The Widow's Walk (14 page)

Could Sandra help sort this out? Could he trust her? Was she wreaking havoc with spells, crystals and potions for her own misguided reasons?

“Michael, where the hell are ya right now? Certainly not here.” Kevin looked like hell.

He’d been nearly hysterical when Mae’d come out screaming that Liz and Eddie were gone. Calm, cool, collected Kevin, blubbering like a baby. His eyes were still swollen, and he hunched forward as if he’d been punched in the gut.

“I’m trying to figure out what to do, Kevin. My wife is going crazy, and I think I am, too.” He couldn’t tell the whole truth, but he needed advice.

In a rare moment of determined insistence, Kevin pushed Mike up against an imaginary wall. “If we don’t stop her, Elisabeth is going to hurt herself again. Mike, I keep having these dreams, these visions, hearing these voices. I see the same restless, angry look in Liz’s eyes that Elisabeth had before she drowned. She’s pining for Edward, and the damn fella isn’t showin’ up to put things straight. Mae’ll be havin’ a go with her upstairs, but you and me, well, we gotta’ take some action here.”

Enough
Ring Around the Rosie
with the truth. “Kevin, I’ve seen Elisabeth’s ghost a couple of times. She talks to me, well not really, but I heard her apologize to Jared, and cry that Edward has never seen his son. I want to hire a paranormal investigator. Sandra Kensington understands, she really does. But Liz has forbidden me to talk to her. And if she knew I was telling you she would probably cut my balls off.”

Kevin didn’t flinch, didn’t react like he was surprised at all. “It’s been playing out like a movie in front of me. There is this presence, ghost, spirit, I don’t know what, floating about. I have dreams, no nightmares, about Elisabeth’s death-images of her laying in the mud all crumpled up. You’ve got to get some kind of help for Liz, be it Sandra Kensington or a shrink. But I personally think the witch is the best way to go. After all, how many real doctors know anythin’ about ghosts?” Kevin had never spoken that many words at a time, and with such eloquence, such conviction.

Mike threw his arms around Kevin, and they sobbed like scared schoolboys.

Chapter 21

Sandra followed Mike into the room. The woman’s face was always impassive, droll, but today her eyes were lowered, narrowed, as if she were in pain. She ran her hands over the windowsills, the furniture as if reading Braille in the textures.

If Mae came home early, if Liz found out . . . The words caught in his throat. He was betraying his wife to try and save her. “It’s always at night. Elisabeth’s ghost stands looking out the window, wearing the same green dress. She  turns when I call  her name, and she talks without words. It’s so cold, it feels like I’ll never be warm again.”

Sandra peered into the closet, looked at the pictures on the dresser. “Is Elisabeth the only ghost that appears here?”

“Kevin admits that Paul Mays has been around. Mae hasn’t said anything, but occasionally her speech gets real strange. Jared has been needling bad, like he’s inside of me. And we saw Edward Barrett here on the night the baby was born.”

Sandra’s head jerked up. “Edward Barrett manifested himself when your baby was being born? Was he angry?”

Mike had already given far too much information and wasn’t about to betray the secret of Eddie’s paternity. “No, he was content. Same thing, I heard him in my head, telling me he was happy for us.”

“That would be Edward’s reaction.” Sandra’s voice was wistful.

Mike’s scalp prickled. How did she know that? He hesitated, unsure of how to respond.

The damn woman could read minds, now he was sure of it.

Sandra halted by the closet door, raised  her chin, and crinkled her nose like she smelled something.

Sweat soaked through his shirt, and Mike fought to control his breathing. His heart pounded, and he filled the silence with his own nervous chatter. “Sandra, if Liz even knew you were here let alone finding out all these personal details . . . I had to wait until she got a work assignment. Mae is doing her weekly shopping.” He didn’t mention that Kevin was babysitting in the cottage and would deny knowing anything about this if they were discovered.

Sandra wandered into the closet. Her eyes went immediately to the rack of antique dresses in one corner. She ran her hands over a gaudy, bright yellow one. “Elisabeth had such beautiful clothes.”

His flesh was crawling now. What was this woman doing?

Sandra passed her hands about six inches above the plastic wrapping covering the green silk. “This is the artifact that links Liz and Elisabeth.”

Her pronouncement was a
fait acompli
, but hearing it confirmed sent spiders down Mike’s back. Jared squirmed inside him, but Mike ignored it. “An artifact?”

Sandra’s gaze bored into him. “A person’s essence, their soul for lack of a better term, becomes attached to the object. The green dress was important to Elisabeth. Something either very good or very bad happened while she was wearing it.”

So far she hadn’t told him anything he hadn’t figured out on his own. Was she just here doing research for her next tell all?

“Have you ever touched the woman in the green dress?” Sandra swayed side-to-side, her eyes closed.

“Yes, and I became violently ill. Still haven’t recovered completely.” He’d almost died but hated to admit that, even to himself.

Why was she baiting him for an answer she already knew? “Jared Sanders is agitated now. And he won’t let me forget what happened to Elisabeth-and to him.”

“Of course he is. Her death devastated him. And that, my friend, is the crux of what is happening. Elisabeth and Jared are restless, troubled. Edward is not. Which is why he doesn’t appear.” Sandra opened her eyes.

“Jared has never appeared here.”

“Not that you have seen. But he’s here, I feel it.”

Jared convulsed inside him. Mike lost it. “I want my wife all to myself. I want her to act normal again.”

“Ghosts are sometimes trapped in alternate dimensions, within a moment in time which held great emotional significance for them.”

Sandra paused. Laugh lines appeared and the corners of her lips rose in a smile. "Jared, you loved Elisabeth and wanted to touch her when she was alive, but didn’t. Isn’t that right? Your regret fuels that anger.”

Jared’s words spilled out like they were Mike’s own. “I married Elisabeth to save her from financial ruin. She was mourning Edward, and I knew she wasn’t ready for any physical intimacy. She drowned looking for Edward, and I never understood what I had done wrong.” Mike struggled not to cry.

“Ah, so she is still searching for Edward, but he isn’t there. Then she removes the dress and returns to you, as she would have if the accident hadn’t taken her life. There is terrible guilt in this room. Terrible pain.” Sandra walked over to Mike and stroked his arm. “Isn’t that right, Elisabeth. Jared?”

She swayed in the bay window alcove, eyes once again closed. “We’re trying to help release you from this misery. Please, my dear friends, the time has come for all of us to make amends, move on.” Sandra’s voice had never been this formal, dated. She sounded like someone else.

Bethea Vauxhall!
A prickling sensation spread over Mike as Jared’s ghost recognized the woman who had accused him of murdering Elisabeth.

“Yes.” She opened her eyes and took his hands in hers. “Don’t fight it, Mike You must feel this, experience it or Jared will not relent”

He wanted to push her away. Throw her out. “I asked you to help, not make things worse!” Mike expected Jared to continue agitating, maybe even cause a fit of trembling or trouble breathing as he faced the woman who had almost had him hanged, but he seemed to disappear.

Sandra took a deep breath. “Good. Most people never connect with the restless spirits inside them.”

“Stop that gibberish! Why did I ever trust your intent?”

Tears filled Sandra eyes. “I’ve grappled with this for many, many years. My past life was defined by death. My son, my husband, my best friend. My in-laws, then my own. I was a simple woman, from a small town, so impressed by the beautiful English lady married to a dashing sea captain. Elisabeth was kind, loving, generous. Her death marked the end of my belief that any bright moment in life would ever be possible again. I was angry, and I lashed out at the only person I could–Jared Sanders.” Anguish contorted her face.

Mike raked his fingers though his hair. “And you knew this all the time Mary was going to you?” Relief that he wasn’t crazy, that there was someone outside the occupants of the Barrett Inn who had sensed Elisabeth, it all paled at these revelations. Brewster was a goddamn ghost town.

“Taking care of Mary, of you, assuaged my guilt. Katherine defended Jared like a mother defends her young. The last time I saw her was when she came to tell me Jared’s last words: ‘By God, I didn’t kill her. Please, make everyone understand.’ But it was too late. That's why Mae hates me.” Sandra, or Bethea, dissolved into tears.

Jared surged through him at being vindicated by the accuser who had refused to accept the verdict of innocence. The ghost compelled Mike to embrace her. “I forgive you.”

Sandra pulled away. “I still don’t truly know what transpired, and ache to find out what happened that night.”

Finally, a clue on how to solve this. “Only Elisabeth knows. Can you make contact with her? Can you get rid of all this?” Mike asked.

“Perhaps making contact will soothe  Elisabeth’s ghost and release her. Perhaps not. We never know why some specters move into the other dimension, like Edward did, and for others, like us, pieces remain behind.”

“Will she follow if we leave this house?” Mike already knew they could never escape, no matter where they went.

“If the dress remains here her influence will likely be weakened. But why are you denying the need to reconcile with your past life? Jared is fixated with Elisabeth’s last hours. Unless you allow him to revisit, to correct his mistake, to take a different path, to make a different decision, he will not rest. I can’t tell you what that decision or path will be. You must have the courage to allow him to find it.”

This was doing no good, none. And might even be making it worse. “I’ve seen what allowing the ghost control can do, and I’m not willing to take that chance. Liz could hurt herself again if Elisabeth gets her way.”

“Liz could hurt herself again if Jared doesn’t act to counter Elisabeth’s influence. Anyway, Bethea is calm now that I’ve made amends with Jared.” Sandra rubbed her belly like pregnant woman comforting her fetus, then turned to him.

Jared once again propelled him into her outstretched arms. “Thank you.”

Sandra’s eyes widened, and she moved back.

Mike turned, expecting a ghost.

Mae stood in the doorway holding a load of clean laundry in her hand–the whiff of fabric softener distinct. Her eyes blazed.

“Mae. This is Sandra Kensington.” The only way to deal with this was be truthful. He had nothing to hide.

“I know damn well who she is. What I don’t know is what she’s doin’ here.” For a minute Mike thought Mae was going to heave the clothes at them.

Sandra remained composed. “I wouldn’t expect you to trust me, or like me. Too much bad history.” She looked at Mike, raised her eyebrows. “I better go.”

As she pushed past, Mae threw the laundry at Mike. Dodging socks, underwear, and baby clothes, Mike ran after Sandra. Mae’s glare sliced into his back like a machete.

Her car was peeling out of the drive before he got downstairs. He wanted to keep going himself but acted like a man and went back to face the inquisition.

Mae stood with her hands on her hips in the middle of the mess. “She wouldn’t expect me to trust her or like her? What the devil did that mean?”

“Let me explain.” He really didn’t know how to explain that Katherine and Bethea had once been fierce opponents but would try his best.

“I’d like to see ya do just that.”

“Sandra is a paranormal investigator. I brought her over here to see if she could make contact with Elisabeth, or tell me how to get rid of her.” Jeez, that sounded awful.

Mae flinched and scrunched her nose. “You’re talkin’ nonsense. Do ya really expect me to believe that
shite
? Quick thinkin’ though. The nerve of ya to bring another woman into the bedroom you share with your wife.

Mike seethed, or was it Jared? Maybe both of them. “If the truth be told, Mae, there isn’t a lot of sharing going on between us right now.”

“And this certainly isn’t a good sign.” Mae folded her arms across her chest. “ I suppose your goin’ to ask me not to mention this to Liz.” Her lopsided smirk and haughty eyes were most unflattering–and uncharacteristic.

“I think I should be the one to tell her Sandra was here. This involves her and Elisabeth far more than you.” Asking her to believe in a past life would be stretching the rubber band way past the snapping point.

Now she took to waving a finger. “Don’t ask me to lie to save your marriage.”

Mike got in her face, voice raised. Despite Mae’s meddlesome personality they’d never been at each other like this. Then again, neither of them had backed themselves into a corner like animals with Mae defending her nest, Mike his territory.

He lowered his voice and moved away. “I’m asking you to help me protect Liz. I was hoping Sandra could help.”

“Well, I don’t trust that woman. She looked at me funny, like she was casting some sort of spell. She’s into all that, ya know.” Mae flipped her hand, her finger pointed in a bad imitation of a witch.

“Yeah, I know.” Mike jammed his hand into his pocket, still looking for the comfort of that crystal Liz had hidden. He fiddled with tissue lint instead.

Mae’s voice softened. “Michael Keeny, I know you love your wife.”

Tears came to her eyes. “Katherine defended Jared. She went against everyone and never backed down.”   Her brogue was nearly gone, almost but not quite slipping into a soft British accent.

Did the clue he’d planted as to Sandra’s identity jog something loose, turn a page in Mae’s memory book?

This was his only chance to salvage the effort. “Neither of us wants anything to happen to Liz. And we have to work together on that. I promise to tell her as soon as she gets home that Sandra was here.”

Mae’s face had gone pale, her chest heaved. Mike wanted to hug her. Jared wanted him to hug Katherine, thank her for all she’d done for him and Elisabeth. But he’d done enough embracing of women who weren’t his wife today.

“I’m not makin’ any promises, Michael.” She lowered her head and fled, leaving him standing in the middle of a pile of laundry.

He picked it up, piece-by-piece, sorting things into neat piles. If only he could do the same with the scattered debris of his life.