Chapter Fifteen #2
I open to the chapter on Elizabeth Howell and read, hands trembling as I turn the page.
Is that why the spirit is seeking me out?
Because we’re family? My head spins, and I sit back in my chair and squeeze my eyes shut.
Elizabeth is an even more common name than Howell.
This probably isn’t even my Elizabeth. And even if it is, what are the chances that she’s some long lost relative?
Louise is right, it would be an amazing coincidence, and that’s the problem, I don’t believe in coincidences.
Gosh, I wish my mom was still here, or Gran, so I could ask her. If I’d at least spoken to Dad recently it wouldn’t be totally out of the blue to ring him and say, ‘Hey, about Mom’s family…’
I reach out, eyes still closed, trying to sense something, anything.
I whisper, ‘Elizabeth.’ But there’s only silence.
The same strange silence I experienced at the Western graveyard.
Fear lumps in my throat. I look at the pages again.
If this is the Elizabeth who’s haunting me, then Garrett Western must have been one of the men in the cellar.
And the man who murdered the girl under the oak tree, the unnaturally beautiful man, he had to be a Western too.
How long has this family been killing people, and why the hell am I dreaming about them?
I return to the bed and breakfast with a journal full of notes and a stomach full of knots.
I still haven’t had a chance to speak to Callum about my encounter with the ghost of Elizabeth.
Do I share this disturbing new piece of information, too?
Or do I keep it to myself until I’ve had a moment to fully work through it?
Because it’s now obvious this ghost is haunting me for a reason.
I toss my bag on my bed and stare anxiously at the adjoining door.
I’m suddenly swimming with the same nerves I woke up with this morning.
It’s like a switch has been flipped in me.
Now that I’ve allowed myself to acknowledge my feelings for Callum, I can’t seem to turn them back off.
And the scariest part is, I don’t think I want to.
I check the mirror, just to make sure I’m not blushing, square my shoulders, and tap on his door.
‘Who is it?’ Callum singsongs.
‘You know who it is and I’m coming in.’
Callum’s lying on his bed, grinning at me like the Cheshire Cat, his pale cheeks pink and his eyes a little red. Jason is stretched out on the floor with a half-empty bottle of whiskey sitting beside him.
I blink. ‘Are you both drunk?’
Jason puts his index finger and thumb together. ‘Only a little.’
I look back at Callum. ‘Did you do any work today, or am I the only one who cares about this job?’
‘Didn’t you see my cameras set up in the hall?’ I shake my head. He shakes his too, adding an eye roll. ‘The manager asked me to see if I could capture George the ghost. They want me to come back out here and do a show.’ He smiles excitedly.
I smother a sigh. He doesn’t need a camera; I can tell him when George is around. But he’s beaming at me so I swallow my words. ‘I thought you didn’t bring cameras.’
‘Of course I brought cameras.’
‘But you’ve been told no video at the house.’
He shrugs. ‘Did I say I was going to take cameras to the house?’ He flashes me a toothy grin and swings his long legs off the bed, then disappears into his bathroom, returning with a clean glass.
‘Did you do any real work?’ I ask.
‘ Real work? Of course I did real work. Honestly, Holly, your low opinion of me never ceases to amaze.’
‘Kind of deserved though, Cal,’ Jason chimes in. ‘You were lying around daydreaming about… something… until I knocked on your door.’ Now it’s Jason with the toothy grin.
‘Hey!’ Callum gives Jason a gentle kick as he steps over him.
He grabs the whiskey bottle and pours me out a measure.
‘The historical society closed at two,’ he says.
‘We were there most of the day. I promise.’ He puts the bottle back down on the floor, straightens up and crosses his heart.
I follow his finger as it trails across his T-shirt.
‘Then we did some filming around the area for the podcast. Then I set up the cameras. We didn’t even stop for lunch. Tell her Jase.’
‘He worked me all day and wouldn’t let me eat.’
Callum tuts. ‘Which, in hindsight, probably wasn’t smart with the whiskey and all.’ His lips quirk up in one corner. ‘Now, stop being a party pooper. Try to relax and have some fun.’
I huff impatiently as I take the glass from him, my fingers brushing his. Sparks of heat zip crazily across my skin, and when our eyes meet a throb booms in my chest. He grins down at me and keeps grinning as he throws himself back onto his bed and links his hands behind his head.
My gaze drops to my drink as I try to compose myself. ‘I’m not a party pooper…’ I huff. ‘I just want to get this investigation done so we can get into the house and get out of here.’
Callum wags his finger. ‘All work and no play, Holly.’
With a tsk I toss back the whiskey. The heat feels good as the amber liquid coats the back of my throat, loosening the knot of fear that had lodged there. ‘Okay? I’m playing, alright? I’m… fun.’
‘I never doubted it,’ he says way too growly.
I squirm uncomfortably as the throb in my chest makes its way south.
‘I never doubted it either,’ Jason adds, hauling himself off the floor. He pours me another shot, looking down at me with a knowing smile.
I look from Jason to Callum, both tipsy, both smirking at me, and toss back another slug. I think I’m going to need it.
‘Aren’t we even going to discuss your investigation?’ I ask Callum, already knowing what the answer will be.
‘Our investigation,’ he corrects. ‘We used your notes to match a couple more names to the Western graveyard. They weren’t Westerns, though. We don’t know their connection. Couldn’t find anything in any of Ola’s info. So, there’s another mystery to add to the growing list.’
I shove Callum’s long legs over and wiggle onto the bed beside him. ‘I’ve got better than that. Edward Western’s ancestors may have been America’s first mass murderers.’ I don’t mention Elizabeth Howell. I’ll get to her later. Maybe.
Callum springs up. ‘What do you mean, mass murderers?’ He’s suddenly all business.
‘Garrett Western, and possibly his brother Alistair too, might have killed some people. Women, specifically.’
‘They were officials on the witch court,’ he says. ‘That’s recorded information.’
‘Yes, I know, but what if they were using the witch trials as cover?’
His gaze narrows. ‘To get away with murder?’ I nod. ‘Do you have proof of that?’
‘Not exactly, just rumours and theories. But Louise Garlick from the Witch Study Center is pretty convincing.’
‘But she doesn’t know for sure the Westerns did anything illegal.’
‘Well, no. She thinks the family is bad news, though. And I can’t help but agree. People aren’t that secretive unless they have something to hide, and something definitely went down in that house. Something so evil it left a stain.’
Callum rubs his chin, a deep groove forming between his eyes.
‘We’ve still got to work with facts, Holly.
But yeah, we should look into all of it…
’ His mood shifts. ‘ Tomorrow .’ He wiggles in beside me.
‘Jason’s leaving tomorrow, and I think we could all do with blowing off some steam, don’t you?
’ He rests his head on my shoulder and flutters his long lashes at me.
I can smell the whiskey on him, feel the warmth of his breath on my neck and the tickle of his soft stubble on my collarbone. He teases me with a nudge, and I reflexively shake him off.
He grins wide. ‘I know you want to.’
I do want to. The whiskey feels good warming my blood, and Callum’s thigh feels great pressed up against mine.
Jason chimes in. ‘C’mon, Holly, I have an early meeting tomorrow, so I won’t see you guys before I check out. Let’s all have a nice dinner together. Then you can have Cal all to yourself. Do with him what you want. Work. Play.’
‘Exactly,’ Callum says. ‘Tonight, we relax. Tomorrow, you can ride me as hard as you want.’
I groan, rolling my eyes at his turn of phrase. ‘Okay, fine. But, Callum,’ I say, ‘tomorrow…’
His eyes sparkle. ‘Tomorrow I’m all yours.’