Chapter Five
Return of the Blue Ghoul
Wayward Winds Estate in Bitter Springs
Friday, 6:30 p.m.
Several hours later, we stood on Miss McBride’s doorstep ringing the bell.
It was a bleak summer’s evening with the shadows deepening on a path that ambled down between bitternut hickory trees, and then cut sideways across a field of tiny green grapevines. There was a wind beginning, small gusts that rattled the fence posts and set the dandelions dancing in unison on the broad expanse of lawn. Rain spotted our shirts and glistened on our nylon backpacks.
“Okay,” I said. “Remember to follow the Deadwood Detective Agency’s standard operating procedures. Nail down the timeline. Follow up on the leads and treat everything as evidence. If you see the
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“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I was hoping you and your friends could solve that mystery.”
“Don't worry, sir,” I said. “We’ll have this thing wrapped up tight in no time.”
“Excellent.” He smiled. “I feel better already. Well, good night.” “David,” Miss McBride stood in the doorway, “will you help me up the stairs?”
“Of course,” he said, holding out his elbow for her—a sweet old-fashioned gesture.
She looped her arm through his, and they strolled toward the steps.
“See you in the morning,” Chance called to them over his shoulder.
He switched on the kitchen lights and the wrought-iron chandelier illuminated bright plaster frescoes of Italian vineyards, cabinets topped with yellowish-green leaves, and a lavishly carved ceiling.
“It gets dark early here in the ravine,” he told us. “The tall mountains that surround us make it seem later than it really is. Sometimes, it’s nice being cocooned in silence with only the whisper of the distant wind through trees. Other times, it’s kind of spooky.”
“Spooky,” Twist agreed.
“Speaking of spooky,” I said, “did you see the ghost?”
“No,” Chance replied softly, staring out of the
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“When did your aunt first see the ghost?”
“So many questions from such a very young lady,” Hannah said, floating next to the table, placing plates in front of each of us. Then she tossed down crinkle-cut pickles, macaroni salad, and potato chips.
“Sorry, ma’am, it’s my job.”
She slid a platter stacked with sandwiches beside the salad and splashed some apple cider into our cups.
“I almost forgot. Were you here when the ghost showed up?”
“Eat,” she said, turning and walking toward the stove.
A total dead end.
I grabbed a watercress sandwich and was about to take a bite when a scream like a fist pounded on the table. It was followed by a drowning silence. I dropped my sandwich and jumped to my feet.
“That was Aunt Emma.” Chance stormed out of the kitchen.
We chased after him up the stairs and down a dark hall. At the end, a door stood ajar and light stretched across the hallway floor.
I was a few steps from the door handle when I heard Miss McBride scream again. Slowly, I crept into the room and saw her sprawled across the bed.
Mr. Shaw was bent over her, rubbing her temples and rambling, “Emma, can you hear me? Are you all right?” He spotted Hannah. “Please bring me some of Miss McBride’s smelling
""Tired out, Edna? Whom did you have? Many callers?" he asked. He tasted his soup and began to season it with pepper, salt, vinegar, mustard - everything within reach.
had wakened the glow, his features beamed" and " I led him out of the
He went on down the hill, toward the dark woods within which the liquid silver voices of the birds called unceasing - the rapid and urgent beating of the urgent and quiring heart of the late spring night. He did not look
Then on her feet again, she plunged out of the room with her gray head down. A minute later, she returned with a full tray of salad, tehina, fresh bread, schnitzel, peas, beer and apple compot. The schnitzel itself left little room on my plate for other food.
She sat down with a plastered grin on her face. The smell of the food compelled Hallelujah to start digging in. She not only took a big bite out of the toast and chowed down on some of the eggs but she ate a bit of the bacon. She sipped some of the hot coffee and gulped.
“Of course it does! When did this elusive thought come into your head?” Greg said with a growing concern that formed in his voice.
As the first rays of the sun peak over the horizon, penetrating the dark, soft light illuminates the mist rising up from the ground, forming an eerie, almost surreal landscape. The ground sparkles, wet with dew, and while walking from the truck to the barn, my riding boots soak it in. The crickets still chirp, only slower now. They know that daytime fast approaches. Sounds, the soft rustling of hooves, a snort, and from far down the aisle a sharp whinny that begs for breakfast, inform me that the crickets are not the only ones preparing for the day.
I had always felt a love for the outdoors; my parents had raised me that way. My father had been a forest guide at Mount Mitchell Park for twenty years, it’s where I grew up. I vividly recall hiking along the trail in the late summer evenings, when the sun had begun to vanish beyond the horizon, and the glittering sunlight no longer pouring through the trees, being replaced by orange ribbons streaming across the sky.
MaryAlice pushed open the door of the darkened screening room, and the shaft of light from the hallway stabbed through the black all the way over to the screen.
The dim light created shadows were he could sense hidden creatures lurking in them. He was not the only one in there. He sniffed a little. A drunk werewolf, a haggard witch, baby vamp drinking desperately. Yes, this was the right place to be.
Being invited to a friend’s house the other day, I began to get excited about the journey through the woods to their cabin. The cabin, nestled back in the woods overlooking a pond, is something that you would dream about. There is a winding trail that takes you back in the woods were their cabin sits. The cabin sits on top of a mountain raised up above everything, as if it was sitting on the clouds.
"Which will you have?" asked Stanley, leaning across very politely, and smiling at her. "Which will you have to begin with - strawberries and cream or bread and dripping?"
Walking, there is no end in sight: stranded on a narrow country road for all eternity. It is almost dark now. The clouds having moved in secretively. When did that happen? I am so far away from all that is familiar. The trees are groaning against the wind’s fury: when did the wind start blowing? Have I been walking for so long that time hysterically slipped away! The leaves are rustling about swirling through the air like discarded post-it notes smashing, slapping against the trees and blacktop, “splat-snap”. Where did the sun go? It gave the impression only an instant ago, or had it been longer; that it was going to be a still and peaceful sunny day; has panic from hunger and walking so long finally crept in? Waking up this morning, had I been warned of the impending day, the highs and lows that I would soon face, and the unexpected twist of fate that awaited me, I would have stayed in bed.
The sunset was not spectacular that day. The vivid ruby and tangerine streaks that so often caressed the blue brow of the sky were sleeping, hidden behind the heavy mists. There are some days when the sunlight seems to dance, to weave and frolic with tongues of fire between the blades of grass. Not on that day. That evening, the yellow light was sickly. It diffused softly through the gray curtains with a shrouded light that just failed to illuminate. High up in the treetops, the leaves swayed, but on the ground, the grass was silent, limp and unmoving. The sun set and the earth waited.
The sun was still below the horizon but the clouds above the mountains were tainted the color of pomegranates. Around me the shadows seemed empty. I tried not to look into the brush as I walked down the driveway. I had stopped before, looking to see the back of the shadows; staring hard, only to have them retreat from my eyes indefinitely. Invisible birds called from within. Their sound followed me down the driveway and onto the road.