The Widow's Walk Read online

  Moonstone Candles and Crystals was closed. Mike read the calligraphy sign Sandra had left on the door.

  Winter Hours by Appointment

  Call and I’ll be right down

  Blessed Be,

  Sandra

  (508) 444-6787

  “Moonstone, can I help you?” Her voice seemed deeper on the phone.

  “Sandra, this is Mike Keeny. I’m over at the shop and need . . .”

  “I’ll be right over, sweetie. Three minutes.” She disconnected.

  Five passed, but she hurried down the street from her house, her coat unbuttoned and streaming out behind in the winter wind.

  She thrust her gloved hand into his, squeezed it, then leaned in to give him a kiss on the cheek. “You look awful.”

  “I’ve got this rotten cold.” She couldn’t know why he was really here. Sandra unlocked the door. “Liz said you were sick.” A tiny gong resounded as she pushed it open and flicked on the lights.

  The twang walked up his spine like sharp fingernails.

  “Sit down. “Sandra collected the cards and crystals from a table and moved them to a side counter. “Would you like some tea?”

  Mike hesitated. If the guys ever saw him here . . . “Sure.” He sat on the plush chair and watched her fill a silver tea ball with loose leaves.

  Sandra put the kettle on a hot plate and joined him, smoothing the black and gold tablecloth as she sat down. “You’re troubled by something. I can see it in your eyes.”

  Mike squirmed. Damn, why didn’t I just go to Davey Jones’ Bar? A few shots would stop the cough, and I could spill all to Davey about my wife having a mid-life crisis. If the guys ever found out about a psychic reading, they’d laugh me off the bar stool.

  She took his hands into hers and turned them palm up. Even the gentle touch prickled his skin.

  “Sad events in your past. And you need some of this.” She tossed a tube of hand lotion onto the table and got up to attend to the whistling kettle.

  He picked it up like it had teeth.

  Sandra laughed. “Shea butter. And plain black tea.” She dropped the tea ball into the pot and carried it over on a tray with two cups and a jar of honey. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  He rubbed the greasy lotion in and dared look her in the eye. “Where do I begin? She poured, adding two teaspoons of honey before handing him a floral cup balanced on

  a pink saucer. “At the beginning, of course. Though I suspect it has to do with the ghosts.”

  He almost dropped the tea in his lap. I could use that shot of whiskey right about now. Davey just says he understands and serves it up. No questions. No mind reading.

  She didn’t wait for a response. “No one has ever stayed in that house for more than one year. I did a paranormal investigation for a couple that once owned it. They noted an odd smell and a cold draft in the master bedroom. They never saw anything, and neither did I. But I sensed a presence. It’s Elisabeth Barrett, I’m sure.” Sandra’s voice went from authoritative to mournful.

  Shock faded to relief. “How do you know that?”

  She studied him for a moment before responding. “Elisabeth Barrett died long before her time, long before she resolved many issues in her life.”

  Jared leaped inside Mike. The voice that spoke was gruff, strained, not his. Mike’s stomach growled, a wave of nausea swept over him. Sandra’s image faded in and out.

  “Don’t fight it.” She guided the cup to his lips.

  Relief flooded through him, like the tea contained some magic elixir. Maybe it did. His vision cleared. “Why is Elisabeth haunting us?”

  Sandra grasped both his hands. “She’s trapped in a sliver of time and wants to break free, to clear up the mystery surrounding Edward’s and her deaths.”

  Mike’s skin prickled, and he dropped her hands. Sandra might know how to rout the specters, but how could he his share wife’s innermost secrets without her permission? “I think you could ask Liz to come investigate the house again. But not now. There’s too much other family stuff going on. In fact, please don’t even tell her I came.”

  “I don’t impose myself on others. Clients must seek me out.” Sandra smiled and stroked his arm.

  The fingernails ran down Mike’s back again. What if Sandra couldn’t be trusted? What would she do with the information? What would knowledge of a haunted house do to its appeal for guests, or its market value

  She pushed her chair back and stood. “You came for healing not interrogation. Don’t worry. Paranormal investigators pledge confidentiality.”

  Yep, she was a mind reader. What if she read his mind about Jared Sanders agitating? Time to get out of here. “Anytime I talk about ghosts I get edgy.” He took his coat off the back of the chair.

  “Let me make you an elixir.” She handed him the same brochure Liz had brought home.

  He wanted to walk out, but something kept him there. “Sandra . . .”

  “Please, it will only take a few minutes. Mark each one that applies.” She gave him a pen and went to a display case.

  He checked off five essences: anxious, tired, sad, angry, worn down, and brought it to her.

  She filled a brown bottle with a fruity brandy and took the essences off the rack,

  putting in a few drops of each. “Here. Five drops on the tongue once a day. Give it two weeks and you’ll feel better.” She capped it and put it on the counter.

  “How much do I owe you?” He took his wallet out of a back pocket.

  “Nothing. I owe you for sharing what you know. And I want you to have this key chain.” She polished two smooth round stones, one green, one gold, with a black silken cloth. “Give me your hand.”

  He extended it. She traced it across his palm and dropped a key fob into it, then closed his fingers around the crystals.

  “Moldavite for mental clarity. Chrysocolla for peace and forgiveness. Keep this in your pocket. Massage them, look at them when you feel the need. And give this pendant to Liz. It will allow her to release emotion.” Sandra’s eyes narrowed and she looked at the floor. “You both should wear wedding bands with opal inlays. That chases away nightmares and nocturnal delirium. But those stones must be selected by the two of you–together.”

  Gooseflesh erupted. Was she putting some sort of a spell or a curse on them? Was he being paranoid? “I want to pay you.”

  “No, really . . . Come back and let me know if it helped.”

  “Thanks, Sandra.” He extended his hand. In the past he would have hugged her, or kissed her cheek, but not today.

  She hesitated, then took it and grasped tightly. “Thank you for trusting me.”

  Mike put his cap back on and tipped his hand. Enough of this. “See ya.”

  Cold air banished the cloying aromas, the magic, the revelations. But he still felt like shit.

  Chapter 7

  Liz dragged herself up the porch steps. She dreaded facing Mike.

  He came down the stairs looking much better than he had that morning, but absent his usual smile and welcoming embrace.

  “How are you feeling? Did you go to the doctor?” Liz hung her coat in the closet.

  “No, but Sandra made me one of those elixirs to fix what ails me.”

  Her stomach lurched. “Did you tell her anything about what happened?” What if Mike found out about Sandra’s book and all the details about Jared’s trial and its aftermath? It was so old, out of print, and she’d figured he’d never see it. Why had she gone into that shop?

  Mike was strangely subdued, like he was hiding something. “No, but she said other occupants consulted her with complaints of strange smells, cold mists.”

  Best to be nonchalant. “The broker told me something about past reports of hauntings. Please don’t bring this up
to anyone. Jay and Bill Jeffers are like bloodhounds sniffing for any skeleton they can pull out of a closet to use against me.”

  “This is to make up for the way I acted last night.” Mike pulled a small box out of his pocket.

  So, he felt guilty about the tantrum. Liz opened it and lifted out the milky white stone on a chain. It wasn’t particularly pretty, but the thin veins of color running through it intrigued her. She turned it over in her palm, ran her finger over it. “What is it?”

  “Read the card.” Mike lifted the cotton lining and handed her the explanation. Moonstone, a stone of fertility and of carnal communication has an aphrodisiac effect. It enhances growth in children and slows the degeneration of aging. Those born under the sign of Capricorn will find it easier to express their emotions when wearing the stone. Cancer’s eroticism will be strengthened. Pisces ability to concentrate will be helped by looking at this stone for one minute, three times a day.

  Was she making his life so miserable he’d resort to talismans, magic tricks? Carnal communication, aphrodisiacs? What had he told that woman about her? How did Sandra know her birthday? “You didn’t have to buy me anything.” He looked like a dog who’d had its bone taken away. “Sandra picked it out for you. It matches my key chain.”

  “Mike, we don’t have any extra for gifts right now. My paycheck isn’t going to be steady, and I don’t know how I’m going to make payroll and pay bills next month. And besides, I told you that woman is up to something.”

  He fastened the charm around her neck. “I’ll be back to fishing in no time.”

  Maybe it was her imagination, but the jewel warmed her throat where it touched the skin. She slid the stone across the chain and back a couple of times, resisting the temptation to rip it off. “I don’t want you out on Cape Cod Bay.”

  Elisabeth awoke. That’s right, no good ever comes from being on the Bay.

  Mike put both hands behind his head and leaned back into the sofa cushions. “Like I’ve said before, we could sell this house and move into mine. It’s paid for, smaller, cheaper to heat.”

  It seemed like he’d forgotten, but obviously hadn’t. “This house is paid for, too. Thanks to Gerry’s estate planning. I am not going to allow my son and that miserable attorney to ruin my business.”

  Mike’s expression hardened. “Then maybe the crystals will keep Elisabeth away so we don’t have to experience something like last night again. Eventually, we’re going to have to move out.” He waved both arms and exited.

  Elisabeth spun like a dancer. Liz grabbed her abdomen. It felt like she was pregnant again, that the ghost was fighting to be born.

  Jared promised, swore that he wouldn’t put me out. Edward will put this right. Go to him-now.

  All right, Elisabeth. I’ll go up in a minute, but no dress. If Liz resisted there would be another scene tonight. She waited until Mike’s footsteps disappeared. No front door creaking. He was likely in the parlor playing with Eddie. Or in the kitchen getting a snack.

  Liz ran to the attic door and negotiated the rickety stairs, hesitating on one near the top that sagged enough she feared it would break. If she asked Kevin to fix it then he’d surmise she was going up there.

  The door swung open and Elisabeth flew to the railing, heedless of the icy puddles on the floor. Cold wind whipped her hair into a frenzy. She stepped back in case someone was in the front yard, but the way the house was constructed there was a clear view of the widow’s walk from every vantage point. The handrail quivered as she leaned forward to check the front yard. It was not sturdy enough to be safe, but until the ghost settled she dared not go back downstairs.

  All Elisabeth knew was the compulsion. All Liz knew was that the more she did this, the more trouble she’d stir up. Liz took a deep draft of the icy air. The roiling in her gut stopped. Exhaustion washed over her. A chill settled in her bones. She fingered the moonstone pendant. She was a Capricorn; it might help her think this through.

  A promise is a promise, Jared. You assured me I could stay here forever.

  “All right, Elisabeth. We’re not selling the house, but this is the last time I’m coming up here. The last time.

  She can’t be alone, Jared insisted.

  Mike tried to ignore the ruminations scrolling through his head. He paced, looked out the window. A dim night light shone through the window of his vacant house. It would be so much more peaceful there. “Screw it.” He went across the hall.

  “Can I come in?” Mike poked his head into the bedroom.

  Liz looked over the top of her reading glasses. “I never told you to go sleep in the guest room.”

  “I miss you, and I missed giving Eddie his bath and putting him to bed.” He had his own ghost troubles and secrets and couldn’t fault only her. And he’d acted like a lunatic last night. “I needed a break, some uninterrupted sleep.”

  The pendant dangled just above the cleavage of her breasts. She was wearing it, despite her misgivings. She looked as enticing as ever. But he wasn’t getting hard.

  Maybe it was the terrible cold, but could Sandra have put something strange in that brandy? He probably shouldn’t be taking that crap at all.

  “Are you going to join me?” Liz looked sideways at him with the furthest thing from come hither in her eyes. More like ‘let me sharpen my claws first.’

  “Do you want me to?”

  Liz put the book down and took off her glasses. “I don’t appreciate you haranguing me to sell the house.”

  This wasn’t working. Mike sat down on the bed and brushed her arm. “Admit it. The ghosts are taking us over, running the show.”

  “A couple of appearances doesn’t mean they’re in control. We are.” She pounded her fist on the bed.

  “Sandra does paranormal investigations. Maybe she can help get rid of them.”

  Jared bucked. Mike tried to ignore his guts twisting.

  Liz slammed her book closed. “Sandra is itching to get into this house. But Marianne Hartley told me she suspects Jay hired a private investigator. The last thing I need is this patch of dirt dug up. That slug Jeffers would be crawling all over the pile.”

  Mike tried not to laugh. “Why the hell would Jay or Jeffers hire someone to spy on us?”

  She jumped out of bed. “We own a haunted house and both of us have been visiting a witch. Imagine trying to explain all this to a judge. It wouldn’t be the first time that I have to sit in public and face my son bringing a legal challenge to my competence, and I don’t expect it would be the last.”

  Jared kicked him in the butt. She can’t be trusted.

  Mike squared off against her before he realized it. “I’m sick of you refusing to consider any possible solutions.”

  “And I asked you not to go into that shop again. But you did.”

  “I don’t want to fight, especially before bed. I came in to apologize, but it seems like you’re not accepting it.” Mike got the hell out, closed the door behind him, and exhaled to blow away whatever specter might be following him back to the guest room. Shut up, damn it. You’re making this worse. Leave me alone. Leave us alone.

  Chapter 8

  Premium cable “triple play”–that could be cut back. Too bad. Mae loved the cooking shows, and both Kevin and Mike enjoyed the sports. Gas and electric: all the rooms not in regular use were closed off. Doctor’s visits: unavoidable, the baby needed his shots. Mike needed to get that cough attended to.

  The only way to make a sizable dent was to cut the payroll. But how could she ask Kevin and Mae to forego their salaries when they had taken on babysitting and fishing? All right, she paid for all their food, and they were living in the cottage rent free. The option was not having a house or a job.

  It was the only way to cover this month’s bills. Unless . . . Damn, I need to pick up the phone and call Marianne Ha
rtley to find out what’s going on. Why am I shy about asking for my own money?

  The mailman’s Jeep whirred in the gravel down by the mailbox. Liz ran out to the side of the road, her heart thudding as hard as her footsteps on the frozen drive. An insurance bill sat on top of the pile.

  Shit, that’s almost a thousand dollars I’d forgotten about. She was nauseous by the time she got to the bottom. Nothing from the lawyer, no checks, just credit card offers, catalogs with smiling middle-aged models, looking just like she used to, wearing flannel shirts and cashmere sweaters. And more bills. How long would her credit rating stay good? What was the grace period on the insurance policy?