The Ghost of Mistletoe Mary (14 page)

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GHOSTS OF MISTY HOLLOW

Coming in 2016

Gino Costello, the famous crime writer, came down the front steps of the farmhouse, taking two at a time, to greet his guests.

“Oh, oh,” said Emma to Phil, who was behind the wheel of the rental car. “He's not alone.”

“That's his wife on the porch, isn't it?” Phil asked as he brought the car to a stop next to a black SUV parked in front of a large garage just off a circular drive. On the other side of the SUV was a white compact sedan.

“I think so, but I'm not talking about her.”

“Oh no,” echoed Phil with a groan as soon as he understood what she meant. “Can't we even get settled before ghosts start pestering you?”

“They're not pestering me, Phil,” Emma said, still looking toward the large porch that ran across the front and down both sides of the two-story white farmhouse. “But they're definitely here.” She started unbuckling her seat belt.

“Friendly or disturbed?” Phil asked.

“Not sure yet,” she answered as she continued to check out the hazy apparitions. “So far I count three possible outlines of ghosts. One is coming toward us with Gino and is more distinct. He's male and fairly young. It's almost as if they were waiting for us along with our host.”

Gino came to a stop next to the car. The big burly man was clearly excited about their arrival. The spirit floated beside him, and gave Emma a hesitant wave.

“The spirit with Gino just waved at me,” Emma said to Phil. “Guess that means friendly.”

Phil shook his head. “Let's hope he stays that way.” He couldn't see the ghosts, but knew their presence meant that Emma would probably get little rest during this visit. “Wait till Granny gets here,” he said to Emma. “It will be a real ghost convention, like an early Halloween.”

Emma was barely out of the car when Gino engulfed her in a big bear hug. His soft flannel shirt smelled of cigars and woodsmoke. “It is so good to finally meet you guys,” he said. “I feel like we're long-lost family.” Although they'd never met, Emma had been in contact with Gino several times over the past year. Their daughters, Kelly and Tanisha, who both resided in Boston, had become very close friends. Gino had even helped Emma out with a recent matter she'd been investigating.

“It certainly feels that way, Gino,” Emma said with a broad smile while keeping an eye on the ghost, wondering if the spirit was going to embrace her, too. It didn't, but it did step forward. As the ghost's facial features came into focus, she saw she was right, the ghost was a young man, maybe in his twenties. He was studying her, assessing her. He waved again, barely moving his hand. “Can you see me, ma'am?” he asked.

Without being too obvious, she turned her head toward the ghost, who was just behind Gino's left shoulder, and looked it straight in the eye, giving it a small dip of her chin to let it know she could see him.

In response, the spirit nodded back quickly. “Can you also hear me?” The spirit seemed greatly relieved when Emma gave him another nod. “Welcome to Misty Hollow,” he said with a slight bow, then scampered up the porch to the hazy outlines of the other spirits to give his report: a full-blown medium was in the house.

Phil came around the car. Gino held out his right hand to him. “I understand,” Gino said, pumping Phil's hand with gusto, “that congratulations are in order. Tanisha tells me you two got engaged this summer.”

“Yep,” Phil answered, putting an arm around Emma's shoulders, “Emma's finally agreed to make an honest man out of me.”

“Speaking of which,” Gino said, “let me introduce you to my better half.” He indicated a woman on the porch who had made no move to greet them.

Gino's wife was standing to the right side of the large black lacquered front door. The small gathering of ghosts were huddled to the left of it. She didn't know the spirits were there and they seemed disinterested in her. As the three of them walked up the steps, Emma glanced over at the ghosts. She could still only make out the young man. The others appeared to be clusters of dust shimmering in the fading sunlight, but Emma knew better.

“This is Vanessa, my wife,” Gino said, introducing them when they were on the porch. “Honey,” he said to his wife, “Emma Whitecastle and Phil Bowers. Emma is Kelly's mother.”

“I know who she is,” Vanessa said, bored impatience plastered on her perfectly made-up face. “You're Grant Whitecastle's ex.”

Emma cringed but tried not to show it. She really disliked being considered an appendage of her ex-husband, especially now that they had been divorced for several years. Grant Whitecastle was a flamboyant TV daytime talk show host known for his temper, nastiness, and disrespect for others. Emma had her own TV show. It explored paranormal topics in a serious and informative fashion and, even though it was on cable and only aired once a week—unlike Grant's show which was broadcast daily on a major network channel—Emma had built her own solid following and reputation away from him. She just preferred to stay out of the limelight and the tabloids, while Grant seemed to encourage them.

Emma did a quick study of Vanessa Costello and realized the woman had intended to make her uncomfortable. She'd been around many women like Vanessa when she was married to Grant. They were rich and spoiled and any woman who showed any independence or individuality was game for sport. Vanessa had purposely made the comment to let Emma know she viewed her as nothing but the ex-wife of a famous man—a dime-a-dozen commodity. Emma also knew how to stand her ground, something she'd learned in her long years as a Hollywood wife. She smiled and looked Vanessa Costello in the eye, conveying that she was not going to be easy prey. With cool politeness, she held out her right hand toward the woman. “Do you know Grant?”

Vanessa flipped her long honey-blond highlighted hair over her shoulder before taking Emma's hand and giving it a dry, feathery single pump. On her wrist hung several thick gold bracelets and a very expensive watch. Her thin frame was covered with black leggings and a long cashmere cowl neck sweater in pale yellow. Emma guessed her to be in her early forties.

“As a matter of fact,” Vanessa said, “I met him once years ago at a friend's party in LA. Interesting man, to say the least, and very much like his media personality. I can see that Kelly takes more after you.”

From her tone, Emma couldn't tell if Vanessa thought that a good thing or not and decided in Vanessa's world it was not. Kelly had never said much about Tanisha's step-mother, except to say that she'd met her a couple of times and not for long, but she knew that Kelly liked Gino quite a bit. Tanisha had never said anything to Emma about Vanessa, except that she existed. Emma was beginning to see why both girls had been so closed-mouthed on the subject and why Tanisha looked to Emma as a surrogate mother. Tanisha's real mother, a college professor, had died in a tragic car accident when she was only thirteen. Her parents had never married. The exclusion of Vanessa from the girls' conversation had made Emma curious about the woman and put her on alert before she'd arrived at the farmhouse. Now she clearly saw why the girls didn't talk about her, at least to Emma.

Vanessa turned to Phil. “You're certainly a departure from Grant Whitecastle.” She took Phil's offered hand, giving it the same limp shake.

Without a bit of hesitation, Phil grinned directly at the woman. “Everyone says Emma traded up. After meeting the man, I tend to agree.”

Off to the side, Gino stifled a laugh while Vanessa considered Phil and Emma for a few awkward seconds.

“This is a great old house,” Phil said, breaking the short silence. “And the location is beautiful.”

“Yes,” responded Gino, “it is. The house was built in the late 1800's, but it has been totally modernized. Only the outside has been preserved as it was originally. I was told that about ten or twelve years ago the previous owner turned it into a B&B, expanding bedrooms and adding
en suite
baths in some of the rooms. There's a photo album in the living room showing the before and after photos. The place is called Misty Hollow.”

“Was that the B&B's name?” asked Emma, remembering the greeting of the ghost.

“The B&B was called that too, but Misty Hollow is actually the name of the farm itself,” Gino explained. “Out by the driveway entry there's a plaque bolted to a large rock with the name on it. The current owner closed down the B&B when he bought it and turned it into a vacation rental.” He walked to the right side of the porch where it turned and continued along the other side and pointed at something. “The porch encircles the entire house and there's a small lake behind the house with a private beach and dock.”

Phil and Emma followed him and could easily see a lovely lake beyond a short span of newly mown lawn. The trees on the property were already partially ablaze with their fall finery of red, orange, and gold leaves. They were mixed with evergreens and birch. The view was as pretty and as inviting as any New England postcard.

“The place is usually booked solid through October,” Gino continued. “I was lucky to get it, but I booked early. As you can see, the leaves are already changing. By the time you leave, most of them will be totally done. We're here at the perfect time for checking out fall foliage.” He paused to drink in the scenery. “The owner and his family spend a lot of time over the holidays here, as well as a couple of weeks during the summer. I heard about it through a friend.”

“How long are you here for?” Emma asked, her face still turned to the view as she appreciated the natural beauty.

“Five or six weeks, depending on how much time I feel I need,” Gino answered. “We arrived about ten days ago. We're
their last guests for the year so the owner was flexible with our departure date.” He looked around and took a deep breath of the clean September air, clearly content with his surroundings. “I like it here. I think I'd like to stay the full six weeks through the end of October.” He paused, then added, “I actually wouldn't mind staying here through Thanksgiving. There's such a quiet peace to the place.”

Behind them, Vanessa groaned. When Gino glanced at her, they exchanged dirty looks. “My wife,” Gino said, returning his attention to his guests, “does not share my enthusiasm for rural Massachusetts. Actually, for rural anything. No place to spend money, I guess.”

“When you told Emma you were renting a farmhouse,” Phil said, trying to break the tension, “I expected a real farmhouse.”

“That's what the owner calls it and this was once a farm,” Gino explained, “but over the decades parcels of land have been sold off and new homes built on them. There is another structure on the property even older than this one. The owner told me that it was the original farmhouse until this one was built after the owner began to prosper and his family expanded.”

“We need to speak, Emma,” said the ghost who'd welcomed them. He'd returned to stand next to her during the introductions but had remained quiet until now. Emma shot him a short glance and nod, hoping it conveyed
later
.

Vanessa approached them, “If Gino had his way, we'd be staying in that ramshackle place instead of here, which is primitive enough.”

Even without going inside, Emma could tell that the house and its furnishings were anything but primitive. “I take it you prefer the city,” she said to Vanessa with a forced smile.

“Don't most civilized people?” Vanessa answered, her words spoken through tight lips with an emphasis on each word. “There's absolutely nothing to do here.”

“Phil and I both enjoy the country,” Emma said. “He was raised on and still owns a small ranch in Julian, California, a former gold-rush town in the mountains north of San Diego. I was raised in Pasadena on the edge of Los Angeles, but also own a home in Julian.”

Phil circled Emma's waist with an arm. “Emma and I divide our time between the city and the country. We get the best of both worlds.”

“Tanisha raved about your place in Julian after her visit,” Gino said. “I'm sorry we couldn't take you up on the invitation to come with her.”

“Another time,” Emma said pleasantly, though after meeting Vanessa Costello, she wasn't sure she wanted to extend the invitation again. “Maybe we can get Jeremiah to come down, too.”

“You know Jeremiah Jones?” Vanessa asked in a mix of surprise and distaste.

“Yes,” answered Emma. “Gino was nice enough to put us in touch with him when we needed some help with something.”

“I hear you've all become fast friends,” Gino said, clearly pleased.

“We love Jeremiah,” replied Emma, giving Gino a genuine smile. “In fact, he's agreed to join us in Julian for Thanksgiving.”

Phil looked at Vanessa, then at Gino. “You folks live full-time in Chicago, don't you?”

“Mostly,” answered Gino. “We also have an apartment in Paris, and we travel a great deal. We're practically nomads.” He chuckled. “We spent a couple of weeks in Italy before coming here.”

“Raphael invited us to his villa,” Vanessa said, still looking bored. “That would be Raphael Brindisi.”

Phil and Emma stole a glance at each other, then Phil said, “Yes, the Italian novelist. I'm well acquainted with his work.”

“Phil is a voracious reader,” Emma said proudly. “In fact, Gino, he's a huge fan of your work.”

“More like a squealing fan-boy,” quipped a ghost, but the sassy remark didn't come from the young spirit standing patiently with them. Emma glanced over to see Granny Apples, the ghost of her great-great-great grandmother, standing off to the side. She shot Granny a quick warning to behave.

“What?” the ornery ghost said. “It's not like anyone can hear me but you and Slim here.” She indicated the young ghost who was now staring at Granny with a slack jaw. “Close your mouth, son, before flies get in there,” Granny said to the other spirit. He snapped his mouth shut.