Out of the Shadows (Bellingwood Book 12) (25 page)

"Whoops," Polly said to herself. "I'll learn that lesson for next time." She poured a cup of coffee and went on into the living room. The place was a disaster. Molly had been all over the place and every single toy that resided at this house was scattered on the floor, the sofa, and even in each chair. She put her coffee down on an end table and grabbed a bright green basket. Starting at one end of the room, she picked toys up and dropped them in. When it was full, she collected more toys into a second, yellow basket and by the time Marie came back, the room looked more like a living room and less like a child care center.

"Thanks," Marie said, handing Polly a doll before dropping into her chair. "That little girl had a huge burst of energy this morning. I don't know where it came from, but I'm very glad for her nap time."

"Won't it be worse when she gets rested up?" Polly asked with a laugh.

"Probably, but at least I'll have my second wind by then." Marie started to stand.

"Stay put," Polly said. "What do you need?"

"I was going to get a cup of coffee."

"I'll get it."

"There are cookies in a tub in the fridge. Bring those out, too," Marie said.

When Polly finally settled in on the sofa, Marie smiled at her. "What's on your mind, dear?"

Polly looked down. "You've heard all about this stuff with the Springer House and the ghost and Jim Bridger?"

"I have," Marie said. She reached out and patted Polly's arm. "I wish you didn't have to experience death like that, but I'm glad you handle it so well."

"Some weird things are happening and I don't know who to talk to about this. I should probably go to Aaron, but he's going to kill me when he finds out what I've done."

Marie took a long, slow drink of her coffee and shut her eyes. "Ohhh, that's good." She looked back up at Polly. "Sorry. I needed that. Tell me what awful things you've done."

Polly told her about going into Jim Bridger's house and then about venturing onto the Springer House lot. When she finally told Marie what Rachel had said about Jim Bridger's granddaughter, the woman's brow creased. "I didn't know he had kids. I didn’t know that he was married."

"So nothing about me breaking and entering or trespassing?"

Marie chuckled. "Nope. Whoever screamed and scared you to death at the Springer House did more damage to your heart than any kind of shame."

"It was awful," Polly said. "I don't even believe in ghosts and that was horrifying."

"That's the thing with the supernatural," Marie said. "We say we don't believe in it, but there is a tiny part of us that hopes it might be true. Science will never truly eliminate our search for magic and though we know that everyone dies, we hold out hope that there is something more than nothing at the end of this life."

"I believe in heaven," Polly said. "Just not ghosts."

Marie smiled and took another drink from her coffee cup.

"Do you?"

"Do I what?" Marie asked.

"Believe in ghosts?"

Marie took a breath, shut her eyes again in thought and then opened them and said, "I've learned to never say never. Do I believe that Springer House is haunted?" She shook her head. "No. I've lived in Bellingwood a long time and every once in a while, this story gets stirred up and rumors fly. But the truth is, no one has ever seen a ghost there."

"Rebecca said she did and Jim Bridger insisted that Muriel Springer was still there."

"Jim Bridger had a vested interest in that story," Marie said. "He's been re-telling it throughout his lifetime, exaggerating and enhancing it with every telling."

"What do you mean, vested interest?"

"He started bragging about it last year. Television shows and book authors were finally paying attention to him after all these years. He'd spent a lifetime creating the story and now he was about to sell it."

"I didn't know that," Polly said. "I just thought he was the guardian of the story, not wanting to let Muriel's tale get lost in history."

"No," Marie said. "It's no coincidence that he found someone just before the house went on the market. He was getting desperate. Because once someone bought that property and either renovated the house or tore it down, his opportunity for profit would be gone."

"But why him?" Polly asked. "What made him the curator of Springer House's ghost?"

"I'm sure he knew Muriel when he was young. He's lived in that same house his entire life, so he would have been around when she lived down the street."

"There's so much to unravel here," Polly said.

Marie leaned back. "Once you find all the threads, you will discover that the entire tapestry makes sense. It's as paranormal and spooky as the Haunted House your friends are building at Sycamore House. Once you see it all in the light of hindsight, you'll feel ridiculous for trying to create a story where there is none."

"Henry didn't try to talk me out of this last night."

"Believing in the paranormal?" Marie asked.

"Yeah. He couldn't come up with a good reason why the photograph matched Rebecca's drawing or why I was scared by haunting screams."

"Give it time," Marie said. "It will all come out into the light and be revealed. Trust me."

Polly let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. All she needed was for someone to tell her that she hadn't lost her grip on reality.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Even though she enjoyed the quiet house, by the time Henry got home from work Friday night, Polly was ready to do something. Rebecca and Kayla were spending the night with Jessie and Molly. They had great plans to finish up their costumes for the Masquerade Ball, stay up late watching movies and eat all the junk food they could stomach without getting sick. Beryl had canceled Rebecca's lesson for Saturday morning, saying that she was busy with other things for the holiday.

Hayden arrived about four o'clock, unloaded his things into Heath's room and when his brother got home, they headed out for the evening. There'd been talk of going to the football game, but Polly didn't care what they did, only that they had a good time. Heath couldn't wait to take his brother over to see Grey and the hockey rink, so she thought they might end up there before the evening was out.

She wasn't sure how she'd managed to get so many great men in her life - all with disparate leadership talents. For that matter, she'd also surrounded herself with incredible women, each bringing something different to her life. This was the perfect place to mentor young people. Jessie was finding confidence in herself because of the unwavering love and trust that Marie Sturtz offered the girl and her daughter. Stephanie was growing into a beautiful young woman due to Jeff's care. Sylvie's oldest desperately needed a strong man to guide him because of his own desire to be a protector and Eliseo stepped into that role with ease. Now, here was Grey - opening up new worlds to Heath and to Denis Sutworth. All Polly had to do was stand back after she'd helped people find each other. None of them needed her any longer, other than to be a friend. She could do that.

Henry came out of the shower. "That feels better," he said. "What do you want to do for dinner tonight?"

"I want a burger and fried appetizers and something crazy to drink," Polly replied. "Can we go up to the Alehouse?"

"That sounds great. Do you want to call someone to meet us there?"

She stood up from the sofa and hugged him. "You're good to me. Let's just go by ourselves, though."

"With the kids gone, we could stay here and not eat." He reached down and patted her bottom.

Polly grabbed his hand and spun out of the hug. "You know they'd just walk in on us."

"We should go away for a night. Down to that fancy hotel in Perry. Heath and Rebecca can take care of themselves and the animals."

"You're right," Polly said. She reached up and kissed his cheek. "You find a date and I'll make the reservation."

He stepped back and looked at her. "I am? You will?"

"Sure," she said with a shrug. "One night would be perfect. Maybe even a weekend. Just tell me when."

When they got to the Alehouse, Henry opened the front door for her and they were assaulted with noise. The place was packed. A hostess came up to them and said, "Two?" She picked out two menus from under the counter and waited expectantly.

Polly looked at Henry and he nodded. "Sure," she said. "What's going on here?"

"It's all the crazies from that ghost story," the girl said. "That's all we've heard about this week. They're going over for a viewing or something at nine o'clock. Everyone is sure the ghost will be there."

Henry put his hand on Polly's back as they wove their way through the crowd. "I'll be glad when this week is over."

"Me too," the girl said, putting their menus down on the table. "Can I bring you something to drink?"

"I'll have a Guinness," Henry said and looked at Polly.

She looked back at him in panic.

"Bring a Bloody Mary for Polly and would you have them start an appetizer platter for us?"

The girl smiled. "You're smart. I'll get that in and Angela will be your waitress tonight."

"Are you sure you're okay with the noise here?" Polly asked.

"It's fine. You okay with what I ordered?"

She chuckled. "Maybe I'll get to actually drink it tonight. It looked good the last time we were here. I wish I hadn't needed to send it back."

It had been two months since they'd come across Alistair Greyson drunk in the Alehouse. Polly hadn't heard any more from him about it and hoped that he'd found a good place to deal with whatever he needed to deal with. She needed him.

Another girl came up to the table, gave them a weary smile and put pen to a notepad. "Hi, I'm Angela," she said. "I'll be your server tonight. What can I get for you?"

Polly picked up her menu and looked at it guiltily. "I'm sorry. I haven't even looked yet."

"Your hostess took our drink and appetizer order," Henry said.

Angela glanced back in the direction of the hostess table and her shoulders sagged. "That's great. I'll give you a few more minutes?"

He nodded and she walked away, stopping at tables to pick up empty pitchers and dirty dishes.

"I have no idea what I want," Polly said, flipping through the menu.

"You said a burger." Henry reached over and pointed at the page. "Eat a burger. It does a body good."

"But there are other things on here like tenderloins and pasta. The Iowa pork chop looks good too." She grinned at him. "They have walleye." Henry wasn't terribly fond of fresh fish.

"Yes they do," he said patiently. "Is that what you want?"

"Nah. I want a burger. A whiskey burger. I can't drink the stuff, but I like how it tastes in a burger."

Henry sat back. "When have you tried whiskey?"

"Oh. Uh." Polly stammered and then bit her lip. "Never. Nope. Not ever."

"Is there a story here?" he asked.

"Nope."

"Polly," he said quietly.

She was saved from having to respond by Angela returning with their drinks. "The appetizers are about up. Do you want to order now and or when I bring them?"

"I'll have the whiskey burger with a salad," Polly said. She grinned at her husband.

"Black and bleu burger with cottage cheese." Henry handed Angela their menus and pushed Polly's drink closer to her. "Taste it and tell me what you think."

She picked up the glass, put it to her lips and then put it back down on the table. "Look over there," she said quietly.

"No," he moaned. "Not tonight. Who am I looking at?"

"In the corner by the bar. That blonde girl."

Henry started to turn and Polly stopped him. "No. Not so fast. I don't want her to think we're staring at her. Be casual."

He scowled at her. "Seriously? Either I'm looking or I'm not. Why am I looking at the blonde girl in the corner by the bar?"

"She's not a ghost."

"Yeah. They don't usually come into bars to eat and drink." He took a drink of his beer and put it back down on the table. "Okay. I give up. Who's not a ghost?"

"Muriel Springer."

Henry raised his eyebrows. "We all know she's dead, Polly. What are you talking about?" He started to turn again and Polly grabbed his hands.

"No, don't," she said. "She's looking over here. Just act casual." Polly picked up her Bloody Mary and took a drink. "Wow. That's good."

"I thought you'd like it."

Angela stepped in with the appetizer platter and put it between them. "How's the drink?" she asked Polly.

"I like it," Polly said with a smile. "If I finish this one, can I have another?"

Angela giggled. "I suppose so. Just let me know. I'll bring your sandwiches when they're up." She walked away, laughing and shaking her head.

"You're messing with me," Henry said. "So far tonight, I know that Muriel Springer has come back from the dead and you have a whiskey story you haven't yet told me. Neither of those pieces of information is satisfying. Now which are you going to expand on so that I don't fall apart on you?"

Polly pursed her lips. "That girl looks exactly like the picture of Muriel Springer I took from Jim Bridger's house and like the drawing that Rebecca did of the ghost at Springer House." She dipped an onion ring in ranch dressing. "Your mom told me that it would make sense - that more than likely there wasn't a ghost. But who is she and why is she here?"

"So there'd be more mysteries for you to have to solve?" Henry smiled. "It's good for our marriage to have mysteries happening around us. We're interesting without having to be weird."

She chucked and snorted at him. "You are weird."

"Do you think she's the ghost?" Henry asked. "Because if that's true, then she's ..." he grinned across the table. "Got some 'splainin' to do."

Polly glanced at the girl again. "I don't know. I wish I had the whole story."

Angela brought their sandwiches to the table and as she walked away, Henry brushed his napkin to the floor. He bent over, picked it up and tried to look casually around the room.

The girl caught his glance and in a flash, threw money on the table and stood up.

"She made us," Polly said. "And now she's leaving."

Polly put her napkin beside her plate and stood up.

Henry was in shock. "What are you doing? You aren't planning to follow her. Our food just got here."

"I can't let her get out of here without knowing where she's going," Polly said. "I just found her. Come on."

"But ..." he looked down at his plate, took a deep breath, and drew out his wallet. "You owe me dinner, woman." He tucked several twenty dollar bills under his plate and stood. "It's never boring with you, is it?"

"Hurry. She's probably gone by now." Polly took his hand and pulled him through the crowd. She'd lost sight of the girl and pushed the front door open, checking out the sidewalk on either side of the Alehouse.

Henry walked to one end of the block and looked up and down the street while Polly went to the other.

"Henry," she whispered, stepping back from the corner. "This way. Come on!"

Polly was in the truck before he was and he ran to catch up. By the time he'd started the truck, she was tapping her foot on the floorboard. "Hurry, hurry, hurry."

"I feel like I'm a sixteen year old with you sometimes," he said, backing out of the space and driving around the corner. They caught sight of someone running down the street and turning a corner heading east.

"Now, don't go too fast," Polly warned. "We don't want to spook her."

Henry laughed out loud. "Hurry, hurry. Slow down. Don't spook her. You're not helpful."

"Just be casual," she said. "I want to see where she's going."

"Tell me you already have an idea," Henry replied. "Surely we're going to the Springer House."

Polly shook her head. "I don't think so. You're close, but not there yet."

He turned the corner and they saw the figure dart through a yard.

"Stay back a ways," Polly said. "It's a good thing Bellingwood isn't very big. At least she doesn't have far to run."

Henry slowed down and then Polly pointed. "There. See her? She's still going."

"Just tell me where we're going to end up," Henry commented. "She's headed for Springer House."

"No, she's headed for Jim Bridger's house. I think she's staying there."

He turned to look at her, stopping at a stop sign. "Jim Bridger's house? Why?"

"Because he's dead, you nut."

They waited for a car to cross in front of them and Henry drove forward again. "I know he's dead. Why is she at his house?"

"I don't have all the answers," Polly said. "Just trust me."

"Trusting you made me miss dinner tonight. My stomach is mad at you."

Polly leaned forward in her excitement, but took a second to swat his arm. "You'll live. I promise. Isn't this exciting?"

"Not if we end up like Jeremy Booten and Jim Bridger." Henry stopped at another stop sign. "This is why I don't like driving back here. Why did the city think we need all of these stop signs? It's not like we have a ton of traffic in the back streets of Bellingwood, Iowa."

"There," Polly said, pointing. She was nearly breathless in anticipation. "Did you see that?"

Henry looked back and forth. "See what?"

"She ducked into Jim Bridger's back yard. Go ahead, pull in."