What a Ghoul Wants (22 page)

“You’re. . . alive,” I managed.

His brow furrowed. “And you had expected otherwise?”

I shook my head, as much to clear it as to answer his question. “I saw the ghost of
a person out on the drawbridge about ten minutes ago who could have been your twin.
I was sure it was you and that the Widow had claimed another victim, but now that
I see you, I know I must’ve been wrong.”

As I spoke, it was the inspector’s face that drained of color, and it was as if I’d
just said something most upsetting. In fact, behind me, Mr. Crunn actually gasped.

“What’d I say?” I asked, looking from one to the other, more confused than ever.

Neither man seemed able to answer me. At last the inspector came forward, and when
he stood in front of me, he said, “You say you saw my twin out on the drawbridge.
Did he. . . did he speak to you?”

That question wasn’t at all what I was expecting. “No,” I said after a moment. “He
just stood there, soaking wet with his arms outstretched, before the chain attached
to the collar around his neck was yanked hard and he went into the moat.”

Lumley cringed and then he and Crunn exchanged looks. It was the castle manager who
was the first to turn away in what appeared to be shame.

Heath must have been as frustrated with their lack of information as I was, because
he said, “Will either of you please tell us what’s going on?”

The inspector pulled a silver lighter from his pocket and rubbed his thumb against
it as if for some comfort. “I believe you saw my brother, Miss Holliday. Oliver. He
was indeed my twin, and he drowned in Kidwellah’s moat some three years past.”

My jaw fell open. I reached out and touched the inspector’s arm. “Oh, sir, I’m so
sorry. I didn’t know.”

A forced smile appeared on Lumley’s face. “Of course you didn’t,” he said. “How could
you? You’ve only come here recently.”

A million questions entered my mind, but at that moment a terrible scream echoed through
the corridors and we all turned in alarm as Mrs. Lefebvre came running out from the
hall leading to the dining room. “She’s dead!” she cried.
“She’s dead!”

The inspector flew to her side and took her by the arms. “Who, ma’am? Who?”

But Mrs. Lefebvre was inconsolable. “It’s horrible! Horrible!” she cried, pointing
toward the dinning hall. Heath and I took off ahead of the inspector, which probably
wasn’t the smart thing to do, but we were acting on instinct. Heath reached the big
room ahead of me, and came to an abrupt halt about a third of the way into the room,
looking around frantically, searching for the injured party. The inspector pushed
past me as I entered, and moved up next to Heath. “Where?” he asked.

But there didn’t appear to be anyone in the room. It was still and quiet and quite
normal looking. I moved to the far end, looking under tables, and both the inspector
and Heath followed suit, but search as we might, no one could find anything amiss.

“There’s no one here,” the inspector said at last. “The bloody woman’s having a hallucination.”

“She did just lose her husband,” I said tersely.

The inspector inhaled deeply and rubbed his face. “Yes. Of course. You’re quite right.
Forgive me.”

“Inspector?” Heath said.

I turned to see him over by the window, looking out at the water of the lake.

“Yes?”

“I found your dead body.”

The inspector dashed over to Heath and it took me only a moment longer to reach his
side as well. And then I followed Heath’s finger as he pointed to the figure of Mrs.
Hollingsworth, her body only partially submerged just beyond the window.

Chapter 9

I turned away from the sight the moment my brain registered who it was, and locked
eyes with Mr. Crunn, who came into the room along with Mr. Hollingsworth. “What’s
happened?” Hollingsworth demanded. “Mrs. Lefebvre is in quite a state!”

I went immediately to him. “Sir, perhaps we should leave the scene to the inspector.”
I then looked meaningfully at Mr. Crunn.

He seemed to understand and said in a shaky voice, “Yes, Mr. Hollingsworth, I believe
we should allow the inspector to handle this.”

Behind me I heard Lumley talking loudly on his cell phone, calling for the constable
and the coroner to come back to Kidwellah immediately. “There’s been another death,
Niles,” he said. “Call Dr. Engels straightaway and bring the crime tech lads with
you.”

“Who is it?” Mr. Hollingsworth asked, and for the first time I saw a crack in that
bombastic demeanor. It was as if he knew that the victim was someone close to him.
“I say, Inspector, who is it?”

Lumley turned to Heath and asked him to go wait for the constable at the front door,
while he went out the side door to inspect the scene. He then focused his attention
on Mr. Hollingsworth. “Please go to your room, Mr. Hollingsworth. I’ll be along to
speak with you shortly.”

Hollingsworth simply stared at the inspector, his eyes wide and beginning to glisten
with tears. “Not Fiona,” he said feebly. “It’s not Fiona, is it?”

The inspector didn’t answer him; he simply turned away and headed for the side door.

“Fiona!” Hollingsworth shouted, and made to run after the inspector, but Heath stepped
in front of him and physically restrained the man.

“Come with us,” he said, holding firmly to Hollingsworth’s shoulders. The older man
was in such a state, however, that he seemed to have difficulty understanding Heath.

“It’s all right, Mr. Hollingsworth,” I said gently, trying to move his attention away
from the open door where the inspector had gone outside. “Come with us and we’ll wait
for the inspector together, all right?”

“Fiona!” Hollingsworth cried weakly, his voice cracking with emotion.

At last he allowed us to lead him out of the dining hall, but he steadfastly refused
to go to his room. Instead he insisted on waiting on the first floor for the inspector,
so we set him up in the parlor, where we could keep an eye on him.

He did little more than sit in a chair and whimper, and when Meg and Kim came into
the room to find me and see what I knew, I pulled them aside and asked them to stay
with Hollingsworth. “I think the inspector will be in soon to talk to him,” I said.
“In the meantime, I’m going to try and find out what happened.”

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 question.
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?”