Chapter 1 Erik #4
“First off, thanks for introducing me to Haley. She’s terrific, just helped me out on a haunted item,” Erik said.
“I’m sure we’ll do a lot of business together—you know how Ben and I keep finding haunted stuff.
” Erik had been thinking for a while that, for as often as solving the complicated history of the antiques that came into Trinkets, having a connection to another medium would come in handy, so he was happy to have found Haley.
“Not to mention dead mobsters,” Alessia snarked, recalling some of their recent incidents.
“That, too,” Erik replied with a sigh.
“Haley’s pretty new in town, and she’s the whole enchilada,” Alessia replied. “She can also do séances, dispel troublesome ghosts, and, as you now know, remove haunts from objects.”
“I’m curious. What brought her to Cape May?” Erik asked.
“She’s a historian, and she’s working on a grant-funded project for the library and the Historical Society,” Alessia replied.
“The project entails having her interview ghosts about local history to capture what they know before they fade. Of course, it will be in a special collection with limited access because that kind of thing isn’t common knowledge, but I’m really interested to see what she comes up with. ”
“Where did the funding come from?” Erik was equally fascinated by the project concept.
“The Fox Institute in Upstate New York,” Alessia said. “It’s a scholarly organization dedicated to the paranormal. Very legit.”
“I’m sure we’ll need her help quite a bit. Although the backstory for the ghosts might involve some unsavory information,” Erik warned. “I hope that won’t bother her.”
Although Erik and Ben had retired from active law enforcement, cold cases kept finding them, and many of those involved the Mafia.
“I don’t think it will,” Alessia said with a laugh.
“She’s been an off-the-books consultant to several police departments when they hit a brick wall on investigations.
They can’t fess up to having someone talk to ghosts to get information, but when a lead from a confidential informant breaks a case, they don’t have to. ”
“Interesting. Most cops I’ve met are skeptics, if not outright hostile to spooky stuff.” Erik couldn’t help thinking about Cape May’s own Chief Cole Hendricks, who definitely mistrusted anything he deemed to be “woo-woo.”
“I’m glad Haley was able to help you. But I doubt that’s why you called,” Alessia said.
Erik filled her in on the relics from the SS Mohawk and Lila’s ghost, as well as their theory that misguided magic might have trapped the spirit with the wreck.
“If it quits storming tomorrow, would you be able to stop in and see if you can sense any magic involved? If there’s a spell gone wrong, maybe it can be broken to send her on. ”
“Let me check my schedule. You might want to include Haley as well.” She paused for a moment. “Nine a.m. work? Meet you at Trinkets?”
“That works great, and I’ll call Haley next,” Erik told her. “I’ll have coffee ready. Thank you so much.” He felt relieved to have a plan and called Haley before getting a fresh cup of coffee and joining Ben.
“I found more about Lila online,” Ben took a seat across from Erik at the table.
“Her family offered a reward for information and reported her missing to the police. I think they were afraid she’d been kidnapped.
A few years later, there was an obituary notice that said ‘missing, presumed dead.’ I don’t think they ever realized she was on the Mohawk. ”
“I’m guessing her parents either opposed the marriage or the man she loved, and Lila took matters into her own hands,” Erik said. “It’s too bad she didn’t get her happy ending.”
Erik’s phone rang, and he saw that it was Susan. “Hi Susan, is everything okay?”
“Yeah, just a little damp. I wanted to remind you to look at the event checklist email for Awesome Autumn, which should be in your inbox. They’ll probably want you to do a couple of programs about antiques, and for Ben to talk about architecture and old houses like last year.”
Erik glanced at Ben, who had heard what she said and nodded.
“That should be fine, but we’ll look at it first thing tomorrow,” Erik promised. “We had fun last year, and the event brought in a lot of new visitors, all for a good cause.”
“I was hoping you’d say that. I’ll see you tomorrow if we don’t float away before then,” Susan added before ending the call.
Rapping at the door jerked both men to attention. “Who would be out in this weather?” Ben asked as Erik rose to look out the window by the door.
Although they were technically closed, Erik had turned on the lights so the man on the front step could be forgiven his mistake. He shifted from one foot to the other as he stood beneath an umbrella, holding a large square picture box.
“I’ve got your back.” Ben moved to stand beside the desk, where Erik kept a gun. All their run-ins with the Mob made it prudent to take precautions.
Erik’s intuition told him to meet with the stranger. He opened the door and motioned for the man to come inside. It wasn’t raining quite as hard anymore, but the man still looked soggy. Whatever he wanted was urgent enough to send him outside in the storm.
“Thanks.” The man stomped his feet, peeled off his soaked rain jacket, and hung it on the doorknob. He was a bedraggled middle-aged man with thinning hair and a lean build, suggesting that he had been a runner in his younger years.
“It’s a nasty night to be out and about,” Erik observed. “I’m Erik Mitchell, and I own the shop. This is my partner, Ben. How can I help you?”
“I’m Peter Randolph,” the man said. “Do you believe in ghosts?” His question held a note of desperation.
“What did you have in mind?” Erik sidestepped.
Randolph rested the package on the counter. “I bought this segment of a stained-glass window at an auction, and I think it’s haunted. Creeps me out. The images in the glass…move.”
“Do you have the paperwork?” Erik’s past job made him wary of people trying to fence stolen art.
“Right here.” Randolph reached into the inside pocket of his coat and withdrew a slightly damp envelope. Inside was the bill of sale from the auction house, along with a detailed description and a photocopied picture of the window itself.
Erik brought Randolph into the break room and spread out the silver-threaded containment mat. He also took a small blanket made from the same blessed and spelled material and set it nearby, as well as grabbing his gloves.
“Can you show me the window?” Erik couldn’t help being intrigued.
Experience taught him that anything could harbor a ghost or at least soak up negative energy enough to send off uncomfortable vibes.
It wasn’t uncommon for paintings and old photographs to have a ghostly hitchhiker, but this was the first time he had heard of a haunted window.
Randolph set the box on its side atop the containment mat, and Erik handed him scissors to cut the packing tape that held it shut.
He carefully withdrew a two-foot-by-two-foot section of leaded glass.
Ben brought a lamp and they plugged it in.
Randolph held the window up against the light, and Erik caught his breath.
“Is that a Tiffany piece?” Erik asked, although he was almost positive it was.
“That’s what the seller told me,” Randolph said.
“I thought I was getting a bargain. I’ve heard about those windows.
Had some in the church where I grew up. I was excited about finally having one of my own.
I was going to figure out how to replace one of my regular house windows with it. But then, things went weird.”
While Randolph told his story, Erik never took his eyes off the window. Ben moved behind him, where he could also see.
The panel looked like it might have been taken from a larger window.
The scene showed two men and a thick old book.
It might have been a Bible, but to Erik’s eye, it looked more like a grimoire.
Tiffany often dealt with religious subjects, but also did windows with flowers, trees, and nature scenes.
If this piece had been a custom order, perhaps a book of magic wasn’t too strange a request.
Erik would need to run a couple of tests to confirm that the window was indeed a Tiffany. The fame of the creator made copycats and knock-offs brazen and widespread. Even so, previously unknown authentic windows were discovered surprisingly often, hidden away in private homes or small churches.
Still, a first look with a practiced eye suggested that the window was authentic. The dark resonance made him shiver even without touching it to activate his psychometry.
“There!” Ben pointed.
Erik squinted, unsure whether he had really seen motion. Then he saw another shift, slight but unmistakable.
“Did the seller tell you anything else about where the window came from, or who commissioned it?” Erik asked.
Randolph shook his head. “No. He said he bought a numbered lot sight-unseen at an estate sale, and this was in it. I asked why he was selling it, and he said that’s what he does—pick through the best stuff in odd lots like that and resells them.
Although now I think maybe he knew it was haunted and wanted rid of it. ”
“What do you want to do with it?” Erik asked.
“I was hoping you’d buy it,” Randolph said. “I’ve heard you’re good with spooky stuff.”
“I can’t resell it if it’s haunted, but I can send it to some specialists who can contain it, given its historical value as a Tiffany,” Erik told him.
“That means I can’t pay market value for what a comparable non-haunted Tiffany would be worth.
I can give you a couple of hundred dollars, and my thanks for getting a potentially dangerous object out of circulation. ”