A Ghost to Die For (12 page)

“Why would he need bother with me? Shannon, I helped Alex train him, for all that he cares, I’m a twin master to him.” Eric pulled out the other chair and gestured for me to sit down next to him.

“You’re a ghost, aren’t dogs alarmed by paranormal beings?”

“Technically, and perhaps, even biblically, one would classify me as a supernatural being. I am not a paranormal entity. It is my experience that ghosts are not frightful to creatures, such as dogs, if the ghosts are loved ones. Are you alarmed by me?” Eric asked matter-of-factly.

“Hmm, good point. So far, the only ghosts that have scared me were the ones I would have not like as living persons.”

Eric smiled and once again, the uncanny identical looks to Alex reminded me of the handsome good looks of Blackthorne men, past and present.

“Eric, I heard voices, whisperings. Is, uh, is there another supernatural being here?” I was now sitting right next to him, same closeness of personal space I had shared with Alex earlier in the evening. Eric, like Alex, could not bluff me when I was this close to him and studying his face.

“Yes. Or rather, there was, until you flipped on the lights.”

“And that person would be?”

“Audrey Sinclair.”

My heart pounded, again, could this be for real? “No way, Eric, she is alive, I saw her very recently.”

“She passed. You have yet to receive the news. And I regret to be the bearer of the news.” Eric turned to face me and gently took my hands in his, “The day you saw Audrey she took a party bus to an Indian bingo casino. She had a rollicking good time. On the way home the bus swerved to avoid hitting a deer and ran off the road into a ditch. Audrey and seven other souls passed. I understand she passed quickly. And she was here tonight, not making much sense, albeit, understandable in her condition.”

“That’s horrible!” I slipped my hands out of his grasp and wrapped my arms around myself, a hugging gesture of comfort, leftover from my childhood days.

“Truly, I am sorry,” Eric said. I sat there numbed by the bad news and watched Eric log onto his e-mail account. He opened up knock-knock jokes sent to him by an Internet friend. No doubt this friend had no idea of Eric’s supernatural existence. He read the jokes in silence and chuckled now and again. After he read all the jokes, he closed his e-mail account and turned to me to ask, “Shall I shut down the computer?”

“Yes, but don’t leave, please, not yet.”

“Of course, as you wish.”

With the computer off, the room was perfectly quiet. “Eric, what did Audrey want? What did she say?”

He sighed and then said in a quiet voice, “She was confused and quite naturally feeling out of sorts. However, she was adamant about a singular train of thought and that is why she contacted me. On Audrey’s ride home from the casino she had second thoughts about how she had responded to your visit. She wants you to have that painting. A few moments before the crash, she had called her attorney’s message machine and then her sister and told them that in the circumstances of her death that the painting was to go to Shannon Delaney, residing at Blackthorne House in San Diego. She said she told them that Alex Blackthorne would know how to contact you. Then, instantaneously, the crash happened. Audrey came here tonight to wake you. I would not allow it, so she communicated with me. She is desperate to be assured that you receive the painting. I promised her the painting would be yours.”

“But, I would have, um, received her, so to speak.”

Eric shook his head is disagreement. “No, I will not allow that to happen. My dear Shannon, try to understand that Audrey was not in the proper transition to call on the living. Audrey has not transformed, yet. She has not received her grace, yet. The very sight of her, in her mangled physical state rendered from the crash would have terrified you. It was too soon.”

“Oh. I had no idea.” Looking down I shielded my eyes from Eric. I knew he was thoughtfully waiting for me to say more, to ask questions I was desperate to have answers to. I looked up. “How long does it take for a person who recently passed to receive their grace?”

Eric cupped his hands on my shoulders. “There is not a person, creature, demon or angel who can answer your question.”

“Who can?” I searched his face for the answer.

“Only God knows.”

“Does this kind of thing, like what happened with Audrey, happen very often?”

“In my experience of over a century in your time, the desperation of a passed person attempting to contact the living before grace has transpired, happens only in a situation of a violently abrupt death. A death that has happened in a crash, war battle, disaster, in other words, a situation of split-second action that is the cause of death. I believe it is because the person had no idea that their death was imminent. They did not have time or a way to have prepared for it. I, personally have intervened on behalf of the living in three situations, of which tonight is the third.”

I wanted to ask Eric about the prior two situations involving his intervention. But Eric’s ever-cautious manner of dealing with the topic prohibited me from prying. “Thank you, for being here, for caring about me.”

“And caring for you. On that topic, you look weary, Shannon, please go back to sleep.”

“I will.” And I did.

Chapter 22

Sunday morning and the house was quiet. I woke at seven to find Atlas sitting on the rug beside my bed, looking across at me in silence and adoration. “What a sweetheart you are to allow me to sleep. C’mon big guy, let’s get you outside and I’ll have my first cup of coffee while I prepare our breakfast.”

We padded down the stairs and into the kitchen. I let Atlas out into the backyard and poured coffee for me, and kibble for him. Watching him from the kitchen window I glanced to the sky and was surprised to see that it looked like a storm was coming in. Thick gray clouds shut out the sun, a cold mist rode in on the back of an onshore breeze. The outdoor thermometer that Rosario attached to the windowsill read 54 degrees. Brrr, for San Diego that was pretty much the norm in stormy weather in early November. I smiled at this realization, thinking back to my life in Chicago, where in a November storm a thermometer could read below freezing, especially when a storm was coming in from the Great Lakes. Atlas came to the door, he saw me watching him, so he didn’t bother to knock.

I grabbed an old bath towel that Alex had left to dry off Atlas. I gave him a good patting and an extra rub behind his ears. “Okay, time for your breakfast while I put mine in the microwave.” Atlas moseyed over to eat, taking his time. I put a croissant and egg sandwich in the microwave and zapped it for twenty seconds. Bingo, it was ready. By the time I sat down to munch my sandwich, Atlas was halfway thorough his kibble. Once he finished, he settled in near my feet. I sat to look out the window, content to be cozy in this wonderful old-fashioned kitchen with a hound at my feet. The sky darkened and the wind was blustery. I wondered how I could have missed a weather report about a storm, I guess I’ve just been too busy to notice. “What shall we do today?” I said out loud, as much to myself as to Atlas. And that action, of talking out loud to a dog reminded of my widower grandfather.

When I was very young, I would often stay with him and his old coonhound, Baxter. My grandfather always said that one of the very best things about having a dog is that you can talk to them, out loud, just like a person. And if folks overhear you talking, they wouldn’t pay no mind and they wouldn’t think you are talking to yourself. Having canine company not only keeps you from going crazy in your old age, but it keeps nosy people from thinking you are crazy, because you aren’t talking to yourself, no way, you’re talking to your dog.

I looked at Atlas and told him, “My grandfather was right, except that a person need not be elderly to talk to their dog.” Atlas thumped his tail twice in agreement. The oncoming storm had pretty much convinced me to stay in for the day and then, as if I was told to, I looked at the refrigerator door, and there was a note in an envelope, from Rosario. I got up to read it. “Good grief, how could I forget this?” I turned to Atlas, “Storm or not, we’ve got a errand to run and we need to do it right away. Rosario left us in charge of delivering this check of fund-raising proceeds to St. Clare’s Parish Church. And we need to get it there before the ten o’clock service, today.”

I rushed up to my room to change and then called the rectory’s number. The parish secretary answered and she said it would be fine if I delivered the check within the hour. She gave me directions. St. Clare’s was only fifteen minutes away. It took me five minutes to lock up and get Atlas in my car. As I exited the driveway of Blackthorne House, I glanced in my rearview mirror and chuckled at the sight of a huge Irish Wolfhound in the back seat of my compact Prius sedan.

I parked out front of the church and left Atlas in the car with windows rolled down enough for him to sniff the moist air. “I’ll be right back, the office is right there.” Walking up to the parish office I turned to see Atlas, he was keeping watch on me.

The secretary greeted me and was very happy to receive the check. “Rosario and her staff worked diligently on raising these funds. Father Perry wants to announce the sum total at the service today. Do you mind waiting one moment, he wanted to thank you in person?”

“Yes, I can wait.” There was a reception chair near the window, I sat in it and looked out at Atlas.

Father Perry came in. I stood up to greet him. “Shannon Delaney, I am very pleased to finally meet you. Rosario said you would deliver this check. Thank you.”

Father Perry was not at all what I had expected. He was short, about my height, balding and portly. To myself I thought, give the man a wig, a beard and a red suit, and he could double for Santa Clause, or more appropriately, Saint Nicholas.

“Father Perry, I’m delighted to deliver this, really I am. I wish Rosario could be here in person to do it. But I think you will agree she has more than earned a vacation.”

“Certainly she is deserving of a break. And best of all, it was a gift to her. Have you heard from her?”

“No, but this is only her third day gone. Alex Blackthorne has talked to her. He says she is having a grand time. That’s good enough for me. I hope she is having such a wonderful time that she doesn’t think about calling, that she doesn’t have time to.”

“Yes, I hope that is the case.”

The way he said that made me wonder about him, is he sincere? “I understand you will announce the success of the fund-raiser, this morning?”

“Ah, yes. Better now than later. Unfortunately, we have to prepare for a funeral service tomorrow. One of our older parish members has passed over. Her family has historic ties to this church and her family surname, as well.”

“Saint Clare?” I asked.

“Well, the English version of the name is Sinclair.”

“Really? By any chance is this for Audrey Sinclair?” I asked.

The portly priest looked alarmed, taken back, as if I had just guessed the correct answer to a yet-to-be asked question. “Well, as a matter of fact, you are correct. How do you know the Sinclair family?”

“I met Audrey only once, a few days ago. She assisted me with a research project. That was my only meeting with her. I just happen to hear about her untimely death.” That said, I said a prayer that the good priest would not ask me where I heard of Audrey’s death. “Though I have yet to be informed about her funeral service.” I hoped he would take the hint.

“Oh, funeral services here at St. Clare’s are open to the public, unless the family requests otherwise. But that is not the situation at hand. Audrey’s service is scheduled for tomorrow at ten in the morning.” He glanced at the growing storm outside the window, “Rain or shine,” he added.

“I hope to be here tomorrow. I really must go now.” I pointed to my car. “That’s my car there, and as you can see, I have a large passenger patiently waiting for me.”

“Yes, I see.” Father Perry grinned ear to ear and then said, “I’m a dog lover too. It was a pleasure meeting you.”

He saw me to the door and I made a dash for my car. As I drove away, the sky darkened again, and raindrops splattered the windshield. We got home and inside just as the lightening and thunder struck.

Chapter 23

“Ooh-wee! It’s raining cats and dogs.” Atlas looked at me in disbelief. “Well, an exaggeration, but it’s certainly raining too hard for us to go anywhere.” Atlas turned from the foyer and padded down the hall to the back parlor, where he made himself comfortable on the sofa. I mused at why he chose the back parlor, and then realized that at the back of the house it was quieter and this was, generally speaking, a private area that was not designated as a no-dog zone.

“Good choice, Atlas. And you know, I can just as easily bring down my files and my notebook computer and work at the desk by the window. Just for you, I’ll turn on the TV.” I switched on the TV and found the Discovery Channel. The show that was about to start, after a few words from the sponsors, was a program about a wild animal preserve in Africa. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

I returned in five minutes. Just as I sat down at the desk and had opened up my notebook computer and got the Internet up, the phone on the desk rang.

“Hello.”