Wanted: One Ghost Page 8

  April sighed and slipped into the chair with defeat. The whole day seemed a waste now. Her main objective was to meet with Dr. Freelane and go over records, documents, facts…anything she could find on James Addison and Kings Mill.

  Her aunt studied her intently. “Are you wearing your hair differently this morning, my dear? I must say it’s very becoming pulled back.”

  Reaching up she patted the quick twist she’d secured loosely at the nape of her neck. “Yes, well I thought a change might be nice,” April explained herself but stopped when her aunt gave her the knowing look. “You said we needed to talk?”

  “I’ve given your situation with James a lot of thought. I even contacted a few people in my paranormal society to give me their take on what could have happened,” Aunt Vickie said, turning her focus to the subject at hand.

  “You’ve let others know what I did?” Great! That was all she needed. To be hounded by entertainment rags and groupies of ghost hunters wanting to see if her James Addison was the real thing.

  “Nobody I can’t trust with the secret. We don’t need to make this a national spectacle,” her aunt replied as if she assumed April would make it one. “But everyone seems to be in concurrence on your problem. Your psychometry is enhancing the paranormal energies around you. The stronger the energy, the more it is brought to light. I noticed a strong aura surrounding both you and James—the colors are so closely linked.”

  “I might believe it if he were still a ghost, Aunt Vickie.” She stopped and listened. The water running above them told her James was awake and enjoying his first shower ever. “But he’s a real man. How do you explain that?”

  “You were both in close proximity to James’s remains. You were touching his tombstone. It’s an artifact of his remains dating back to his burial, and it was All Hallows Eve. You know as well as I, Halloween is the time when the spiritual realm is in closest proximity to ours. Something tells me James was already close enough to our realm of time. Your gift and the timing brought him the rest of the way.” Vickie leaned forward, placing her elbows on the table. “I’m going to go out on a limb and say the connection between your energies, auras, and psychometry all mirrored the effects of each other until…”

  “Until his soul and his body merged to life again.”

  “Exactly my dear!” Aunt Vickie leaned back, sipping her tea and looking pleased with April’s acceptance.

  April rubbed her face in aggravation. “I don’t believe this.” She picked up her muffin, cut it in half and began buttering it with the sweet honey whipped butter her aunt liked.

  “You doubt what your own eyes and heart tell you are true? Stop being so damn pessimistic and cynical, April. Start feeling and trusting with your heart. Fate has a way of leading us where we need to be for a reason.”

  “Fate? Fate!” Throwing her untouched muffin half to her plate, she took her napkin and wiped her lips and fingers and prepared to leave. “God, if I hear one more reference to fate, I swear I will scream.”

  “Watch your language, April Branford, don’t you dare take His name in vain.”

  For all of her aunt’s belief’s in the supernatural and the deities of old, she still practiced her beliefs in Christianity. April sighed and sat back down. “Sorry.”

  Her aunt shrugged. April felt bad for raising her voice to her aunt. One thing her family prided themselves on was their ability to know when something was meant to be.

  “Knowing how everything went yesterday, did you sleep last night?” Her aunt changed the subject.

  “I finally went to sleep about two, until I thought I heard a woman weeping in the other room next to mine. It was only the wind. You need to get the windows caulked, there is a draft up there.” Picking up her muffin half she took a bite.

  “Was she there?”

  April stopped chewing, watching her aunt. “Was who there?”

  “The weeping woman,” Vickie sighed as if she were answering an idiot. “I’ve sensed her presence since I moved in six years ago. She’s been known to visit a time or two, usually around November or December. But she’s more of a residual essence to me, not an active one.” Vickie stared thoughtfully towards the upper floor of the house. “Poor thing, she seems to be distraught, and a bit fearful. The room belonged to her, so I always keep it tidy.”

  Distraught, fearful? Crap! Yeah, those were the feelings she’d gotten last night, too. “You’re saying there is a woman staying in the room?” April turned in her seat to face her aunt.

  “Not a real woman–oh, I’m sure she was at one point. Most residual haunts need to be released before they can move on.” She shrugged. “I suppose that’s why this time of year she seems to emerge. Perhaps something drastic happened to her around now and this point brings her into focus.”

  “I didn’t see a weeping woman. Just heard the draft from the old window making it sound like someone crying.” April didn’t want to admit to her possible connection. She had enough to deal with right now. One ghost was more than she could handle.

  “If you say so,” Aunt Vickie sighed. “I know she’s there. Maybe she called out to you last night for help. You have it in you to give peace and solve mysteries left unanswered. The spirits just want to move on—yet they can’t always reach out to those who can help them.”

  “And what am I supposed to do? Bring them to life so they can relive their time on Earth and solve their deaths so they can move on?”

  “I’m saying you may be the connection between the present and the past they need to touch.” Vickie sat forward and reached for April’s hand, holding it reverently. “Your touch and ability to understand history is their only hope in telling their stories, and setting the records straight. Without the truth, ghosts flounder aimlessly until someone comes along to set them free. You are their only hope.”

  ***

  Initially, James wasn’t sure if he could sleep. He hadn’t in so long. Afraid he might not wake up if he did fall asleep, he’d tossed and turned for a good hour or two. But once sleep hit him it was deep and blissful. He woke up refreshed and ready for the first full day of the rest of his life, however long that might be. The clock at his bedside table illuminated oddly disjointed numbers, eight o’clock in the morning. Would April be awake? James listened intently for any sounds of movement from across the hall, but heard none.

  Cold air touched his naked skin. He could feel hot and cold as if he were truly alive again. He wasn’t as prepared for the cool air as he assumed he’d be. He should’ve worn the lounge pants, as April had called them, but it wasn’t his style. Now he stared down at the gooseflesh dotting his naked form. Sighing, he was glad April Branford wasn’t around to witness his chill. The temperature did nothing to show his attributes. She might wonder why the history books had proclaimed him to be such a ‘ladies man’ when his family jewels appeared less than favorable.

  Looking forward to experiencing a shower, James had toyed with the idea of taking one last night, but he didn’t want to have to go through the trouble of heating water twice, especially if he was only going to sleep afterward. No, starting his new life fresh would be preferable. He couldn’t wait to enjoy hot and cold running water. No more having to lug the hip tub up to his room or wait for pails of water to be heated for him.

  Stepping into the shower he was hit full force with a warm, needle-like spray. He marveled at the true miracle of water cascading over his hand as he leaned against the solid, tiled wall. Moments spent warming his body under the fountain, letting his skin soak in moisture felt like the Heaven he’d waited forever for. He touched his face, feeling the raspy growth of whiskers. Flexing his fingers he pinched himself, reveling in the senses of actual contact. Hair plastered against his head, he let the water, running in rivulets down his face, mix with unabashed tears of being alive again. He wasn’t an emotional man, but someone thought him worthy enough to be given a second chance. Should a man cry from such a simple pleasure of life?

  ***

  It ha
d taken him a few tries with the oddly shaped razor but after nicking his throat a few times he realized he didn’t have to use so much pressure to wield the contraption. He did come to the conclusion he was alive, or at least had blood running through his veins. He combed his hair back after a ridiculous amount of time of washing it. The directions on the green bottle said to ‘wash, rinse and repeat.’ How many times was he supposed to? It didn’t give any indication, and he figured it had been a long while so he continued at least six times. He had to agree with April, he did enjoy the fragrance of the body wash. It reminded him of the heather fields and evergreens back home in England.

  When he went downstairs, he found April sitting at the dining room table, finishing up breaking her fast with her Aunt Vickie.

  “Good morrow dear gentle ladies.”

  Both looked at him simultaneously. Their raised eyebrows had him checking himself for possible faux pas in modern attire.

  He turned himself inside out trying to see what wrong he’d committed. “Is there something amiss? Did I not dress properly?”

  “No…I mean yes, you’re fine,” April stammered, before taking a sip from her cup.

  “Wow! What an understatement,” Aunt Vickie mumbled under her breath as she stood to take her leave.

  “Please, don’t leave on my account, Miss Snyder.”

  She waved him off. “I have my water aerobics class this morning, I should be going.” She looked him over and glanced towards April who was focused on stirring cream into her cup.

  “Forgive me,” he began. “Have I interrupted anything?”

  “No. Nothing at all.” Vickie Snyder patted his freshly shaven cheek. “Sit down and have some breakfast. April will get you a plate from the kitchen and some tea.”

  “If it’s not too much trouble—”

  “No trouble at all, James.” April rose from her seat and exchanged a look with her aunt he couldn’t quite read, before she headed into the kitchen.

  “How are you feeling this morning, Mr. Addison?” Aunt Vickie caught his attention again.

  “Alive and quite well, Miss Snyder,” he returned jovially, taking her hand and placing a brief kiss to the woman’s fingers. “And you?”

  “Wishing I were forty years younger or born in the 1740’s. Take your pick.”

  James cocked his eyebrow and studied the woman inquisitively. It finally dawned on him. “Why, Miss Snyder, I do believe you are flirting with me.”

  “I would have to be blind in both eyes and without any senses not to,” the old woman’s smile was charming and infectious. “And stop calling me Miss Snyder. You make me sound like some school marm. Please, call me Vickie.”

  “Very well, Vickie.” He rubbed his fingers lightly over the woman’s knuckles before delicately dropping her hand. “If you address me as James.”

  April returned with a tray of a steaming plate of food and a delicate china teapot and set it on the table.

  “Oh, by the way.” Vickie went to retrieve her coat from the coat tree. James helped her put it on when he saw her struggle. “Thank you. I wanted to let you know you have the house to yourselves tonight. I have tickets to the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra with my friend, Abby. I won’t be home until late so don’t wait up for me.”

  James found her announcement confusing. She was leaving April alone with…him? “You would leave your niece without a chaperone while there is a man about? Should I find another form of residence?”

  “We don’t stand on such formality anymore, James. Besides, it might be you in need of the chaperone.”

  April jumped in clearing her throat. “Don’t you have your water aerobics class to attend, Aunt Vickie?”

  James didn’t miss the heated stare aimed at the older woman from his delightful angel.

  “Matter of fact I do.” She grabbed her bag near the door and waved with her fingers, laughing as she headed out the door.

  “You’ll have to excuse my Aunt Vickie. She’s rather odd at times,” April said as he sat down in front of the plate of fluffy eggs, crispy bacon, and what looked like a soft scone.

  James unfolded his napkin and placed it in his lap. “On the contrary, I find her quite charming. She’s a woman who’s experienced life and is not afraid to speak her mind.”

  “Yes, well she sometimes speaks her mind too frankly, I’m afraid.”

  “I’ve learned speaking one’s mind is of great advantage. It doesn’t leave anything up for questioning.” He poked his fork into the fluffy eggs, sampling to see if his taste buds still worked this morning. “Did you and your ex-boyfriend speak openly to one another?”

  “Jason?”

  “Yes, you spoke of him the other day, when we met. Perhaps you shared a lack of communication causing you to drift apart.” He was so intent on eating he didn’t realize the awkward silence until he looked up to see sadness in April’s eyes. “I’m sorry. Did I say something I ought not to have?”

  “No,” she whispered. “We just had different values.”

  “Such as?”

  “He didn’t believe in my gift.” Her heavy sigh spoke of the heartache she must have witnessed. “He thought my psychometry was a hoax, some idiocy I had made up to make myself important, or rather ‘odd,’ to him and our mutual friends.” She shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “He even questioned my paper on the Salem Witch Trials, making fun of me and asking if I was there at the time.”

  “The bastard!” James sat forward, wondering how she could have endured such a sniveling louse. “Did he not see your talents? Could he not honestly sense your true ability to connect on some level with the past?”

  April smiled. “I appreciate your support, James, but you weren’t there.”

  “I’ve seen what you can do. I’m living proof.” He munched viciously on a piece of bacon. “Well, good riddance, I say. You’re much too intelligent and kind to be shackled to a man who can’t find it in his heart to honor a woman such as you.” He stopped chewing. “Are there more idiots in this world who think such thoughts?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. Intelligence is subjective.”

  “Well, I hope you can keep me away from these short-sighted imbeciles, like your Jason.”

  “He’s not my Jason anymore,” April said as she leaned on her hand contemplatively. “I hope I’ve learned to move on.”

  “—and accept your talent for what it is?” James reached across the table to take her free hand, giving it a gentle, affectionate squeeze. “Never doubt what you’ve done to me, for me, April Branford. You are an amazing woman.”

  Chapter Eight

  “So what are we to do today?” James asked as they walked down the street bordering the old courthouse.

  “I need to meet with Dr. Freelane. I called her a little bit ago to make sure she was available. She is the foremost historian on Kings Mill history. She runs the historical society. Unfortunately, she’s the only full time employee and she’s swamped with moving into a new building the city received a grant for last year.”

  “How is it unfortunate? I would think a new building would provide a great opportunity.” James stopped to look in one of the law office windows as they passed by.

  It didn’t occur to her he’d stopped abruptly until he wasn’t there to catch her response to his question. She turned around to see him staring oddly at the lead glass.

  Going back the few steps she touched his arm, bringing him out of his stupor. “What’s wrong?”

  He nodded his head at the window. “Henry’s office.”

  “Really? I didn’t know.”

  “The last time I was here I had purchased a piece of land to expand to the north of my immediate property.” His voice was low and sad. “It was less than a fortnight before my death.”

  “I’m sorry, James.” April looked up at the door sign for a local law firm. The front window was a large plate glass, still reminiscent of the antiquity needed to maintain historical status for Kings Mill. No one was in the lobby but she could see the
receptionist peaking up over her desk watching them warily. “Do you want to go inside?”

  James seemed to break out of his spell and looked at her with an odd frown. “Why would I want to go in? Henry is no longer there. Trust me, if he was I would gladly give him a thrashing.”

  “Wouldn’t you want to ask him why he had you killed?”

  He looked at her as if she was daft. “Well, of course I would!”

  “Would that be before or after you thrashed him?”

  “Before I thrashed him. The man wouldn’t be able to speak after I got done with him.” James growled menacingly.

  April took him by the arm. She needed to get this man away from his need for revenge against someone no longer alive. “Come on. We have a lot to do today and I hope you can help me sort through all the documents I might be able to get my hands on.”

  ***

  They had walked to the present historical society office, a small Victorian townhouse with the main floor used as a small museum and visitor center. The door was locked and a small note telling them to meet Dr. Freelane at the new location two blocks down was taped to the door.

  Proceeding to the new building, they encountered a flurry of activity going on with contractors, engineers, and various other construction employees swarming in and out of the airy wood and glass office. April and James walked in to the smell of epoxy and fresh paints. They side stepped the whir of electrical drills and nail guns to approach a woman in her mid to late fifties with a severe, grayish-silver bun knotted at the back of her head. She was busy dealing with a construction foreman, arguing over where electrical outlets were supposed to go. The woman glanced up, holding up her finger for them to wait just a moment as she finished her discussion with the man in the white hard hat.

  April looked around at the sparse area. The beige walls matched the neutral tones of the commercial grade carpet. Large wooden beams crossed the cathedral-style ceiling full of recessed lighting. It appeared almost too modern to be a historical society. But it was esthetically pleasing to most people. Truthfully, she preferred the musty smells of old buildings to modern facilities.