The House on Serpent Lake (Ghost, Romance, Fantasy) (11 page)

It was all starting to make sense.

Was it possible? Was their house haunted? If it were true, then her theory about a brain tumor was probably false, so she could be relieved about that. But still.
Haunted.
How could that be possible? And why wasn’t there any mention of it in the back newspaper issues?

Her breathing settling down, she picked up one book and thumbed through, pausing on pages with photographs of cemeteries with small round spots floating in the air. Orbs, they explained, balls of light believed to be spirits of the deceased.

She hadn’t seen any balls of light in her house, but she had certainly felt the shifting of air. And of course there was the spicy scent. Now that she thought of it, it reminded her of an old-time shaving lotion she’d smelled at an antique store years ago.

Antique store! Crosby was full of them. She wondered if any of them would know of the scent.

She thought of Mathews. Why hadn’t he mentioned it? Even if he didn’t believe it, he should have told them. How could he expect Eric to make an important decision about ownership if he didn’t know all the facts? And while rumors of a haunting may not be factual, it would still be something an heir should know.

She hoped the old woman would be in Shirley’s diner today. If not, Lindsay had a feeling the waitress knew the old woman and could help Lindsay get in touch with her.

Just please be working today. Lindsay didn’t think she could stand waiting another day.

She stood, and when she felt more steady, she headed for downtown.

She was going to find someone to talk to her and give her some answers.

Chapter Sixteen

She passed Bertha’s first, and decided something hot and nourishing would give her some strength before facing Shirley. From the way the waitress had clammed up the first night, Lindsay had a feeling it would be a battle of wills to get her to talk.

She hoped she could handle it.

When she opened the door to Bertha’s, she was pleasantly surprised to see the owner, but the woman immediately ducked into the kitchen. Strange, Lindsay thought, and it only got more strange.

Lindsay told the cashier, “When Bertha has a moment, I need to speak with her.”

“I’m sorry, she’s out for the day and can’t be reached.”

“But I just saw her.”

The cashier, a young woman in her late teens, early twenties, shrugged. Her cheeks reddened, and she looked as if she wanted to run too, but she said nothing more.

In the silence, customers at the counter turned and gazed at Lindsay. She couldn’t get out of there quick enough.

Why did everyone in town act so strangely? Eric might have inherited a house that was supposedly haunted, but she still wasn’t sure. She needed answers, not the silent treatment from everyone she met.

Wasn’t there anyone who could, would, help her?

The diner where Shirley worked was doing a brisk business. The noisy buzz of conversation almost drowned out the country music twanging on the radio. Silverware clanked, and the sound of cups scraping saucers could be heard in the lull between the high-pitched squeals of children and the music.

All the booths and tables were full, so Lindsay stood in the doorway. As usual, heads turned to look at her, then everyone quickly lost interest.

Lindsay didn’t mind waiting; it gave her a chance to look for the white-haired woman without being too obvious, but to her disappointment, she wasn't there.

With a sinking heart, Lindsay didn’t see Shirley either. She waited a few more moments, hoping the woman would magically appear from the kitchen. But she didn’t. Instead, two younger waitresses bustled between the kitchen and tables with plates of food.

Was Shirley off today? If so, maybe someone tell her where she lived. While that wasn’t customary in any business, maybe, since Crosby was a small town, someone would tell her. She simply had to talk to her, had to find out how to reach the old woman.

One waitress, a woman about Shirley’s age with an apron over her jeans, approached Lindsay.

“The booths are full, but if you’re in a hurry, there’s a place at the counter.”

“Is Shirley working today?”

“She’ll be here—” she glanced at the wall clock— “in about an hour.”

Thank God. “I’ll be back.”

Back on the sidewalk, she glanced up and down Main Street, wondering how to fill the hour. She felt too restless to sit and research more articles, but the green canopies over various businesses drew her attention to the antique stores. Browsing would fill the hour and she could look for that spicy scent.

The first one she entered took up two storefronts, and a smell greeted her, but it wasn’t the one she’d hoped for. Instead, she caught an old-building mustiness blending with a modern lemon fragrance. Wooden floorboards creaked when she walked. Eric had told her most of Crosby’s downtown buildings were original from when it was a booming iron ore mining town during the nineteen-twenties to the fifties.

An elderly lady dressed in a long skirt and puffed-sleeve blouse was dusting an antique roll top desk in the first aisle. She smiled a welcome. Lindsay felt so grateful she wanted to buy everything.

She strolled the aisles, admiring the rose-colored glass lamps, the mirrored vanity trays, the elaborately carved mahogany dressers. She spotted one with a matching stool covered in red velvet just like Mama’s. How she’d loved to sit at that dresser and play in Mama’s jewelry and makeup, how Mama would get after her for spilling loose powder over the freshly-starched doilies …

Lindsay blinked. Oh no, it happened again! Again with memories that weren’t hers.

She had to get out of there.

She hurried down the isle toward the front of the building, when suddenly … she caught a whiff of that spicy scent, the same as the one in the house.

She stopped.

Her heart beating faster, she checked the glass showcases on her left and right holding men’s and women’s lotions and perfumes. Finally she was going to find out if that scent was a phantom or if it were real.

On her right, a glass showcase held beautiful glass bottles of women’s lotions and perfumes. An indigo blue bottle stood on a starched white doily in the center. Evening in Paris, the label read.

She caught a hint of sandalwood from her left. That showcase held numerous men’s toiletries, including razors, shaving cream decanters, and colognes. Now she smelled lime. She stepped to her left and realized, with dismay, all the fragrances were beginning to blend.

Would she be able to isolate that certain one?

Displayed on the top of the case were round pine shave crème soaps, a shaving brush held on a small stand, and several cologne bottles. One by one, she picked up each bottle and sniffed. Nothing was right. Frustration and disappointment nearly made her cry.

“Can I help you?” The same woman stepped behind the showcase. “We have some very nice items for gentlemen.”

Lindsay blinked back the tears. “On my way out, I caught a scent of something, not sure what it is.”

“Can you describe it for me? We have some with a mint base, citrus, and of course spice fragrances.”

“What do you have that’s spicy? Maybe I’ll recognize it.”

The woman pulled out three different bottles, opened them one by one so Lindsay could smell. The first two were close, but not quite close enough. But again, they were all smelling alike.

“I’m smelling everything now.” She indicated both showcases and her frustration must have shown.

“It is a bit overwhelming here,” the woman agreed. “I’ve suggested separating the showcases, but so far we haven’t had the space. Perhaps you need to give your senses a break. Why don’t you have a cup of coffee and perhaps one of our homemade strawberry and rhubarb torts from the deli? After that I’m sure you’ll recognize the one you want.”

Lindsay was so close to discovering the scent she didn’t want to leave the counter, but if she could no longer detect that scent, perhaps she must. Just as she was thanking the woman, she noticed an amber-colored bottle with a green and white label. It seemed familiar.

“May I see that one?” When the woman presented it to her, Lindsay took one small whiff—and the familiar spicy scent surrounded her, filling every nerve in her body, triggering her senses with pleasure until she nearly swooned.

She’d found it.

Bay Rum aftershave.

Lindsay examined the bottle in wonder. She knew that fragrance, knew it as intimately as she knew her own name. The scent wasn’t phantom. It was real.

“Real,” she told the astounded clerk. This time the tears welled and overflowed.

The woman gave her a puzzled frown.

“Dear, are you all right? Do you need to sit down?”

Lindsay felt like singing. “Just tell me about this aftershave.”

The woman recited everything she knew. “From what I understand, sailors back in the sixteenth century weren’t able to bathe often, and they found that rubbing bay leaves from the West Indies helped with the odor. Around the same time, or at least I think it’s about the same time, someone, slaves, I’ve heard, discovered how to ferment the molasses from the sugar plantations and make rum. Sailors soaked the bay leaves in the rum, then Islanders added other ingredients like lime, and it became popular.” She smiled. “I’m sure the company can tell you more.”

“I’ve never noticed it in stores. Can you still get it?”

“You know, I haven’t seen it in this area in, oh, thirty or forty years or more. My father used it occasionally, and so did my grandfather, but I think the men today like the other brands the best.”

Her father and grandfather
.

“Will that be cash or charge?”

Lindsay hadn’t wanted to buy the aftershave; she’d just wanted to find it, but after taking so much of the woman’s time, she paid.

Clutching the bag, she headed for Shirley’s diner.

Maybe now she would get some answers.

As soon as she opened the door, she spotted Shirley wiping down a back booth, the same booth the old lady had occupied that first night. Lindsay hurried toward it before anyone else could take it. Maybe not the best of manners, but after the rude treatment she and Eric had received, she wasn’t sure she cared.

When the waitress straightened and saw the next customer was Lindsay, her smile of greeting faded.

“You.”

Chapter Seventeen

Lindsay slid into the booth. “I’d like some lunch and then, when you have a moment, I’d like to talk to you.”

With a quick, “I’ll get you a menu,” Shirley bustled away. She dropped off a menu, filled other diner’s coffee cups, joked with some, all the while throwing worried glances back at Lindsay.

Lindsay didn’t care. She took her time over homemade soup, then a slice of rhubarb and strawberry pie, and lingered over coffee until the diner emptied out.

“Anything else?” The expression on Shirley’s face revealed she’d rather be anywhere but there.

“Some answers.”

“Sorry, fresh out.” The waitress turned to walk away, but Lindsay touched her arm.

“Please. Some strange things have been happening and I think you know something about it. At least help me find that old lady, the one in here that first night. I know she can help me.”

Shirley turned to face Lindsay, and for the first time that day, met her gaze. “What makes you think I know anything?”

“The way you and the two men acted that night after my husband told you who we were. And that old lady said something strange. At first I thought she was just a crazy old woman, but now I think differently, and I think you know who she is. Please, I need to find her.”

“Sorry, can’t help you.” She turned and hurried to the kitchen.

Lindsay stared after her, feeling the same as a child whose ice cream fell out of the cone and splattered on the sidewalk.

What could she do now?

No one seemed to want to talk to her. Then, thinking about the rude stares, the silences, she grabbed her bill and headed for the register. Another waitress took her payment.

“Everything all right?” she asked with barely a glance at Lindsay.

She began the customary reply, then changed her mind. “No,” she said in a loud voice. “Everything isn’t all right.” Conversation stopped and heads turned to look at her.

“I’d always heard that small towns were friendly,” Lindsay continued. “They sure didn’t mean this one. And to think, my husband grew up here and loved this town. Well, as far as I’m concerned, he can have it.” With that, she strode through the door.

Outside, she crossed the street, then, a couple of blocks from the diner, she paused. And realized she was trembling.

More slowly now, she headed for home, in no mood to shop for bookcases or anything else.

From behind, she heard running footsteps heading toward her.

“Wait!” A woman’s voice.

Shirley.

“Damn, you walk fast. I ran three blocks.” The waitress patted her hair back in place.

“Sorry for the inconvenience.” Lindsay was heavy on sarcasm.

“Knock off the attitude, will ya?”

“I have an attitude? That’s rich. But this town has made me do a lot of things differently.”

Shirley had the grace to blush, but she handed Lindsay the sack with the aftershave. “You left your bag. I peeked inside and saw the bottle.”

Lindsay took it. “Thank you.” She turned to walk away.

“Wait, dammit!”

Two white-haired ladies passing them on the sidewalk paused at the expletive. Lindsay noticed their slacks. One wore pink polyester pants with an artificial seam sewn down the front, the other, yellow. At least they were colorful.

“Working today, Shirley?” One asked, staring with curiosity at Lindsay.

“Just taking a break,” the waitress answered.

“Enjoy your day.” With another side glance at Lindsay, they walked on. The street was busy with traffic and a diesel pickup, its engine clattering, pulled into the space in front of Lindsay.

She faced Shirley, but said nothing. She waited.

“Look. You’re right,” Shirley said. “People talk, and the reception you’ve gotten is pretty shitty …”