What a Ghoul Wants (21 page)

Heath chucked me playfully under the chin. “You’re a good person, Holliday.”

“Thanks, Whitefeather.”

Heath chuckled again, but then he sobered and leaned forward to cup my face and stare
hard at me. “Are you sure about this?”

“Nope.”

His eyes softened. “As long as you’re confident.”

I grabbed his wrists. I was so tired of worrying, and thought we both needed a distraction.
“I have an idea.”

“I’m all ears.”

“How about we blow this Popsicle stand and go out on a date?”

His brow rose. “You mean a date-date? As in, just you and me, some food, some wine,
a little nooky under the table?”

I grinned. “Something like that.”

Heath didn’t even reply—he just stood and pulled me up with him. I laughed until I
realized I really had to use the restroom. Promising to meet him out in the courtyard,
I was dashing up the stairs heading for my room when I happened to spot Mrs. Hollingsworth
and Mrs. Lefebvre in the hallway. The two were quite close to each other, and what
was odd was that Mrs. Lefebvre didn’t look happy, and I don’t mean she didn’t look
happy in that my-husband-just-died kind of way; she looked seriously pissed off.

I couldn’t see Mrs. Hollingsworth’s face, but I did see her reach out to the other
woman, only to have her hand slapped away. “Don’t you dare!” Lefebvre spat before
she pushed the other woman rudely aside with her shoulder and marched down the hall
toward me.

Seeing me, she paused, but then she squared her shoulders, averted her gaze and passed
by me as if she hadn’t noticed my existence.

My eyes returned to Mrs. Hollingsworth, who was still turned away from me, and apparently
on her cell phone. “You lied to me!” she said, but not very loudly, and truth be told,
I wasn’t really sure that’s what she said. “I tell you, the situation is most desperate!
I implore you to keep your word!”

I stopped walking toward my room, uncomfortable with what I’d seen and was now overhearing.
I wondered if maybe I should skip the bathroom break and move off without alerting
Mrs. Hollingsworth that I was there. I still had a little bit of a soft spot for the
poor battered woman, and even hearing her on the phone, I could tell that she was
crying.

I’m ashamed to say that I didn’t move off. I stood there listening, and hoping that
if she turned around, I could fake the fact that I was eavesdropping.

“
How
long?” she asked, her shoulders hunched and her weeping intensifying. “No, no! That
simply won’t do!”

I bit my lip, still undecided about making my presence known, and a second later it
no longer mattered because Mrs. Hollingsworth hung up abruptly and moved quickly to
her room without a backward glance.

I stood there for another second or two, and then I made a decision. I moved to her
door and pressed my ear against it. Faintly I could still hear the poor woman crying,
but whether she was on the phone again I had no idea.

I raised my fist and knocked gently and the sobs from inside the door abruptly stopped.
I waited, but she didn’t come to the door or answer my knock. “Ma’am?” I called softly.
“Are you all right?”

Mrs. Hollingsworth didn’t reply and my chest felt tight for the poor woman. I imagined
her stifling her tears while she waited for me to leave. Not wanting to cause her
another moment of distress, I simply said, “I’m leaving now. I hope you’re all right.”
I then went to my room, took care of my personal business in the bathroom, and called
down to the front desk. Mr. Crunn answered the call and I asked if I could possibly
order up some tea for Mrs. Hollingsworth. “Please put it on my tab, Mr. Crunn. And
if you have any of those delicious scones still on hand to add to the order, would
you do that for me?”

“Of course, Miss Holliday,” he said. I could tell he thought the request to order
some tea and scones for my neighbor a bit odd, but he was too polite to ask about
it.

I then left my room, determined to find Mrs. Hollingsworth in the morning and give
her a reading whether she wanted one or not. Maybe there’d be someone on the other
side who would have some advice for her that she’d actually listen to. Maybe a deceased
loved one could help see a clear path for her to get away from that awful man she
was married to. One way or another I vowed to help her.

Having made that decision, I went off to meet my date.

* * *

Heath and I got back to the castle fairly early for a date out with each other. This
had less to do with hormones and more to do with the fact that the Welsh are a rather
proper lot, with a relatively low tolerance for those foreigners playing a little
nooky under the table.

After being kicked out of not one but two restaurants, we decided to bring the nooky
out from under the table and move it to the bedroom.

It was quite dark as the taxi pulled to a stop and let us out at the drawbridge, and
it could have been my imagination, but I had the feeling the cabbie didn’t exactly
like being asked to drive out to Kidwellah. Maybe he’d heard the rumors or maybe he
was just familiar with the local ghost stories, but the minute Heath paid him, he
sped off with a squeal of the tires and nary a backward glance.

Still, it wasn’t enough to dampen our mood. In spite of the embarrassment of being
asked to leave, Heath and I had enjoyed ourselves (and not entirely in the way you’re
thinking. . .) and we were giggly and flirtatious with each other for a change.

It had been ages and ages since we’d had a chance to go out as a couple, and I’d really
missed my sweetheart’s playful side.

We held hands as we made our way onto the drawbridge, and I noticed that Heath subconsciously
stuck close to the middle. We’d gone only a few steps onto the planks when we heard
it. A sound that was so odd and out of the ordinary that it stopped both of us in
our tracks.

“
What
was that?” I whispered.

“It sounded like something pounded on the underside of the drawbridge,” Heath replied.

“I think we need to get across,” I said, hurrying forward again.

Heath came right with me, but the moment we were in motion, the pounding on the underside
of the bridge picked up; only this time it felt like it was right underneath my feet.
I could even feel the vibrations of the blows as I trotted forward, and after the
shock to my shins from the night before, these bursts of pressure to the planks under
my feet did not feel good.

Abruptly, I stopped and held Heath back too while I hoped the pounding would carry
on away from me down the planks. Instead, the moment I came to a stop—so did the pounding.
“It’s
right
underneath my feet!” I whispered to Heath.

He looked about nervously. The drawbridge was well lit, which should have bolstered
our courage, but I will be honest here—the pounding, which was thump for thump in
step with my footfalls, was incredibly unnerving.

“Come on,” Heath mouthed, lifting his feet slowly and carefully so as not to make
any noise on the planks.

He took two steps away from me, and there was no sound from below. Encouraged, I took
a step on tiptoe, but the moment the pad of my foot landed, there was a thump so hard
and so loud that I felt the vibration up through my knee.

I gave a loud shriek and bolted. I ran as fast as I could, but with each step a loud
whack bumped the planks from the underside of the drawbridge. Even when I tried darting
to the side, the corresponding pounding found the underside of my footfall every time.
Soon it felt like the whole bridge was vibrating and I couldn’t move fast enough to
get across and away from the sensation. Heath was right next to me, and he even reached
out, grabbed my arm, and pulled me with him. Stride for stride we tore down the drawbridge
before we both leaped the last few feet toward the stone of the courtyard.

With Heath’s grip on my arm, I was pulled a little too far to the right and I landed
oddly and tripped, stumbled, then fell to the ground, tearing my jeans and skinning
both my knees, but I didn’t even pause to consider the pain. Instead I jumped to my
feet and whirled around to face the bridge. . . but the pounding had ceased the moment
we’d leaped to safety.

Heath moved to my side and placed a hand on my leg. “Damn, Em! Your knees! Are you
okay?”

My chest was heaving with fear and exertion. “I’m fine,” I said before pointing at
the bridge. “What the
hell
, Heath?”

“I don’t know,” he replied. “And I don’t know that I want to find out. Come on. Let’s
get inside and get you cleaned up.”

Heath turned away first, but my eyes lingered on the bridge. And that’s when I saw
him—Inspector Lumley, soaking wet and standing on the drawbridge with his arms stretched
out to me pleadingly. At first I was too stunned by his sudden appearance to move.
Where had he come from? But then I realized that he was also wearing a metal collar
with a long chain extending from a ring at the side all the way down to the ground
and over the edge of the drawbridge.

My eyes darted from Lumley’s pleading face to the chain and back again until a grim
understanding took hold. “Inspector!” I cried in the same moment that the loose chain
was pulled violently and Lumley was cruelly jerked to the side. He staggered, attempted
to straighten up and fight against the chain, but he lost the battle and went into
the water with a loud splash.

I stood frozen in shock for several seconds until I heard Heath call my name. “Em?”
When I didn’t answer, Heath hurried back to my side. “Hey, babe, what is it?”

I opened my mouth to try to explain it to him, but it was as if my vocal cords wouldn’t
cooperate. No sound came out and all I could do was raise my hand and point at the
spot where the inspector had just been standing.

Heath looked from me to the side of the drawbridge and said, “You saw something?”

I nodded.

“Okay,” he said, beginning to take a wary step in that direction. I realized he was
going back out onto the bridge to take a look and I latched hard on to his arm, finally
finding my voice. “Don’t!”

Heath turned back to me and placed his hand over mine. “What did you see?”

“The. . . the. . . inspector. He. . . he. . . he. . .”

“He what, babe?”

“He was dead. The Widow got him.”

Heath rocked back on his heels, his eyes wide. “You’re sure?”

“Yes,” I whispered, stunned, frightened, and surprisingly affected by the realization
that the inspector had perished. “He was wet and. . . and. . . he was wearing a chain
around his neck! Just like Merrick and Lefebvre!”

Heath’s lips compressed and it was as if we both had the same thought at once. We’d
seen no sign of police or ambulance, and as we’d only been away from the castle for
a couple of hours, we knew the poor inspector hadn’t been reported missing or discovered
drowned at the castle. . . which could only mean that he’d somehow fallen victim to
the Widow and his body was likely floating in moat as yet unnoticed.

Heath took my hand and steered me around to face the castle. “Come on,” he said. “If
there’s another body floating in that moat, I don’t think we want to be the ones to
find it.”

We ran to the door of the castle and pushed it open, finding a very weary-looking
Mr. Crunn behind the desk, just putting away his registration book. “Mr. Crunn!” I
yelled from the doorway. “Please call the police immediately!”

The poor gentleman flinched at both my raised voice and likely my request. “Oh, no,”
he said. “Please. . . don’t tell me. . .”

I hurried over to him. “It’s the inspector. I believe he’s fallen victim now too.”

Crunn’s face turned so pale it became ashen. “Not Jasper!”

I nodded grimly. “I’m afraid so.”

Arthur’s hand shook as he took up the telephone and dialed. After requesting the police
and an ambulance, he set the phone aside, moved over to a nearby chair, and sat down
heavily.

Heath and I exchanged a look and went over to comfort him. “Did you see it happen?”
he asked us.

“No,” I told him.

“But you discovered his body?” he asked weakly.

“Not exactly,” I admitted. “I saw his ghost on the side of the drawbridge. The Widow
got him.”

Crunn put a hand to his mouth and stared at the floor. He seemed quite distraught
and I wondered if he and the inspector were more than just acquaintances. Perhaps
they’d been friends?

We waited with the elderly gentleman for about ten minutes until we heard the sirens.
I worried that by calling the police we might be putting one of them in danger, but
there was nothing for it—a man had died and the matter needed to be dealt with. I
just hoped they brought enough people so that the Widow wouldn’t try anything wicked.

While we waited, Mr. Hollingsworth came into the hall from the parlor and inquired
about the whereabouts of his wife. He seemed completely oblivious to the fact that
poor Mr. Crunn was pale and shaking—obviously distraught—and after receiving the answer
that the castle manager did not know where Mrs. Hollingsworth was, he set off in an
irritated huff.

Once the overbearing man had left, I took Crunn’s hand and studied his face, which
continued to show signs of great distress. “Can I get you anything, Mr. Crunn?” I
asked.

He lifted his sad eyes to mine. “No. Thank you. It’s just a shock, you know. I keep
thinking of the poor man’s mother. She’s not a well woman and it was only a few years
ago that she—”

Arthur was cut off by the abrupt entrance of a ghost. Or I thought it was a ghost.
At least at first.

“I say, Crunn, if these reports of drownings continue, I will well insist Kidwellah
close its doors!”

We all stood up and stared with wide eyes at Inspector Lumley, who appeared very much
alive. In fact, at that moment, he looked quite robust and healthy. Not at all like
the pale-faced spirit I’d seen out on the drawbridge.

“What the devil are you staring at?” he asked us when we continued to ogle him, dumbfounded.