Shadow Silence (6 page)

She laughed. “Yeah, that tub is a little bit on the cheesy side, but it will work. I could live with it for a while. And if they updated the plumbing when they built this bathroom,
maybe the renovations won't be so extensive.” She walked back into the master bedroom. The window overlooked the backyard and the lake. “I admit, it's creepy . . . the view. I can almost see Fogwhistle Pier from here. But . . .”

“Peggin, are you sure you're interested in this place? I have to admit, there's a lot of potential here, but . . .” I stopped. It was no use. She was in love with the house and there was nothing I could say to make her change her mind. “I can tell by that look on your face that no matter what I say, you're going to buy this house. So will you at least let me do what I can in order to make it safer for you?”

She glanced around the room once more, then let out a slow laugh. “Yeah, I will. I promise. And I'll have you over here helping so you can keep an eye out for the spooks.”

I glanced out the window. “There are two walking through your backyard right now.” Even from here, I could see the bedraggled-looking ghosts wandering through the yard. Whether they were friend or foe, I wasn't sure, but one thing was certain: I'd find out, and find out as soon as I could.

Peggin's phone buzzed. “Jack's here. He's out front. Let's go downstairs and see what he has to say.” And with that, we headed out of the bedroom, and into Peggin's future.

J
ack, this is my best friend Kerris. Kerris, this is Jack Walters. He's from Walters Realty. We've known each other for a long time. And he's going to tell me what it will take for me to buy this house.” She turned to him and gave him a wide smile. “I love the place, though I need a full inspection to see what I'm getting myself into here.”

Jack, who looked like a fairly mild-mannered accountant type, chuckled. “I think you'll be pleased to find out that when I agreed to take on this property, I had a full inspection done. That was two months ago. I can show you the results and then, if you want another, we can proceed from there.” He motioned toward the door. “Shall we go in? And do you have any questions to begin with?”

“How old is this house?” I decided that his invitation to ask questions extended to me as well. And even if it didn't, I was going to anyway.

“The house was built in 1920, by Herschel Dorsey. So the place is pushing ninety-plus years old. Over the years,
it's been renovated several times, the last being in 1976.” He paused, frowning. “I think I should tell you that there have been twenty-three owners. And I don't know how many renters.”

I blinked.
Twenty-three people had owned the place?
“What is this? Amityville?”

He shrugged, looking mildly uncomfortable. “I'm not certain what happened. I only have the list of owners and rebuilds done on the house. I don't know why anybody left. I do know that the original owner—Dorsey—died in a nasty accident only a few years after he built the house. He was starting to cut down a tree in the front yard—that old oak out there—and something happened with the ax. It slipped, slicing into his leg, and he bled out before anybody found him. You can still see the gashes in the trunk, even though they've healed over.”

Peggin glanced at me. “Maybe he's one of the ghosts you saw wandering the property?”

“Could be.”

Jack cleared his throat. “Even though there's no requirement that we disclose supernatural activity, my firm feels that . . . well . . . this is . . .”

He looked so pained that I couldn't help myself, I started to laugh.

“This is Whisper Hollow, right?” I grinned.

He tilted his head, scrutinizing me for a moment before snorting. “Yeah, you got it. So yes, there's a history of supernatural activity here. I don't know exactly what kind, but there's a notation that a few families who rented this place just up and left. In fact, two of the families actually left a number of their belongings behind, refusing to come pick them up. Most of that stuff is stored in the attic and comes with the house.”

He led us into the parlor. “The chimney is in need of repair, but the fireplace works. It does need to be cleaned. The windows are all original and I would recommend replacing them with double-pane as soon as possible. That's about it for this room.”

The office received a pass, too. The powder room was the next stop.

“All plumbing was upgraded in the mid-seventies. I don't think anything has been touched since then, but the inspection showed that most of the pipes are still in decent condition. The house is on a septic system and you'll likely need a new one within the next two or three years. That can be quite an expense and the seller is considering that in the purchase price.” He motioned to a closet door. “The water heater is in there. It will need replacing in about five years, I'd say. The furnace, which is in the basement, is actually fairly new. The old one died on the current owner, so he replaced it about three years ago.”

“Well, that's something. The plumbing will be okay for now, and the furnace is fine.” Peggin frowned. “How much will a new septic system run me?”

“Between ten to twenty thousand dollars, depending on what permits the city requires.” He consulted his clipboard. “While we're at it, one other thing you can check off your to-do list is the wiring. It was upgraded about fifteen years ago and should still be good. The circuit box is still in good condition, according to the inspection that I had done.”

I wasn't sure whether to cheer or sigh. That was one worry off her list and one less impediment toward buying the house. But at least she'd be safe from stray fires. “What about the roof? How's it holding up? And any water damage or mold noted?”

If Peggin was upset with me for asking questions, she wasn't showing it.

Jack consulted his clipboard again. “Roof has about ten years left on it. Needs a few patches but it's still good. The inspector found no sign of mold, which honestly surprised me and I'd have that test run again, just in case. No water damage found. Chances are that the place has asbestos but it wasn't uncovered during the inspection. It might come up during renovations or repairs, though.”

As we entered the kitchen, Peggin pointed to the floor. “What's underneath the linoleum? Hardwoods, by any chance?”

“I don't know on that one. One thing I can tell you is that all the upstairs renovations were permitted. The records are there.” He leaned against the counter. “So, do you think you might be interested?”

Peggin glanced at me, but I kept my mouth shut. After a moment, she nodded. “What's the asking price, and it would have to be rent-to-own, so what would that entail?”

Jack let out what seemed to me was a relieved sigh. “Asking price is seventy-five thousand, and that's negotiable, depending on the terms. Let's go back to my office and talk. Of course, you can rent it without the to-buy option, but if you want to make any substantial changes in the near future, you'll have to go the other route. Meet me in about twenty minutes?”

“Twenty minutes it is.”

He walked us to the door, locking it behind us and pocketing the key. “I'll see you in a little while, then.” And with that, Jack returned to his car and eased out of the driveway.

I glanced at the lot. There were plenty of creatures walking this land that weren't visible to the naked eye. But if Peggin had made up her mind, there wasn't much I could do, and given that the Crow Man wasn't allowing me to tell her about my dream, I figured that I might as well do what I could to help her.

“You want me to come with you?” I asked.

She frowned, then shook her head. “No, I'm just grateful that you're here. I think, given the repairs needed, if I can get them down to sixty thousand, that will be a good place for me to be. I've some savings, but that will have to go into fixing up the necessities.”

“Let me know what happens. Meanwhile, I'm joining Bryan for coffee when his meeting's over, and I want to do some shopping. At some point this week, I'm going to buy a tree.”

I hadn't celebrated much of anything while I'd been away
from Whisper Hollow, but the town valued its winter holidays. Christmas, Yule—Solstice—Hanukkah, Kwanzaa . . . they were celebrated town-wide, and the town turned into an extravaganza of lights and decorations starting the weekend after Thanksgiving. Whisper Hollow seemed to welcome the cheer.

“Oh, good. I'll call you later.” She gave me a quick, tight hug, whispering, “Thanks again, for being here. Trust me, I'll be careful.”

As we both pulled out of the driveway, a gust of wind hit hard, and beyond the house the lake churned. I stared at it silently, thinking that sometimes, careful wasn't good enough.

*   *   *

W
hisper Hollow was a beautiful town, regardless of the dangers inherent within it. With a nouveau-Victorian feel to it, the town might as well have been the oldest living member of the community. While Whisper Hollow had its abandoned lots and houses, most of the town was well-kept and tidy. People took pride in their homes, in their businesses, in the community. Brick and stone comprised a good share of the buildings, and Whisper Hollow had a number of Painted Ladies. San Francisco might have its Postcard Row, but Whisper Hollow was a postcard unto itself.

While there were only about five thousand people in the town, it was compact and the downtown area was definitely centralized. The shops were as colorful as the houses. The Broom & Thistle Coffee Shop was the local coffee hangout. The Herb & Essence apothecary was run by a gothic-looking gentleman I knew only as Prague. The Harlequin Theatre served as both cinema and stage. All were beloved members of the community.

So was the Vintage Bookstore on Cedar Street, owned by Trevor Riversong, a member of one of the Salish tribes. Trevor was also a member of the Crescent Moon Society. He brought his tribal knowledge of the area to bear in our meetings.

A block over, and a few blocks further north on Main Street was the Whisper Hollow Town Square, a mini-mall, and the Crescent Moon Spa, a full-service day spa. Other little shops dotted the main drag, boutiques that catered to both specific interests and general browsing.

As I drove through the streets, looking for a parking spot, I spied one next to Beacon Park, on the corner of Third and Main. The park was across the street from a sports field, the community center, and the town pool.

Beacon Park had a gazebo and plenty of benches scattered around, as well as a playground area for children. In the center was a large tiered fountain. For eight months out of the year it ran, but from the beginning of November to the end of February, it sat silent, except for the period starting on the Winter Solstice until New Year's. Then, it sparkled with colored water spray, providing the temperatures cooperated. Towering firs and maples guarded the park, along with a couple of old oaks, and a giant cedar. Smaller bushes and ferns graced the park floor, but for the most part, the undergrowth was kept in check.

I eased into the spot and turned off the engine. Parking was cheap; I could park all day here for five dollars compared to cities like Seattle. As I fumbled in my purse for quarters to feed the meter, a tapping on my window jolted me out of my thoughts and I found myself staring at a fit, pulled-together-looking woman with skin the color of deep umber. Her short, spiky pompadour was bleached red. What always stood out to me, though, were her eyes. They were luminous, coffee brown like my own.

“Nadia!” I quickly found my quarters and then opened the door, stepping onto the sidewalk.

Nadia Freemont was near my own age, although you could never tell ages in this town, and she owned the Mossy Rock Steakhouse, the most upscale restaurant in Whisper Hollow. She was a genius with food and her meals were rumored to have sparked more than one romance in town.
Nadia was in the circle of friends Peggin and I had known in high school, and she, too, was part of the CMS. I had seen her a couple of times since returning to Whisper Hollow, but we hadn't had a chance to catch up yet.

Nadia gave me a quick hug. “I saw you parking there and couldn't resist. I don't have a lot of time, but wanted to clue you in on something.” Her eyes twinkled and she winked at me. “Women have to stick together.”

“What's up?” I pulled my coat tighter. The wind had picked up, and the temperature felt like it was dropping.

“That man of yours? Bryan Tierney? He's made a reservation for Sunday night and he asked me to make a special dessert. I'm not going to tell you what, but I have the feeling something's up, so make sure you let him surprise you. Don't make any other plans.” She leaned against my car, shivering. “Damn, it's cold. I expect we may be in for a dusting of snow. Hurricane Ridge is getting massively dumped on.”

I glanced at the sky. There was a faint whiff of ozone in the air—like right before a snowstorm or thunderstorm. “I can smell it. Whether it's snow or rain, I think the weather's going to hold nasty for a while.”

“I think you're right. Anyway, I have to run. I just gave a talk over at the high school about what it's like to be a chef and own a restaurant. Career day, I gather. Now I'm headed to the steakhouse to make sure dinner prep is under way.” She blew on her hands, then, briefcase in hand, headed toward her car, which was parked a couple of spots up the street from me.

I said good-bye and briskly headed the other way, toward the center of the downtown area.

Whisper Hollow was alive and bustling. Regardless of the small population, the town never seemed empty. It had its share of regular ghosts. I could sense and see them walking the streets. Most, I never bothered with. My grandma Lila had let them roam, as well. They weren't doing anybody any harm, and seemed content to meander through the town without upsetting anybody.

I ran over my shopping list in my mind. I wanted to find gifts for Bryan and Peggin, obviously, but also Aidan—my grandfather—Ivy, Ellia, Deev, and a few other people. It felt good to have friends again. When I had been living in Seattle, managing a coffee shop, I had acquaintances, but never anybody to really hang out with.

And I had rarely dated. Once guys found out that I could speak to their dead mothers and girlfriends and find out just what kind of people they really were, they seldom asked me out again. Or they just wanted an easy lay, and the fact that I wore an F-cup bra never failed to bring in a certain group of fetishists as well.