her energy—something to the effect of being startled.

  “She’s found the light,” Heath said, tilting his chin up.

  I knew he didn’t see anything physically; it was more an awareness of where the light was coming from. I closed my eyes and rode the wave of energy to see it in my mind’s eye, and sure enough, I had the mental image of a bright white light coming down to envelop Mrs. Hollingsworth. In the next two or three seconds, she was gone and once again I was completely aware of the bitter wind and sea spray whipping against my body.

  “She’s crossed,” Heath said.

  I sighed and opened my eyes. “Yeah, but at least we know for certain that she didn’t end up like the others.” Heath looked at me quizzically and I explained. “She’s not a prisoner of the Widow.”

  “Ah,” he said, looking at the scene below. “That kind of fits, though, don’t you think? I mean, she didn’t end up in the moat. She’s in the lake.”

  “Which means the Widow didn’t kill her,” I said.

  Heath wrapped a protective arm around me, and at that moment the constable looked up and noticed us standing there. “Did you find her?” he asked after he walked up the rock to us.

  “Yeah, but she couldn’t tell us anything.”

  “Can you try a bit later?” he asked.

  “She’s gone, Niles,” I said. “She’s crossed over to the other side, and it will take her some time to adjust, which means in all likelihood we won’t be able to communicate with her for several weeks.”

  He frowned and pointed to the body. “She really told you nothing about who did that to her?”

  “She was confused and then in some shock about her circumstance, and before we could really get her to focus, she found her way to the other side,” I explained.

  At that moment the inspector called to the constable and he left us to head back inside. Once we were alone together again, Heath said, “I don’t like this, Em.”

  “I’m with you. This is bad.”

  “I think we should quit,” Heath said bluntly. “There’s a murderer on the loose, and who knows who he’s gonna come after next?”

  “How do you know it’s a he?”

  “You ever see a girl break someone’s neck while they strangle them? That takes a lot of force, babe.”

  He had a solid point, and I will admit that my resolve to help Merrick’s ghost was starting to waver. I began to entertain the idea of coming back someday after the murderer was caught and trying to free the imprisoned ghosts then. But something still nagged at me, and that was the possibility of more victims for the Widow to ensnare.

  Also, I was reminded that if Heath and I quit, the network had the ability to sue our pants into poverty, and I had no doubt that Chris would do just that.

  As I was wavering, the door behind us opened and Heath and I both turned to see the inspector moving toward us. “Mr. Whitefeather, Miss Holliday,” he said with a nod. “A word, if I may?”

  “Of course, Inspector,” I said.

  I figured he’d want to grill us about insisting on going out to the terrace, but instead he surprised me by saying, “When you encountered the ghost of my brother earlier, are you quite positive he did not say anything to you?”

  “Uh. . . yes, sir. I’m positive he didn’t say anything.”

  That seemed to trouble the inspector. Still, he didn’t explain; instead, he eyed his watch and said, “I wonder if later on this evening I might have a discussion with the two of you in private—somewhere outside the walls of Kidwellah?”

  I was a bit surprised at the request and it took me a moment to respond. After looking to Heath, who nodded, I finally said, “Of course, sir.”

  “Excellent,” the inspector replied, handing us his card and noting the mobile phone number on the back. “I will be finished here within the next two hours or so. Will you both meet me at the front entrance at eleven o’clock?”

  Heath agreed before I had a chance to question the inspector about what he wanted to talk to us about, and once he heard we’d meet with him, he saluted us with two fingers and told us he was heading off to find Mr. Hollingsworth and interview the other guests of the castle.

  “That was. . . odd,” I said once Lumley was gone.

  “Yeah,” Heath agreed. “But so far, nothing about this place has been normal.”

  For the next two hours we hung out in our room. At one point another constable knocked on our door, and it was clear he was helping the inspector gather statements from all the guests. He took our names, and documented where we said we’d been that evening, and I was grateful that there would be at least two restaurant managers who weren’t likely to forget Heath and me.

  “That should take us out of the suspect pool at least,” Heath said once the constable was gone.

  At five to eleven Heath and I went downstairs only to find Mrs. Lefebvre with her suitcase packed standing at the front entrance. She ignored us and stood resolutely staring at the front door.

  At eleven on the dot the inspector arrived in the hall and approached us, but he paused long enough to take note of Mrs. Lefebvre’s luggage. “You’re departing the castle?” he asked her.

  The older woman squared her shoulders, as if she expected a challenge. “I’ll not stay in this dreadful place one moment longer.”

  “I’d prefer it if you didn’t leave the area, Mrs. Lefebvre,” the inspector said, in a way that clearly suggested he wasn’t pleased she was abandoning Kidwellah.

  “You may take it up with my solicitor, Inspector. My husband is dead, and even though I had agreed to stay long enough for you to finish with your investigation, in light of that poor woman’s murder, I see no other choice but to leave this death trap at once, if only to preserve my own safety.”

  The inspector grunted, but didn’t protest further, and at that moment a taxi driver poked his head in the front door and said, “Someone ’ere call for a car?”

  The inspector told Mrs. Lefebvre that he’d be in touch soon to inform her when her husband’s body would be released for burial, and motioned for us to follow behind him.

  We went along with him to his car, and climbed in.

  “How is Mr. Hollingsworth?” I asked once we were under way.

  “He appears to be quite distressed,” Lumley replied.

  “Appears to be?” Heath said, noting the emphasis the inspector had placed on the word.

  “I’m afraid I’m a bit suspicious of Mr. Hollingsworth,” Lumley told us. “Several people have informed me that he’s got a bit of a temper and he’d been seen berating his wife at dinner this evening. There were also quite a few old bruises on Mrs. Hollingsworth’s person. I’m convinced he was abusive to her.”

  “I overheard him yelling at her yesterday,” I confessed. “And earlier today I heard her talking on the phone to someone and she sounded close to panic.”

  The inspector eyed me sharply. “Why in heavens’s name didn’t you tell me this earlier?”

  I felt my cheeks flush. “I’m sorry, sir. I think that I was still in some shock over her death.”

  The inspector grunted and focused back on the road. “Speaking of her death,” he said, “Constable Bancroft informs me that you made contact with her spirit but were unable to glean any details as to who might have murdered her?”

  I shifted in my seat. “That’s correct. Mrs. Hollingsworth crossed over very quickly after we found her
spirit.”

  “Odd business you two are in,” he said, and was silent for the rest of the drive, which it turned out wasn’t very far at all.

  The car turned down a narrow lane and stopped shortly thereafter in front of a tidy-looking two-story home with a thatch roof and an arched front door. We got out of the car and moved up to the picket gate, which the inspector held open for us. “Where are we?” I asked. I’d expected the inspector to take us to his office at the police station or someplace similar. To come to a residence was quite a surprise.

  “We are at my home,” Lumley told me.

  Heath took my hand, and when I looked up at him, I could read his expression. He didn’t quite trust the inspector. We moved to the door and Lumley opened it for us. As we stepped through into the front hall, a woman appeared from the other end. “Jasper?” she called, looking quite surprised to see us first.

  “Good evening, Penny, I’m so sorry to have kept you so late. How is she?”

  The woman glanced toward a set of stairs to her left and wrung her hands. “I tried calling you on your mobile, but it went straight to voice mail.”

  The inspector’s posture stiffened. “What’s happened?”

  Penny eyed us nervously and Lumley seemed to remember that we were there. “Excuse me one moment, please,” he said and he moved with Penny to the kitchen, leaving Heath and me to wonder what the heck was going on.

  At last Penny and the inspector appeared again, and she was wearing her coat. He walked her to the door and she apologized for not keeping a better eye out, to which Lumley replied that it was hardly her fault and he’d see her the next day.

  He then closed the door behind her and turned back to us without explaining a thing, although the strain in his eyes spoke volumes. “Shall we?” he asked, motioning to the sitting room, which was off to our left.

  We preceded him there and took our seats next to each other on a rich chocolate leather sofa with an aubergine throw and striped green and purple pillows. Instead of sitting across from us on a matching sofa, the inspector shrugged out of his suit coat and moved to the fireplace, where he began busying himself with a fire.