Wanted: One Ghost Page 3

  “You sly girl, you!” Aunt Vickie beamed proudly. “I’ll make a Wilton woman out of you yet.”

  April’s digital camera came to life and she switched the setting to playback, scrolling through the photos. She’d taken a bevy of pictures, ones of the hanging tree, some of the colonial storefronts and historical houses, the front and back of the courthouse. She came across the last picture, the one she’d taken right outside, and then it went back to her older photos. Everything was there but the picture of her guide. She gasped and thumbed frantically through the pictures again.

  “What’s wrong, April dear?” Her aunt got up from the chair and came over to her, bringing her cup of tea with her.

  “It was here…I mean, the picture is here but he isn’t.” The photo showed part of the brick cobbled street, a corner of courthouse, and the lamp post she’d had her guide stand in front of. There was a bright, fuzzy ball of light obscuring part of the gaslight. Could it be a possible reflection off the light and her flash? She’d captured him in the frame, she was positive!

  Her aunt looked over her arm at the frame revealing the street along with the courthouse. April didn’t like the knowing smile and twinkle to her aunt’s eye. “Oh, he’s there,” she said, peering up from over her tea cup.

  “What do you mean?” She was almost afraid to ask.

  “You’ve managed to capture what we call residual paranormal energy. See the spot of fuzzy light in the middle of the picture? You’ve captured an image of a paranormal orb. Welcome to the family, April. You’ve seen your first ghost.”

  Chapter Three

  The tinkling of old fashioned cowbells over the gift shop’s door startled April. Catching her breath she looked around, hoping no one had seen her jump. The store was quiet. Not many people out and about at eleven o’clock in the morning on a Sunday in downtown Kings Mill. Most were still at church. She had to wait until the store opened though to set the record straight from last night.

  Despite her family gift, she refused to believe the man she’d spent over an hour with was a ghost. She didn’t discount the possibility of live energy or life after death, but too many variables remained where paranormal activity could be debunked. Abnormal energy levels could cause hallucinations, specks of dust and moisture on a camera lens could be misconstrued as ghostly orbs, and drops in temperature could be low-lying areas of land near a marshy field or a drafty old house. Everything could be explained away and she would debunk her aunt’s theory for her own peace of mind.

  Damn! Now she sounded like Jason. But what happened to her was different. The man she’d talked to was real, not some shimmering apparition. She’d posed questions and he’d replied. She would find out about her ghost tour guide and finally put to rest the troubling notion that kept her up most of the night.

  Admiring the odds and ends in the small, Georgian-styled townhouse-turned store, April thumbed through a few books on the local history of Kings Mill while she waited patiently for the college girl behind the counter to finish her phone call.

  She spotted a book about the excavations of the old mill ruins back in the late 1980s written by the local historian and director of Kings Mill’s Historical Society, Dr. Elizabeth “Beth” Freelane—the woman she would be meeting tomorrow. Dr. Moreland had scheduled an appointment for April to meet with her to get some pointers on James Addison and the mill. The woman was the foremost authority on the local history since taking over the historical society in 1986.

  Thinking it would give her a sense of who the woman was and her take on the history of Kings Mill’s local legend, before they actually met face to face, April picked up the book. Maybe it would reveal a bit more about James Addison. For being such a legend around here, there really was very little information on the man.

  Moving towards the counter where the girl was still talking on the phone, April paused to admire the turn-about display of kitschy magnets. A cartoon figure of a gravedigger reading; I Dig Dead People, made her laugh. Cute. And then the ever popular; Ghosts Are People, Too and one her Grams or Aunt Vickie might say to her; Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not there. But one in particular caught her eye. Believe in Fate. The phrase called to her as if daring her to follow through.

  April scoffed. She knew her aunt would argue the point, but fate didn’t make things happen. People made things happen. April picked it up along with the other three. They would make a nice addition to her eclectic magnet collection.

  The clerk hung up the phone. Taking her items up to the counter, April noticed the clerk wore the sweatshirt with the Ghosts Are People Too emblazoned across the front.

  “Hello. Can I help you?” she asked.

  “Yes, I need to know some information about the ghost tour last night.”

  “You took the tour? How did you like it?”

  “Very informative.” April nodded in what she hoped was an enthusiastic response.

  “We’re having another tour on Wednesday night, Halloween, if you’re interested.”

  “Thank you. I’ll think about it.” She waited for the girl to finish her promotional speech so she could ask her question.

  “Tickets are limited. We only have a few left for our last tour at ten o’clock. We’re actually going into Lilac Grove Cemetery for the tour and taking in Henry Samuel’s grave and some of the local legends buried there,” she gushed in a bubbly-cute voice.

  April’s professional and metaphysical interest merged with excitement. One thing she loved was old cemeteries. They were filled with historical wonder, from the weathered tombstones and creative epitaphs, to the interest of old architectural family crypts. She’d written her first term paper in college on old cemeteries. She’d found a peculiar hobby of taking etchings of unique engravings.

  “Would the tour include James Addison’s grave?”

  The clerk shook her head after a thoughtful moment. “He doesn’t have one. Or at least, no one knows its whereabouts. There’s no record of his burial according to the historical documents.” She rolled her eyes. “Trust me, my boss would have found it and used it in the tour by now.”

  A Halloween cemetery tour! What a fun way to spend one of her favorite holidays. “Sure, put me down for a ticket.”

  “Just one?”

  She thought about her Aunt Vickie. No, she was joining a group of her friends for Sangrias and Séances to celebrate Samhain. “Yes, just one.”

  The girl rang up her order as April looked at the scrapbook of pictures from the ghost tours given in the past. She was hoping to see her guide among the many pictures of the blond guy who’d led their tour, but no such luck.

  “You don’t have pictures of the dark haired tour guide?” April asked.

  “Dark haired tour guide?” The girl shook her head, her brow curled. “We don’t have anyone with dark hair, just Tony. We barely get enough interest for one tour guide, much less any others.”

  “Is this Tony?” She pointed to the picture of the guy she started her tour with last night.

  The girl behind the counter nodded. “Yeah, he’s my boyfriend. We’ve been dating since senior year in high school,” she explained.

  “There were two tour guides last night dressed in almost identical, period costumes so I assumed they were working together.” If Tony was the only one, who had she been with? Her brow furrowed and her heartbeat quickened. No, she wasn’t going to believe—

  “This man had dark hair, stood about six foot. I never got his name,” April replied anxiously, trailing off as the clerk kept shaking her head slowly. She had to make the girl understand. There had been another guide. She’d talked to him.

  “Weird.” The girl leaned over the counter. “Are you saying someone else was giving the tour, too?”

  “Yes. He was dressed in the same costume.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe he was some guy dressed up from a weekend Halloween party. Everyone had a costume party this weekend since the thirty-first falls on a Wednesday this year.” The girl f
inished processing her order and handed her the bag of items, including the ticket for the Halloween/Cemetery tour.

  Taking her purchase with a slight smile, April nodded. “Sure, that’s probably who I saw.” She said good-bye, wishing the young woman a good day and quickly headed out. She felt better now. Of course, Halloween party! Why hadn’t she thought of that?

  ***

  Sitting in the café, lazily stirring the foam into her latte, April mulled the possibility of truly having seen a ghost. Just because the girl had said they didn’t have any dark-haired tour guides didn’t mean he wasn’t some random guy in a costume. As close as it was to Halloween, he might have been coming back from a weekend party or something.

  But according to her aunt, the evidence of his ghostly apparition was there in her camera. She looked warily down at her purse nestled between her feet. She wasn’t going to look at the picture again. Having gone over it a hundred times last night, one more peek wouldn’t erase the orb from the view finder.

  April didn’t want to delete the photo, either. Confused and bothered by the possibility of almost believing the odd form could be a ghost, she put the idea away, back to the farthest reaches of her mind. She was too practical to think a simple speck of dust on her lens could be misconstrued as a ghost. Besides, she had research to do. Since she had some books to work with now she might find something of interest. A lead of some sort she could report to Kenneth Miles tomorrow when he called for an update.

  Settling in with her latte and the excavation of the mill site book, April tried to put last night’s events behind her. When her cell phone vibrated in her jeans pocket, she noted the caller ID, and her heart gave a little jolt. Why was Kenneth Miles calling her on a Sunday? She took a deep breath and plastered on her most professional smile.

  “Hello, Mr. Miles,” she greeted in her most professional voice.

  A voice on the other end crackled with static. “Is this Dr. Branford?”

  “Yes it is. What may I do for you?”

  Thank God she was sitting down. This was actually Kenneth Miles, the man she was working for. She could try to deny the fact he was ‘the most financially influential man in the world’ and try to look at him as a ‘normal man’ but having him on the phone made her palms sweat.

  “What’s your progress with the documents? I’m meeting with my share holders tomorrow and need to be able to give them something positive. This land purchase is my foremost priority. I need to know if James Addison owned the property before he died. ”

  “As a matter of fact, I’m researching the legend of your ancestor as we speak. I have to say there’s not much here. I’ll have more information Monday when I have a chance to go through the records at the Historical Society.” A lull in conversation had April thinking of a moment of calm before the storm.

  “Legend! I don’t want bedtime stories, doctor. I need evidence and cold hard facts. No one is going to accept a legend in a business venture.”

  April felt her ire rise. She didn’t care if he was one of the richest men in the world, Mr. Miles needed to have some woman pinch him hard.

  “I understand your concern, Mr. Miles. I’m doing the best I can with the information available. There hasn’t been enough factual history since most of the history connected with James Addison is based on stories and legends. Once we can separate the truth from fiction, I’ll have more to go on.”

  “I’m sorry for my loss of temper, doctor, but I don’t like excuses. Robert Moreland insisted I was getting the best person for the job. I want an expert on this case and I’m counting on you to find the documents to James’s claim on the land.” A healthy pause followed. “Money is no object. Do what you must to get the job done,” he barked out.

  April wasn’t sure if he was complimenting her or questioning her abilities. Still, if Dr. Moreland had sung her praises, she needed to make her mentor proud. And if she could pull off this investigation by solving the historical equation of the mysterious James Addison and his untimely demise, what a feather it would be in her cap! Such a triumph could clinch her career.

  “I want you to keep me abreast of your progress on a daily basis. I will be arriving in Kings Mill for the festivities in a few weeks and hope to have the information and historical record of deed found by then. As I said, if you find you need anything to move the process along, don’t hesitate to contact me. I want the document, Dr. Branford. Don’t fail me.”

  She closed her eyes and let her breath out slowly so he couldn’t hear it over the line. “Of course sir, I will do everything in my power to get my hands on it.”

  “Still, I want daily reports sent to my email. As soon as you find something of importance, I expect immediate details. I look forward to meeting with you in a few weeks, doctor.”

  “I look forward to meeting you too, Mr. Miles.” Without saying so much as goodbye, he rang off.

  The image of a gruff, balding man came to mind when she thought of Kenneth Miles and all of his billions. He kept out of the media limelight so no one knew much about him. Paparazzi had tried to get photos of him for years, but the man was as elusive as the Loch Ness Monster. Some tabloids even stated he was as fictitious as Betty Crocker. A label made up by an internationally successful corporation to appease an audience of investors.

  But she would be meeting the real man face to face in less than a month for the annual James Addison/Kings Mill Day festivities. Would the press get wind of his appearance and try to take over the town? Having Kenneth here would be great publicity for the small town, but she secretly thought it might diminish the memory of James Addison in all the attention and hoopla. The situation didn’t sit well with her. April didn’t care how wealthy Kenneth Miles was.

  ***

  April tried to settle in to read the hardback book she'd purchased. The excavation of Kings Mill should be fascinating. But twenty minutes of mind numbing legal crap on procuring excavation rights led to her thumbing through the black and white photos in the middle pages that were mostly group photos of the digging team and volunteer archeologists. A picture of a silver chatelaine unearthed in the manor house cellar popped up as she rifled through the pages. April sat up and examined the photo.

  A chatelaine was a very important implement to a lady of the house, much like a smart phone with all of its apps. It contained everything a woman needed to run a household. Each chain was attached to items such as door keys, keys to china hutches and secretary desks. Dainty scissors, needle holders, and writing tools were also favorite items to be found on one.

  This one was a silver brooch in a fleur-de-lis design. Three chains still hung from it containing two skeleton keys, one larger than the other. What could the priceless artifact reveal to her if she could ever get her hands on it? Something as intimate and personal as a woman’s chatelaine would still contain the owner’s memories and emotional details. Just thinking about it made her fingers itch.

  She spied a picture of her aunt’s house as it had been in 1987. Underneath the photo, the caption explained it had been Henry Samuels’s residence before his death in December 1774. Some historians believed Henry was the owner of the mill instead of James Addison, but no formal deed had ever been found. Besides, this didn’t help her. April needed proof of James Addison owning the mill, not Henry Samuel. A small portrait of the stout, middle aged man with great jowls wearing a small periwig was on the following page. The picture depicted what she thought a colonial land commissioner would look like. Even his beady little eyes screamed of political power.

  She turned the page. The last glossy insert stopped her heart cold. James Edward Addison, second son of the Earl of Sunderbury, stared back at her, the image a copy of a painting from a personal collection from England. He’d been twenty-one at the time of the sitting, just shy of taking leave for the Maryland colony. The man had a high brow, firm jaw line, and an aristocratic bearing for one so youthful. The picture portrayed only his torso but he had nice broad shoulders and his dark hair wasn’t cove
red with a powdered wig like Henry. His white linen shirt contrasted with his dark, scruffy jaw line.

  Enthralled by it, she peered closer at the picture. Those eyes! They mesmerized her. Even from the pages of the book, the look in his eyes spoke volumes as if he were trying to communicate with her. The black and white picture didn’t reveal their color, but James’s passion resonated, sending chills up her spine.

  But the most amazing thing was, for all intense purposes, James Addison bore a striking resemblance to her guide.

  No. It couldn’t be. No…no!

  April slammed shut the book and shook her head, refusing to believe for one minute—

  “May I borrow this seat?”

  A clutch of women settled around the table next to hers. While she’d immersed herself in research, the cafe had become more crowded and seating was at a premium. She noted the time on her watch. The twenty minutes had moved into forty-five while she’d obsessed over the middle of the book.

  “Of course, I’m finished anyway.” She tried to smile at the group. Once she gathered her wits and her belongings, she stood and threw her bag over her shoulder.

  Afternoon sunshine hit her as she emerged from the coffee house. But even the bright rays didn’t stop her from shivering at the realization she had possibly seen a ghost. April found herself right back in her dilemma. Doggedly determined not to believe such bull, she crossed the street with a no nonsense gait, as if trying to outrun her over active imagination. No way in hell was she going to believe her guide was a ghost, and definitely not the ghost of James Addison!

  Upon crossing the street she stopped mid stride. But what if it was true? She was a member of the Wilton clan and a woman. She was born into the trait. It was a very real possibility. She didn’t need to experience the family curse. Not now when she was about to prove herself in her field.