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Copyright ©2009 by Elizabeth Eagan-Cox

First published in ebook, 2009

NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Author's Notes

About Elizabeth Eagan-Cox

* * * *

A Ghost Meets an Angel

Book 3 of the Shannon Delaney Paranormal Mystery Series

Elizabeth Eagan-Cox

(C)(C) 2009. All Rights Reserved Elizabeth Eagan-Cox First Electronic Edition, December, 2009 (C)(C) 2009 cover art Elizabeth Eagan-Cox, photo taken by Christopher Cox-2008

Publishers Note: This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

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Chapter 1

Gazing up and down the main street of Julian was like taking a look back in time. If ever there was an Old West town alive and thriving in this modern world, Julian is it. I walked over to my target and stood in front of the Spotted Coyote. The sign up on the tall false front declared that this was “the right spot for Grub, Spirits and Conjuring!” Stepping up onto the oak plank front porch, I peeked in the window to the right of the door and spied a man arranging something behind the long mahogany and brass-appointed bar. Fifteen unoccupied bar stools opposed the bar. Should I tap on the window to get his attention?

"You must be Miss Delaney?"

I jumped and spun around.

"Hey now, I didn't mean to rattle you.” The tall, blonde and blue-eyed cowboy tipped his hat to me.

"You didn't,” I stammered, all the while summarizing in my mind that when Rosario had described Gavin Longstreet as being the reincarnation of how the actor Robert Redford looked as the Sundance Kid...... she was on target. I offered my hand, “Mr. Longstreet, I presume?"

"Hmm......” He took a long look at me, “I guess I can't fault Sister Rosario Santiago for sizing me up, for your sake, anyway.” He shook my hand and released it. “Let's mosey on in.” Longstreet stepped forward and unlocked one of the heavy oak doors to the Spotted Coyote. “After you, miss."

"This venue is much larger than I imagined!” Longstreet said nothing. I looked around at the spacious interior. “This must be much larger than Old West saloons really were?"

"I'd say so,” Longstreet smiled. “Let's have a seat over here and we'll get started.” He walked a few paces over to one of twelve round oak tables and pulled out a ladder- backed chair. I took the hint. He remained standing. “Miss Delaney, would you care for some refreshments?"

"Coffee, with milk, no sugar."

Longstreet nodded acknowledgment and walked away. I heard him say something to the man behind the bar and then he returned and took a seat across the table from me. Taking off his hat, he placed it on the chair to his right.

"I'm not related to him,” Longstreet announced.

"To whom?” I asked.

"Robert Redford, the actor who played the Sundance Kid."

I smiled, “Well, you have to admit, you do have an uncanny resemblance. And to be honest, I had to rent the movie to know who Rosario was referring to."

"So, you're not an Old West fan?"

"That's not fair,” I defended my ignorance. “I'm just not familiar with the really old western movies. Shouldn't my coffee be ready?"

He laughed and made a motion to the barkeeper, who made haste to bring my coffee over. “Oscar, meet Shannon Delaney, our publicity writer and newest member of the Spotted Coyote family."

Oscar set the coffee in front of me, “Much obliged to make your acquaintance miss. I'm Oscar Altenwald. If you need anything, see me first."

"Thank you,” I smiled at Oscar, then opened up my notebook and took out my pen. I sipped my coffee, “Excellent coffee.” I gave Longstreet a no-nonsense direct stare. If he wanted to be cheeky about this meeting, then I could be all business.

"Alex said you would be all business like.” Longstreet met my look with a grin.

"Oh, and what else did Alexander Blackthorne have to say?"

"He said you're the best and that I shouldn't mess with you. So let's get down to business. First off, call me Gavin, we use first names around here, if that's okay with you?"

"Sure, fine by me, call me Shannon.” I sipped more coffee.

Aside from Oscar, and myself we have Vera Sheridan, she's our biscuit shooter...... that's Old West lingo. In other words, Vera is the head chef and she oversees the kitchen. Then there's Ralph Gonsalez, he's the stage manager, and our regular wait staff is cowboys Jack, Sam and Pedro. Also on the wait staff is senoritas Rosalie, Valerie and Maggie.

I jotted down the names and looked up at Gavin. “Are these their real names?"

"Yep.” He folded his hands and kept them on the table. Vera's still in the process of hiring kitchen help, she'll be in later today if you want that info. And Ralph has a couple of his nephews who help out with the stage equipment and operations, he'll have that info if you need it."

"More to the point, Gavin, do you want everyone named in your publicity brochure? And what about the performers?"

"Hmm, good point. No, to your first question. ‘'Bout the performers,” Gavin's attention strayed over toward the stage, he seemed to be surveying the stage with his eyes. Turning his attention back to me, he said, “For now, we'll leave that part alone. Other than myself as the Cowboy Conjurer, I'm still making up my mind about the performers."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, we'll have magic entertainment, I do sleight-of-hand, but I wanted some variation, but keep it true to the Old West theme. I was thinking of a mime act, a juggler, that sort of thing. Some acts are showing up a little later, stick around and you'll catch them auditioning on the stage."

"That sounds like fun!” the bright tone in my voice surprised me. “So...... you don't have this all worked out?"

"Gavin unlocked his hands, “No, not quite. But it will get there, that I am sure of.” Some clacking noise sounded from the kitchen, we both turned in that direction. “Must be Vera, she would've come in the back way.” Gavin stood up. “This would be a good time to show you around the place."

I spent the next thirty minutes following Gavin around the Spotted Coyote. I met Vera and was totally charmed by her appearance and manner. I guessed her to be close to sixty, very tall, thin and agile. Her close-cropped curly hair was a shade of flax blond that made it impossible to tell if she dyed it. Vera struck me as person who led a very active life. I gathered by the way she spoke of her plans for the kitchen and menu that her retirement was not on the horizon any time soon.

Next I met Ralph and several of his nephews. They were so busy going back and forth with equipment for the stage that I had to settle for a nod in my direction. Ralph stopped very briefly to tell Gavin that a few potential performers would be here within the hour. After a tour of the kitchen, its storage area, the public bathrooms and the performers’ off-stage dressing room, Gavin led me out to the front to the table we were at earlier. In the corner of my eye I could see a prospective performer had arrived early and was practicing up on stage. I gave a quick look in that direction and discovered it was actually two mimes. And adult woman and a child, or much shorter adult, both were done up in vintage pioneer costume and white-faced mime make-up. I was entranced by their mimed version of the old parable about a princess and a pea.

Gavin knocked on the table with his fist. It startled me, how rude! Then I saw he was signaling to Oscar to bring more coffee. Oscar poured refills. I looked over my notes.

"Gavin, I think I have enough preliminary information to start brainstorming ideas for publicity. And as much as I would like to stay and watch the performers try out, I should be on my way. I have one more question?"

"Shoot."

"What's the story behind the name of the Spotted Coyote?"

"Emily,” he answered without an explanation.

I could only wonder who Emily is. I took the last sip of my coffee, gathered my notebook and stuffed it into my tote bag. “This should be all I need, for now.” I stood up.

"I'll see you out.” Gavin stood up and we walked outdoors. From the porch we said our good-byes. As I stepped off the porch, I caught an idea and turned around, Gavin did to.

"Anything else?” he asked.

"Yes,” I said. “I think the mime team that's up on stage right now...... well, they're quite good, don't you agree?"

Gavin gave me the oddest look.

I stepped closer to him, “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to try and influence you. But,” I hesitated for a moment, “you seemed to want my opinion, and well, they are quite good.” I smiled, hoping he didn't think I was trying to tell him how to run his business.

He squinted in the sun's glare that ricocheted off the front windows. “Shannon, what did you see that I didn't?"

Now it was my turn to look confused. “Gavin, how could you miss them...... the two mimes up on stage? They were miming a variation of the old parable about the princess and the pea?"

Without so much as acknowledging me, Gavin turned on his heels and strode back inside. “Shannon!"

I dashed after him, and to be sure, the mimes were still on stage, repeating the routine. Gavin was staring at the stage. I stepped in close to him and whispered, “Give them a chance, they are really good."

He looked at me and smiled, “I would Shannon, if they were actually there. That stage is empty.” I stared at Gavin and then turned my eyes to look at the stage. Gavin was correct, the stage was bare.

He turned to me and queried, “This isn't the first time you've seen ghosts, is it?"

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 2

I glared at him. “I'd rather not talk about it.” I rushed out of there and made a beeline for my car. In twenty minutes I entered the driveway to the lodgings at the Burke's Apple Orchard Retreat. A lady saw me arrive and flagged me over to the guest parking area and then walked over to greet me.

"You must be Shannon, I'm Odessa Burke, the proprietor along with my husband Isaac.” Her smile was warm and welcoming and she too was exactly like Rosario had described, a tall black woman of willowy frame and a coffee-with-cream complexion. Long dark hair worn up and narrow facial features set off by high cheekbones that spoke of the melding between Cherokee and African ancestry. Soft-spoken and gentle in manner, Odessa portrayed a quiet and unshakable strength of character. Like a willow, she would bend, but never break.

"I'm pleased to meet you Odessa. Rosario raves about you and your place.” I looked around at the orchard. Nearly every apple tree was in bloom, presenting a picture of a profusion of snowy flowers. “It is beautiful and peaceful here and hard to believe I'm just a few miles outside of Julian."

Odessa laughed, “You'll have plenty of peace and quite. And it stays like this for the next few weeks until summer hits us full on. Summer and into autumn are the busiest seasons. May I help you with your luggage?"

"Oh, no bother.” I reached around to the passenger side and pulled out my overnight bag, “I travel lightly and my other things are in the trunk, I'll get them later."

"Good enough then. I've placed you in the cottage that is over the barn. Of course, it's not a barn now; we use it for winter storage. It will be quiet, I promise. No one needs to go in there for another six months. Though if you do not like stairs, I have a ground-floor cottage vacant?” She smiled and her eyes sparkled. Her offer was sincere.

"I like stairs, good exercise, and you did say that the view from there is spectacular?"

"Definitely, the best we have to offer. The view from the dining table looks out over the entire orchard and into the valley below. You won't be disappointed. Shall we?"

I followed Odessa over a flagstone path that she explained goes through the orchard in a round about way, the perfect stroll if I so desired. In all, the flagstone path was a mile and half walk. The outside stairs up to my cottage were broad in width and generous in depth and had a sturdy wood handrail. I counted sixteen steps up to a small covered porch. Odessa unlocked the door and stood back, “Please,” she motioned me in.

The floor plan was simple and unobstructed. We entered into the main sitting room that emptied into the dining room off the kitchen. From the kitchen hall at the opposite end of the dining room, there was a back door that led out onto a small balcony and then a few steps down the hall was a bathroom and next to it my bedroom. It was a modified square floor plan. The deecor was similar to what I imagined the main house was, an updated American Foursquare, built in the early 1900s. A few antiques offset contemporary furniture in a color scheme of sage green, brown and coral.

"This is lovely, truly lovely. I'm sure I will be comfortable here."

Odessa handed me the key. “Then I'll let you settle in. Do come by later if you can. Just go up to the back door of the main house and give a knock before entering. We keep it unlocked during the day. I'll be about or Isaac will be in. He's looking forward to meeting you."

"Thank you. I will stop by, if not today, then tomorrow.” I saw Odessa out and then unpacked my overnight bag. In one trip back down to my car I got the rest of my stuff: my laptop computer equipped with wireless connection and a few reference books. I had pretty much arranged everything where I wanted it and was sitting at the dining table off the kitchen opening up my computer, when a chill in the room sent goose bumps up my spine and arms. What would I see if I dared to turn away from my computer and look into the darkened sitting room? Should I stand up, or just turn in my chair? I stared into the laptop's screen hoping it would serve as a reflector, but nothing was there, except for the announcement that I had e-mail! Darn! I caught up my courage and turned around, ever so slowly.

"I commend your choice in accommodations. This cottage is quite sensible, safe and comfortable for a young woman traveling alone."

I exhaled a breath of relief and sat back to face my unannounced companion, who was sitting relaxed on the sofa. My very own spirit guide, the ghost of Eric Blackthorne, master magician from the late 1800s, original owner and builder of the now very successful Blackthorne House Mansion Bed and Breakfast Inn in San Diego...... my home away from home.

"Eric, had I known you were following me, I would not have dashed out of the Spotted Coyote. You could have told me you were with me?"

"Dear Shannon, I cannot intervene regarding that incident. I can advise you and of course I will do my best to protect you. Albeit, what happened today was meant to be, it is why you are here.” Eric remained seated and looked at me with such concern I could not be angry with him. Who could? As handsome as ever with his dark hair and eyes and movie star good looks, he was after all the quintessential handsome magician, though today he was not in his professional attire.

"You're looking casual today and of present time, decked out in Dockers slacks, a V-neck sweater and leather slip-on shoes. What's up Eric?"

"You approve. I was hoping you would. I borrowed from Alex's wardrobe.” He stood and turned around and smiled brilliantly, “My great-grandnephew Alex has impeccable taste."

"Yes, he does.” I smiled. “In fact, you could be his twin. I think I was the one to give him that blue sweater, it was a birthday gift. I had no idea that as a ghost you could take such liberties with the living?” I queried in tone, if not in direct vocabulary. Early on, I had learned that Eric Blackthorne picked up on the slightest of hints.

"Hmmm, you are baiting me Shannon, and it will not work. In time all will unfold. For now, you have an assignment."

"Yes, I do. It's called the Spotted Coyote. What would you know about it?"

"No, the Spotted Coyote is not what I refer to. You're assignment here has to do with the two figures you saw on the stage. The young one, a little girl about twelve years old, she needs your help Shannon. She is the real reason you accepted this assignment."

Had Eric not been a ghost, had he not proven his worth and mettle to me before, I would have banned him from my life, or, as he would phrase it, from my existence. However, because according to him, all beings in this life and the other world, lead purpose-driven lives, so...... far be it for me to deny Eric his purpose to being in my life. I picked up my note pad and pen and sat next to Eric, where in the next hour an incredible tale was told, one that had not ended, as yet. To find the ending, to bring closure...... was my assignment.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 3

Eric had given me more than enough mystery to ponder: a young girl's death now haunted me, and it was the very same girl I had seen up on stage at the Spotted Coyote.

According to Eric, what I witnessed was a residual haunting, an incident that replays itself over and over, much like a broken record or tape recording that gets stuck, doomed to repeat for infinity. In this particular scenario the mime act was one of the young girl's fondest memories and most likely it had been going on all along, but no one else had come along, just yet, who was receptive to it. Receptive, or being receptive, to be more precise, was the key. According to Eric, I was the receptive person this young girl had been waiting for!

Whew! This case was confusing and I needed fresh air to clear my mind. I headed outside and down the staircase. Stepping down to the last step I looked over at the back door of the Burke's house. Maybe I need company, too? So I kept my promise and moseyed over. True to Odessa's word the door wasn't locked and three hard tapping knocks brought an unfamiliar face to the door.

"Why, you must be Miss Delaney,” The man's smile was contagious and had an immediate impact on my mood. He held the door open and welcomed me in.

"Please, call me Shannon,” I offered my hand.

"Then, you must call me Isaac,” he shook my hand with both of his, one hand clasping mine, his other hand covering mine. Isaac was the bookend to Odessa and he was a male counterpoint to her in physical stature, complexion and features. Taller than Odessa by several inches, everything about Isaac was heavy and sturdy. Large facial features were set off by a dark mahogany complexion, his barreled chest and lumberjack arms gave him the impression of being a gentle giant, or as my dad would have said, Isaac was a bear of a man. And his voice had the deepest of timbered tonal quality I had ever heard. I imagined that even if he whispered, it could be heard across the entire house. And yet, nothing about him was loud, not in the least.

We stood in the back hall; a cozy area where coat hooks shared wall space with numerous photos that made a trail to all other rooms in the house. The display caught my attention right away and it was obvious to Isaac.

"We did this for a purpose, gives us something to start a conversation with,” he beamed. “What has caught your eye?” he asked.

"That map,” I pointed to large framed paper, a few steps down the hall.

"You go on over and take a look. I'll be just a moment getting some refreshments. I made lemonade, would you care for some?"

"Thank you, I'd love some.” Isaac disappeared around the corner and I studied the map. It was exactly what I thought it might be, an old map of Julian City showing the various building and homes. It was dated 1911. Studying it I couldn't help but wonder if I might get a copy, that was when Isaac re-appeared and handed me a tall glass of lemonade.

"That map is one of my favorites. I have others, if you are interested."

"May I ask, why is this one a favorite?"

Isaac considered my question for a few moments and then answered, “I'm not sure. There's just something about the layout and the way it was executed that I like. It is more detailed than any other map I've ever seen, and I've been collecting them for a long time, almost all my life."

That admission gave me thought, “So, you grew up here?"

Isaac laughed, “Sure did. My folks built this house. They were among the first apple growers in Julian, goes back to the late 1800s. Why, over where the barn is today, once stood a little log cabin that was the first home on this orchard property. My grandfather was born in that cabin. When he was a young man he built this home in 1923. My daddy was born right here in the upstairs bedroom, so was I and my sisters, all four of them."

"That's quite an ancestry. I can see why the history of the area would be important to you. Is Odessa from the Julian?"

"No, I met her when I went away to college in San Diego. I doubt if she ever had on her mind to become a farmer's wife. Studying art and photography, that was her interest."

"Hmm,” I looked up and down the wall, “did she take many of these photos?"

"Yes, she did.” Isaac beamed. Clearly he was as impressed with Odessa's eye for photography as I was. “And she has had many showings in and around California, especially among botanists she is well known.

"I can hear you talking about me!” A friendly shout-out announced Odessa had come in through the front. She peeked around the corner, “Shannon, I'm glad you took me up on my offer. I see Isaac is the good host and got you some lemonade. When you two quit gabbing, come join me in the kitchen, I brought an apple pie from town."

Isaac grinned broadly and said, “I don't need any more encouragement, how about you?"

I followed Isaac into the kitchen and took a seat against the window and looked out at the quintessential farmhouse kitchen, bright in ambiance with red-checked curtains, pale blue walls and red apple deecor. Odessa sliced the pie and offered scoops of vanilla ice cream to top off each slice. It was a little bit of heaven on earth. The conversation was lively and fun. Isaac delighted in telling me every apple joke he had ever heard when Odessa finally said “No more,” and insisted on picking my brain about the Spotted Coyote assignment.

"Is it true that Gavin is turning it into a family entertainment venue?"

"Yes, and I suppose it's okay for me to tell you that. He didn't swear me to any kind of secrecy. And from what I can tell, Julian doesn't have anything like it?"

Isaac answered, “That's correct and it's a good thing, we need more family venues. It'll bring more tourists in, too. And with his mom doing the cooking and kitchen management, it's bound to be a success."

"Vera is his mom?” This tidbit took me by surprise. “I had no idea. Why wouldn't he have told me that? I met her today. He, nor she said anything like that."

Odessa picked up on my concern, “Oh, don't make anything out of it. It's common knowledge in town. Gavin and Vera probably thought you already knew. Don't go fussing about it."

I shook my head and looked up at Isaac and Odessa, “Maybe then, you'll tell me who Emily is?"

Isaac laughed and slapped his right hand down on the table. “Gavin's got you wondering about Emily, has he? Leave it to Gavin to be cryptic, you'll have to get used to that, he's always been a man of few words and even fewer explanations. You know Shannon,” Isaac leaned over and confided, “you need to put etiquette aside and learn to be blunt in asking Gavin questions, that's the only way to get answers."

"Oh, so you won't tell me who Emily is?"

"Now, Isaac, see what you''ve done, you've got Shannon worried!” Odessa chided. “I'll do better by you than that, wait a moment while I fetch a photo of Emily.” Odessa returned within in minutes and handed over a framed eight by ten-inch photograph, “Here, this is Gavin with Emily."

Gavin was sitting crossed leg on a grassy patch of ground. Two dogs sat next to him. One was a black lab and the other, I don't know, it was sort of a small wolfish looking dog with a dappled rusty orange on gray coat. I looked up at Odessa; “Emily is a dog?"

Isaac answered, “See the big black lab, well that's Jester. The other one, that's Emily, but she's not a dog. No sir, Emily is a spotted coyote.” Isaac's eyes danced with merriment.

For the second time on my first day, I spent an hour listening to yet another fascinating tale.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 4

By the time I left Odessa and Isaac's it was late afternoon and I had politely declined Odessa's invitation to stay for dinner. I told her the pie and ice cream had spoiled my appetite and I had no regrets about it doing so. In truth, I needed to get to work and I wanted time alone to ponder this new information about Gavin, his spotted coyote and the ghost assignment Eric had advised me on.

Ever so cautiously I opened my door, stepped in and mentally prepared myself for cold spots: a harbinger to Eric's appearance. Walking across the living room into the dining and kitchen area I was relieved to discover the afternoon's sunset streaming apricot-hued rays of warmth across the room. It was a sunny warm delight! The perfect place to sit and concentrate on my notes. I had left my voice recorder and notebook on the kitchen table. I sat down facing the amazing view outside the window and for a long moment let my mind and body go perfectly calm and whispered the Celtic prayer, Be Still and Know that I am. I looked around, and realized I was perfectly alone.

Minutes ticked by and hours passed before I looked up from my notes to find darkness had fallen and a slivered moon was on the horizon. I got up and stretched and then looked down at my publicity plan for the Spotted Coyote and smiled. It was a winning idea, if I could convince Gavin that letting the public know that he has a warm heart for cold noses was exactly the hook he needed to get public attention. Now about the ghost girl, should I ask Gavin what he knew or might suspect? So many questions concerning this dilemma. In my gut, I didn't think Gavin was the best person to ask, but I reasoned that I didn't know anyone else to ask. I was a stranger in Julian and didn't have a clue to the identity of the ghost girl or a clue as to where or how to find out about her. My cell phone rang and it was welcomed interruption, especially so, because it was Francisco calling to give me an update on Zach.

"Francisco, I'm glad you called, what news do you have?"

His tone was cautious; “There is progress. Zach's memory has advanced to when he was in college and his grandmother passed away. That's when he moved in with me. This is good, Shannon, every day, a little bit more of his memory returns.” Francisco was doing his best to sound hopeful.

My mind raced with this timeline. I recalled Zach telling me he had moved in with his grandfather his first year in college. “Francisco, does this mean Zach is about six years away from remembering me?"

"Yes, I'd say that is a good guess. More importantly, Zach's mind is allowing him to recall some painful events, such as his grandmother dying. His doctor says that this is a good sign, his mind is strengthening to prepare him for the worst of it."

"You mean the helicopter crash?"

"Yes. We, his doctors and his family in San Diego, believe that Zach is very close to remembering the most recent events. But, please remember that Zach must do this in his own time,” then he added, “I know in my heart that Zach has not and will not forget you. You'll see, have faith."

"Thanks, Francisco. I know you mean well,” I let the conversation dangle.

"Is there anything I can do for you, maybe with your current assignment?” Francisco hinted. The quintessential police detective that he was had never really retired from service.

"Hmm,” I teased and paused a moment too long, “I've had a peculiar experience and I was wondering whom might be the right person to confide in?"

"Shannon! I'm all ears. Better yet, I'll drive out to Julian. I can be there tomorrow morning."

"Whoa! Francisco, you're putting the cart before the horse, as my new employer might say. By the way, he's full of quaint Old West jargon. But, more to the point, should you leave Zach?"

"Zach would want me to look after you. Imagine the story we'll share with him later?” Francisco said and then followed quickly with, “Besides, Uncle Pedro and his entire family are coming up for a few days. They're staying at my home, I don't need to be here and they'll keep close company with Zach. After they leave, well if I'm still in Julian, I know Rosario will keep at least one of her eagle eyes zeroing in on Zach's condition. I'll meet you in the morning, in front of the Spotted Coyote."

By the time I got off the phone with Francisco I had agreed to his help. And I reasoned, there was no one better to share my ghost girl experience with than a former police detective who believed in my ability to speak to the past. And, I also knew that when it came to getting answers from difficult people, such as Gavin Longstreet, Francisco Zavala was amazing. More than once I had witnessed his cagey ability to extract answers from tight lips.

Satisfied with the night's work, I left my materials on the table and took a long hot shower. Things were looking up. My boyfriend was recovering in body, spirit and mind from the horrendous helicopter crash of two weeks ago and his beloved grandfather and closest relative was coming out to help me with a mystery that promised to be a tale we could share with Zach in better days to come.

When I woke in the morning robins were singing and the day seemed promising. “What a perfect day!” I said aloud as I grabbed my robe and headed off to the kitchen to make coffee. I waited for the coffee to brew and gathered my notes and recorder. There was something peculiar about my stuff. But at that moment it didn't dawn on me what was different. I flipped through the pages of my note pad and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. But when I picked up my voice recorder it turned on automatically without the flick of a switch! I listened to my voice notes and it wasn't until the very end that I heard it. Stunned, I replayed the sound again and again. It must have been about the tenth time that I absolutely, couldn't deny what was being said, or what I knew heard.

A small voice that sounded like that of a child whispered in a sing-song melody, “One, two, buckle my shoe."

I didn't know what to make of it!

Ever so gingerly I put the recorder in a plastic zip-lock bag and labeled it broken, my way of keeping anyone, myself included, from tampering with it. Then I stashed it in my overnight bag and secured the lock. Luckily, I had more than one voice recorder, so I slipped the extra one in my purse to use today. Putting the odd rhyme out of my mind I grabbed some coffee, got dressed and prepared to meet Francisco in front the Spotted Coyote. Francisco promised me breakfast at the nearby Apple Tree Cafe. My growling stomach and anxiety over the spectral voice hurried me out the door.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 5

I walked to the Spotted Coyote from several storefronts down and from the opposite side of the street. There was no mistaking the figure of Francisco Zavala. Even in casual attire he looked dapper in jeans, a blue checked, buttoned shirt and laced brown suede shoes. His usual walking stick, an ornate silver-capped black cane was at his side. Francisco's immaculately groomed thick white hair gleamed in the early morning sunshine.

Upon hearing my footsteps, he turned. “Shannon, how good to see you!” With that announcement he took both my hands and held me out at arms reach then slowly turned me around. “You look like you rested well, this is good. I was concerned about what you told me last night. Now that I see with my own eyes I am relieved to know you are well!” He hugged me close to him and said, “Let's go eat!” Francisco offered me the crook of his elbow and I accepted. We walked down the street to the Apple Tree Cafee.

I knew from experience in dining with Francisco that he loved eating out and be it a sidewalk cafee or an uptown elegant restaurant, Francisco could zero in on the best dishes to order in a minute's worth of studying the menu.

"Let's see,” He pondered, “I'm game for the Hangtown Fry, with orange juice.” He looked up at our waitress, who jotted down the order.

"And you, Miss?"

"I'm not that adventurous,” I glanced at Francisco and then looked to the waitress, “I'd like a short stack of buckwheat pancakes and orange juice. Thank you,” I added.

The waitress left with the promise to bring our juice right away. I looked at Francisco and asked “Hangtown Fry? Is that some kind of gimmick?"

His hearty laugh told me I was in for a trivia lesson. “Not at all. You see, back in California's gold rush days in 1849, a miner who had struck it rich brought a sack of gold dust into a restaurant in San Francisco and said he wanted to order the most expensive meal the cook had to offer. Not to be out done by that request, the cook concocted a meal of fried oysters, eggs and bacon. At that time oysters and eggs were extraordinarily expensive, rare and coveted items on any menu. The miner doubted the inclusion of real oysters and eggs and requested bacon be added for good measure, it was the miner's way of making sure he got what he was paying for. And in those days, San Francisco had a reputation as a hanging town, Old West justice being what it was, hence the name of Hangtown Fry.” No sooner had Francisco punctuated his explanation with another laugh did the waitress serve up our breakfast.

I looked at Francisco's sizzling breakfast served in a small black iron skillet nestled on top of a quilted cloth trivet. “And I suppose the way it is laid out is original, too?"

"By all means. Would you like a taste?"

I gave him a doubtful look, “No thank you. I'm content with my pancakes, which are not as colorful in the trivia department, but I'm sure they will meet with my expectations, if you'll pass that bottle of blackberry syrup."

The next few minutes we ate in silence, both of us glancing around now and then to observe the other diners.

"When I was a little girl and would go out to eat with my parents, we would sometimes play a game, of sorts."

Francisco looked curious, “Oh?"

"Yes, I would try to slyly watch the other patrons and then make up stories about their lives. Of course, I had no way of knowing if I was right."

"That is good training. Watching people and attempting to discern what they are like, what they do for a living, their background and such. You see, Shannon, even as a child you were a sleuth in the making. Perhaps your parents recognized that in you?"

"Or, more likely, they were distracting me from being impatient in public."

Francisco nodded, I don't for a moment think he believed my explanation. We were almost finished. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small slip of paper. I passed it to Francisco. “What do you make of this?"

He read the short phrase, “It is a child's rhyme. One, two, buckle my shoe, it's a counting rhyme. Little girls sing it while jumping rope. Why do you ask?"

"Of course, a jumping-rope song, why didn't I think of that! Francisco, this singsong rhyme showed up on my voice recorder, at the very end of my own notes from yesterday when I interviewed Gavin Longstreet at the Spotted Coyote. I bet there were children outside the Spotted Coyote and the voice came through on the recorder, at the time I was too busy to notice them.” I rolled my eyes, “Good grief, I was spooked when I first heard it."

"And when was this?"

"This morning, when I was getting my stuff together. I was so rattled by it, that I stashed away that recorder and brought my extra one instead. Silly of me! I actually thought it was a ghost voice, or something like it."

"Maybe it was?” Francisco said in all seriousness. That suggestion coming from Francisco Zavala, a seasoned detective, floored me.

"Shannon, the capturing of electronic voice phenomena on a digital sound recorder is not out of the realm of possibility. If you believe that a spirit can communicate with you, and in your case we know this to be true, then the science or faith in believing that a ghost's voice could be caught on an electronic device, designed to capture the slightest of sounds, is not to be taken lightly. However, we should make the very best effort to debunk it before we declare it to be a voice from beyond."

"And how do we do that?"

Francisco laid out a plan for debunking. He would come back to my cottage and examine it for possible voice or sound leakage. Explaining that noise can travel through walls, air ducts and electronic devices. Possibly I had been so focused on my notes and working last night that I had not noticed the voice. He suggested I let him have the recorder that had the mystery voice on it and he would give me his recorder to use as my back-up. Francisco wanted to examine the mystery voice for himself. He also wanted to set a trap to see if he could capture the mystery voice on yet another recorder he had brought with him.

"I like your ideas, but what if the voice came through yesterday when I was at the Spotted Coyote. It may not have anything to do with where I am staying?"

"Excellent point, Shannon. But for now, we must eliminate one source at a time. If your cottage is not the source then I will think of some way to get a recorder into the Spotted Coyote, possibly in a covert line of action. At the very least, with the knowledge of only one other person there."

"One other person, there?” I questioned. “I can't imagine whom that might be. Gavin Longstreet doesn't strike me as a person who would be open to this line of investigation. That leaves only Vera, and good grief, Gavin didn't even bother to tell me she was his mother!"

"But didn't you mention there is a stage manager? Who better to know a little crevice or out of the way corner to leave a small recorder? Maybe overnight after the stage manger has locked up?” Francisco smiled, and at that moment I knew that he had a connection.

"Let me guess, you know the stage manager, Ralph Gonsalez?"

"You mean, my nephew, Ralph?” Francisco grinned. The waitress brought our check. Francisco paid the tab, and we strolled out into the late morning sun-drenched main street of Julian.

We were both feeling like we had the proverbial ace up our sleeves, a game hand that couldn't be matched, a real winner, fer sure!

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 6

We walked over to the Spotted Coyote and I introduced Francisco to Gavin, Vera and Oscar, all of whom found him fascinating. In fact, the least likely of them to take a liking to him, according to my perception, proved me wrong. Gavin monopolized Francisco's attention for almost an hour inquiring about some of the notorious cases Francisco had worked on while a detective in San Diego. While Gavin was preoccupied at the front of the Spotted Coyote, I snooped around the back of the stage area and found some good hiding places for a voice recorder, in fact that is exactly what I was doing when I got caught!

"Ah-em! Miss Delaney, may I help you?"

I spun around to see Ralph standing with his feet apart and hands on hips, giving me a serious what-are-you-up-to look.

"Uh, well, hello Ralph. How are you today?"

"You have not answered my question. May I help you?” he had relaxed his arms, they were now at his side, but he had not relaxed his guarded suspicion.

"Oh, no......, you see I was just trying to get an idea about how this stage and back area are constructed. Really, just curious.” I glanced in the direction of the front. “You see, I'm here with your Uncle Francisco. He and Gavin have been yaking away for nearly an hour, and I was getting bored so I got caught up in, uh, looking around. Really, that's all.” I smiled brilliantly.

Ralph nodded cautiously. He wasn't the least impressed. “Well, if you need anything, information about this stage, come to me. It's best you not wander about here, there's too much equipment and props, you could stumble and get hurt."

I nodded enthusiastically. “Definitely. I promise.” I turned to go and he asked:

"What's Francisco doing here?"

Finally, a break! “He's with me. We're old friends. I'm dating Zach.” Again I smiled brilliantly, hoping to distract him from my clumsiness.

Ralph nodded, “Well, tell him I'd like to see him before he leaves, okay?"

"Oh, sure, will do!” I scampered off the stage. Walking back out to the front, I couldn't help but to wonder if Ralph could be of any real help. Maybe his uncle has a better rapport with him. Maybe, finding me snooping around in his territory wasn't the best for our investigation. I approached Gavin and Francisco and took a seat at their table. Gavin turned to me and smiled, “I sure do appreciate you bringing Detective Zavala by here."

"My pleasure. You do know that your stage manager Ralph is Francisco's nephew?"

"I do now,” Gavin turned to Francisco, “And Francisco, just so you know, come back any time. Since you said you had a curiosity about how stage mechanics work, feel free to mosey back to our stage anytime. I'm sure Ralph will be helpful to you.” Gavin stood up. “Gotta go. It was my pleasure.” He tipped his hat to me and walked off.

I leaned over to Francisco, “My-oh-my, did you butter him up! I suppose you have his whiskers in your back pocket?” My giggling was about to get out of control.

"Shhh! Shannon, you'll cause suspicion,” Francisco chided.

"I've already done that,” I confessed. “Ralph caught me snooping around back stage. He wants to talk to you before we leave."

Francisco tapped his fingers on the table top in a soft, drumming beat. “You go on ahead to your cottage. I'll catch up with you in about an hour. Now that Gavin is out of the way, this is the perfect time for me to talk with Ralph."

"You know the way out to the Burkes'?"

"Yes, I've been there once before, for an apple harvest celebration. Don't worry. I'll make quick work of this and I will meet you in an hour."

"Okay, see you in a little bit.” As I walked out of the Spotted Coyote I turned around and saw Francisco up on the stage, deep in a conversation with Ralph. And no one else was around, perfect timing!

I arrived at my cottage and tidied up my few books and materials. Francisco was true to his word, within an hour's time I saw him drive up, park and say a few words to Odessa who came out to meet him, she pointed him in my direction.

I opened the door before he could knock. “Come on in."

After I gave him a quick tour Francisco went to work tapping on walls, inspecting closets and he got out a chair to stand on and looked up into the attic! The entire inspection took about an hour. I followed him around, ready to hand him a hammer, flashlight, plumber's level, whatever it took to complete the investigation. We went back into the kitchen where I made a pot of coffee and Francisco washed up. He seated himself at the table; I handed him a cup of steaming brew.

I sat down across from him and cradled my cup of coffee. “And your verdict is?” I asked.

"This cottage is clean as a whistle, even the attic. Nothing here would cause a mystery voice."

"So, that leaves the Spotted Coyote. How soon can you plant a recorder there?” I asked.

"The deed will be done tonight. Ralph told me he would gladly do it. And he has a few extra recorders that he will plant. Tonight I will meet him after dinner. We'll go in and set them up. Then Ralph will lock up and he'll be the first one in tomorrow morning to open up. He'll gather up the recorders, I'll drop by at that same time and will take possession of them."

"Francisco, how can Ralph be certain he will be the last person out tonight and the first in tomorrow?"

"At present, only Ralph and Gavin have keys to the Spotted Coyote and know the security alarm code. Gavin told Ralph that he is leaving this afternoon and will be in Temecula for two days."

"What timing! This is great news. What are you doing the rest of the day?"

"I'm settling into the cottage across the way, the one you can see from this window. Then I'm going back into town and snoop around a bit, do a little shopping, get to know the people. I'll stay there until Ralph calls me, that way my appearance in town will not seem out of the ordinary. And you?"

"I need to get to work on the publicity for the Spotted Coyote. I plan to stay here and eat in. But, I will keep my ears tuned into to my cell phone, just in case, you know, that you need me?"

"Shannon, I promise if I discover anything relevant I will call you. So it is good that you stay put, and I won't worry as much about you.” Francisco got up, walked over to the sink and rinsed out his cup. “I best settle into my cottage and then get into town. I want to be the perfect tourist and stop by all the shops!"

I saw him out and watched as he carried his overnight case into the cottage across the way. I was sitting at the table working when I heard his car pull out and drive away. Instinctively I looked at the clock above the table: it was half past noon.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 7

I worked all afternoon and looked up at the clock only when my stomach growled and wouldn't be silenced with another glass of water. It was almost seven and the sun had set, early twilight shrouded the sky. That time of day called gloaming. A few faint stars twinkled in the deepening periwinkle hue of the oncoming night. My stomach growled again and I hastened to the freezer to choose my dinner. After popping a vegetable and chicken casserole in the microwave I fiddled around with my notes and stacked the work into a neat pile. Ping went the microwave and my dinner was ready. What to do after dinner? Work was out of the equation, I was through with it for the day and I didn't feel like watching TV. It was too dark to stroll in the orchard and besides, I was waiting for a call that I wanted to take in private. At loose ends, I washed my dinner dishes and opened up my computer, figuring I might as well do some research.

Francisco's declaration that the child's rhyme was for jumping rope nagged at me. I remember jumping rope when I was a kid, it was one of my favorite pastimes, and I remember some of the songs I used. One, Two, Buckle My Shoe wasn't one of the songs I jumped rope to. Though I had no reason to doubt Francisco, but how old of a rhyme was One, Two?

I dove into cyberspace with enthusiasm and each new query took me deeper into the mysterious history of jumping rope rhymes. Two hours later the years of jumping rope rhymes peeled away; back two centuries to sailors’ naughty ditties and lace tell counting patterns. I discovered that there was so much more to Mother Goose than any child would ever suspect, or their parents for that matter! Just when I was about to find out if Humpty Dumpty jumped, or if he was pushed, the ring of my cell phone interrupted my research.

"Francisco?"

"Yes. Shannon, the recorders are planted. Safe and secure."

"Recorders? How many did you hide?"

"Three. I had two and Ralph set one of his own next to one of mine."

"Why would he do that?"

"Because he, too is interested. I played the voice for him and he thinks it is an electronic voice phenomenon, what's called an EVP, caught on the recorder. Ralph thinks that if he can bring an EVP back to this group he knows of, then they might consider investigating the Spotted Coyote for paranormal activity. It's a well-known paranormal investigation group that has called in Ralph many times over the years. They ask him in as an acoustics expert. The group is called G.H.O.S.T., that's an acronym for Ghost Hunters of Southern Territories."

I giggled at that, “Clever name. I don't suppose they need a publicity writer, do they? I'd love to work with a group that is that creative!"

Francisco's reply was unexpected. “Shannon, I hope you will not become involved with such associations. They might exploit your natural talents, meaning to or not.” His tone was dead serious.

"Francisco, I was joking! I don't have an interest in joining a group whose activity scares me. Enough of the unexplained happens to me, as is. Believe me, I am not going to go looking for it!"

"Okay. I feel better. The only reason I confided in Ralph is because we need him to get this done and I knew he would take us seriously. Tomorrow I will meet him early in the morning. He'll open up the Spotted Coyote; we'll go in and retrieve the recorders. I'll call you before stopping by your place."

"Okay, that sounds like a good plan. I'll be ready and waiting for your call. Good night."

After hanging up I took a long hot shower and climbed into bed. Getting to sleep early would help me catch up on needed rest. I slipped off into sleep puzzling over my Humpty Dumpty mystery. Was Humpty murdered?

"Miss? Miss?"

The sheet and blanket were being pulled down from my shoulders! I jolted awake and jumped into a sitting position and snatched up the covers. Standing beside my bed was a little girl, whom I stared at in disbelief. “Go away!” I hissed.

She hung her head and then in a sorrowful move looked up at me. She had such a sad little face. “Miss, please Miss, I forgot to lock the door."

I recognized her voice, “One, two,” I baited.

With a wistful smiled she answered, “Buckle my shoe."

Leaning forward, I whispered, “Who are you?"

"I forgot to lock the door. Now I must wear this as a necklace.” She glared at me.

"What necklace?” I asked. There wasn't a necklace around her neck.

The next moment answered my query in a horrific animation. A rope curled up around her body and slowly slithered toward her shoulders, then around her neck. I reached out to pull her toward me and in a jerked reflex; the rope pulled her back and tightly coiled around her neck. She gasped and the rope snapped the life from her. Poof! She vanished.

I shot up from bed and ran to my front door. It was locked. I dashed to the back door. It was locked. No one came in, no one went out. What the heck just happened?

I stood by the dining table window and looked out into the inky night. It was two in the morning, not a person or creature in view. The cottage where Francisco was staying was dark; his car was parked in front. A sudden chill ruffled the hair on my arms and traveled up my shoulders, “Eric, is that you?"

"Yes. Here, I fetched your robe."

He held it out for me. I slipped it on and again turned my attention to the view out the window. Eric stood close, but didn't touch me.

"Do you know who she is?” I asked him.

"No,” he said it quietly, with a tone of regret.

I turned to him and looked into his face. I saw sadness in his eyes; he was touched by the little girl.

"Can you find out?"

"No. Not alone, not by myself. Together, we can."

I looked at Eric and wondered aloud, “But you're a ghost and she is a ghost, that must count for something in your world?"

He met my accusation and shook his head in despair, “I wish that were true. But she is,” he let the thought dangle and turned his attention to the window, “Look out there.” He pointed to the orchard below, near the stone path, just hidden from view in the cover of the trees there was a glowing movement, an aura of soft illumination. It was coming nearer, toward the open.

We stood perfectly still, locked in enchantment and watched as she came into sight: An alabaster angel of opalescent beauty. Stained glass hues of dappling lights danced around her and over her white garments, wings and softly lit face. She floated over the path and stopped at the end of the tree line. Had it not been for her angelic wings, I would have thought of her as a fairy child. She came to a standstill and looked up at us. Peering down from the window I saw she was the same child who had visited me. In the night's stillness, I studied her and wondered aloud, “Is she studying me, us? Eric, can she see you?"

Eric did not answer. The angel child held a book in one hand at her side. Her movements were fluid, ethereal as she picked up the book and began to write in it, and then she turned to leave. I motioned to tap on the window and to call out to her, but Eric warned, “No. We must not."

"Huh?"

"We shall not interrupt her,” Eric said.

I turned to look at her and she was gone. “Eric, is she an angel?"

My ghost, my very own spirit guide, Eric Blackthorne, master magician from the late 1800s was stumped for an answer. He turned to me and said: “There are stranger things in heaven and earth."

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 8

When I awoke on the sofa the sun was shining brightly in through the sitting room window, it dazzled my eyes and I squinted to see my way into kitchen. After putting coffee on to brew and a quick check for phone messages, I dashed to my bedroom to get dressed. By the time Francisco called I was sipping my first cup of coffee. I told him to come over and I'd make us omelets. He offered to stop and get orange juice.

My thoughts raced wondering about what news Francisco would have and I juggled my ideas about what I should or should not reveal to him regarding last night. I decided to play it by ear and see what he had to say first, before revealing all that I knew, or suspected. At his knock on the door, I ran to answer it.

"Good morning Senor Zavala!"

"Shannon, I thought we agreed you should not attempt a Spanish accent and I will not practice an Irish brogue!” He laughed and followed me into the kitchen.

"I dare say, your brogue is a bad as my accent! So no argument from me on that! Actually, last night I was sorta talking in an English accent while repeating Mother Goose rhymes. That seemed appropriate given the history of them, so this morning I wanted to try and get the English accent out of my head.” I handed a plate with an omelet on it to Francisco, “and since I made us Spanish omelets, well."

"I see. This omelet looks good, better than your accent could ever be.” he teased.

"Then let's eat, and with our mouths full, we dare not talk in any accent."

Francisco was half way though his omelet when he took a sip of juice and asked, “Did you rest well last night?"

Without missing a beat I answered, “All things considered, I'd say so. You know, when I am actively writing, being creative, sometimes the ideas just won't let me go to sleep, not for very long. I'm very satisfied with the project for the Spotted Coyote and I'm nearly done. Whenever I get to this point in a project I always seem to want to do more, to see if there is yet another way to phrase an advertisement or add another clever saying or make sure I got all the important information into the publicity brochure. I imagine everyone who has ever written publicity goes through the same mental checklist.” I punctuated my statement with a smile and then asked, “Francisco, what really kept my brain awake was wondering about the results of our experiment."

"And I have that on the recorders.” He stood up, “Are you finished?"

I nodded yes.

"I'll clear off these dishes, you get your note pad.” He smiled, “and I'll pour the coffee."

"An offer I can't resist.” I dashed into my bedroom to get my paper, pens and laptop. I returned and sat down. Francisco sat across from me. My laptop was to my left; he set a steaming cup of coffee to my right. In front of us were the three recorders, Francisco had labeled them with little stickers: A, B and C.

"Recorder A. This is mine, it was placed on the floor of the stage, a foot in front of where you indicated you had seen the two mimes. Notice that this recorder, as with the other two, is digital and it records only when it picks up sound. We will need to be perfectly still, it could take a while,” he cautioned.

"Okay."

He switched on the recorder and set it down between us, the volume was on high. For nearly an hour we listened in pregnant silence, waiting, waiting, waiting. The clocked ticked, faraway a plane's engine hummed in the sky, robins chirped, but inside, nothing broke the hush, until——

"Jack be nimble, Jack be quick,” the little voice whispered in a singsong cadence.

I gasped, “That's her! Francisco, that is the same little girl who said the other rhyme!"

"Let's be sure.” He picked up the recorder marked C; “This is your original recorder from the day when you first heard the EVP.” He turned on the recorder to the digital counter he had previously noted. We listened and I nodded enthusiastically when the familiar little voice came on repeating the One Two, Buckle My Shoe phrase.

"Don't you agree, it is the same voice?” I urged.

"It would seem so, but we must not rule out that there could be more than one child. Children's voices often sound very much alike."

"Yes, I agree, but I do believe she is the same girl. Francisco, what about the other recorder?"

"This one,” he pointed to the recorder marked B, “has zilch on it. I brought it along for you to listen to, just to be sure. Ralph and I heard nothing on it. And, Ralph's recorder didn't pick up a single sound, either. The only recorder that has an EVP is this one, the one that was set down in the area where you saw the mimes."

"Where were the others hidden?"

"My other recorder was set on the top step of the stage stairs and Ralph set his on a bare counter in the kitchen, since that area is known to be the oldest part of where an original building once was."

"Do you know what building would have been in the area of the stage?” I asked.

"Good question. I think it would pay off to visit the local museum and ask about former structures in Julian. Perhaps there are maps we could examine to get a better idea of what structures once stood where the Spotted Coyote is today."

"But, we need a time frame. I know from talking with Isaac that parts of Julian have been rebuilt upon several times over the many decades. If only I knew who this child was and when she lived?"

Francisco reached over and patted my hand, “It may be more important to find out when she died. Still, I will pay a visit to the local museum and see what might come up in a friendly question or two,” he smiled brightly and my mood gladdened.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 9

I saw Francisco out the door and waved him on his way. We agreed to talk later this evening about his experience in town. Alone in my cottage I felt restless. I wanted answers to questions and was at a loss about where to go next. In clearing away the breakfast dishes a glance out the window gave me an idea. Maybe a walk in the orchard would help sort out my thoughts. And I wanted to see for myself the path where the little angel ghost appeared.

It was a beautiful day and I was about to turn onto the stone path in the direction of the orchard when Odessa stepped out onto her back porch. I waved in her direction.

"Shannon,” She called out.

I stopped in my tracks, “Yes?"

"Do remember to stay on the path. All of our property is fenced in, it's not as if you'll get lost, but the ground can be very uneven if you stray off the path."

I smiled, thanked her and promised I wouldn't wander off.

Disappearing into the apple orchard of snowy white bloom-filled trees gave me the ethereal feeling that I was walking in cotton candy clouds. I walked slowly, studying the path for traces of the ghost. Nothing appeared out of place, not a single stone looked as if it at been kicked or nudged. I wandered on, here and there were small wrought iron benches carefully placed on level ground and in sunny spots out of the way of falling apples and perching birds.

Twenty minutes into the orchard I sat down and looked out in wonder of how in the matter of minutes I was completely enveloped by the orchard. It's a good thing that neon yellow arrows were painted on signs along the route marking the way into the orchard and the way out. The sky was turquoise blue, cloudless and the air was quiet except for a teasing little breeze that was just enough to ruffle my hair and urge me further on. After dallying a while taking in the peacefulness, I continued on.

About an hour into my walk I came upon a clearing that was off the path, but within sight of it. Standing on a gentle rise in the ground I looked out over two tall fence lines that faced each other, one on this side and one on the other piece of property. The fenced lines were about three feet apart. Curious, I wondered if that sectional margin of three feet was some kind of public easement requirement. The property on the other side was grassy green knolls of wild flowers and bare dirt, no cultivation whatsoever. In the distance was a home and a few other structures, a garage and some storage sheds were all that I could make out. It was a good quarter of a mile away. I watched as a car drove up to the property and a man got out, then two dogs. The man turned to go into the house, but the dogs began running toward my direction. The man turned and whistled, but the dogs ignored him and kept coming toward me.

I stood my ground, confident that the double fences were enough of a barrier. That was when I thought recognized the dogs, could it be?

Standing just a few feet on the orchard side of the fence I called out to the big black dog, “Hey there, are you Jester?” I said in my best dog-friendly voice.

Jester wagged his tail and sat down. The other dog stayed behind him and peeked out in cautious curiosity. I knelt down and kept my arms relaxed at my side. “Hey Jester, is that Emily behind you?"

Emily dared to show herself. She appeared a little less wary of me. I remained calm and in place. “Jester, you are just as handsome in person as you are in a photo I've seen of you. I bet you are every bit as friendly as you are handsome?” The big guy responded favorably to my feeble attempt of canine flattery, he stood up and approached the fence with a floppy-eared goofy look and his tail wagging. Emily stayed her ground; she stood alert and watchful as Jester tried to make friends with me through the fences.

Ever so slowly I walked over to the fenced barrier and knelt down. Now I was three feet in distance and I could see that Jester was a friendly sort and that Emily, was, to be sure, the cautious type. I heard another whistle, no doubt in my mind that is was Gavin summoning his dogs. Jester registered his acknowledgment of the whistle with a cocked ear, a wag of his tail and a loud bark. Emily turned to go back in the direction of where Gavin must be, but Jester stayed.

"Hey big guy, maybe you should go on, too. I don't want you to get in trouble,” I urged. Just when I was about to stand up and motion for Jester to leave I saw Gavin and Emily approaching.

"Well, hello Shannon. I figured something mighty interesting had to of caught Jester's attention for him to ignore my whistle,” Gavin knelt down beside Jester and rubbed the top of the dog's head. “Found a pretty lady, did ya? Well, boy, I can't blame you for not wanting to let her out of your sight.” Jester looked up at Gavin, and I swear that dog winked at his master!

Gavin looked at me and smiled, “I suppose Jester is inviting you over. All you have to do is exit the orchard property to the right and then turn right at the first drive off the highway. I just got back from out of town. C'mon over and I'll cook us lunch."

I stared at Gavin; he was the most perplexing man I'd ever met. One moment he barely says two words and the next he's gushing over his dogs and inviting me over for a home-cooked meal.

"Oh, okay. Maybe I can run my preliminary publicity plan by you?"

"Nah, let's not talk business today.” He stood up and turned to go, “So, is it a date?"

A date? I questioned to myself. “Yes. I'll be there in a little bit."

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 10

Without so much as another word or even a glance in my direction Gavin and his dogs retreated! I hurried back to my cottage to freshen up. I doubt if the dogs would care what I looked like, or even Gavin for that matter, but I cared.

After changing into a better pair of jeans and a pretty heather rose-colored V-neck sweater and slipping on my moccasin loafers, I pulled back my hair into a casual up-do with the claw-gripping help of a large hair clip. Rats! I wished I had shampooed my hair last night. It looked a dull dark red instead of its usual shiny auburn. At least a little bit of blush on my cheeks brought out the green in my eyes. I was set to go, but not before I grabbed my work notebook of ideas, just in case I needed work as a conversation rescue.

Gavin's directions were right on; I drove up to his monitored security gate less than an hour after I saw him. He buzzed me in; a short drive up a hill brought his spacious log home into view. I parked and walked up to the door, half expecting a maid to answer it. Instead it was Gavin and dogs. Jester nosed his way out in front of Gavin while Emily stayed behind her master.

Jester was so big, I didn't need to kneel down to pat his head, “Hey there Jester, you're much bigger in person and just as handsome, maybe even more so.” Jester sat and offered his paw to shake. “Howdy-do to you, now how about Emily, will you introduce me to her?"

Jester got my hint and made a half turn looking at Emily who was still behind Gavin, peeking out. I stole a peek at her, but she seemed reluctant.

"Emily takes a little longer to make friends. Give her a chance to seek you out on her own. C'mon this way."

I followed Gavin into a spacious great room where at the far end a massive river stone fireplace crackled with a log fire. The furnishings were Craftsman era, maybe the real deal. Some certainly looked like antiques. What looked to be hand-woven Southwestern Indian rugs were scattered here and there, their sunset colors lent warmth to the hand-hewn oak flooring. I took a seat near the fireplace in a tall-back oak rocker, what my mother would have called papa-bear size. Gavin sat in a matching rocker a few feet from me. The dogs lay down between us, Jester lounged out in front of the fire, very close to me and Emily stayed closer to Gavin.

"This is where I sit most the time, at least if I have a fire going. Jessem likes it too."

"Jessem? May I ask who is Jessem?"

Gavin laughed, “That's my name for both these two dogs, collectively. Jess for Jester and Em for Emily. That way all I need say is one word and I get both their attention."

I giggled, “Never have I heard of that before. And they answer to it?"

"Oh, sure. Besides as long as Jester does it, Emily will follow. He's been her guardian ever since I found her."

Finally, an opening! “I heard about how you found her as a baby coyote, her mother had been hit by a car out on the highway in front of your driveway."

"Yep, that pretty much sums up how she came to me. Jester was only about a year old, just a big puppy himself. But he was old enough to be a big brother and her guardian. I suppose somewhere deep down in her she knows she's a coyote and not a dog, but around here she's well-behaved and very loving, Jester has taught her right."

"Is she the reason for the double fence line?"

"Ah, yeah. I put that up because some of the town folk were afraid Em would get out or other coyotes might try to come in and get her."

"Were Odessa and Isaac concerned?"

Gavin shook his head, “No, not really. In fact they tried hard to convince me that their fencing was enough. I felt better about putting up the double fence, even if they guffawed my idea. Odessa gets along nicely with Em. She came over and helped me bottle-feed her when I first brought Em into my home. Those were a few rough months. Em was such a tiny little thing, wasn't sure she'd make it. Odessa brought goat milk to feed her, worked out to be just the nourishment Em needed.” Gavin leaned down and gave Emily a few long strokes down her head and shoulders. Emily looked up in adoration.

"I've never had a dog, but I like them and so far they seem to like me."

"That's what Alex says. The big wolfhound of his, Atlas, well, Alex says Atlas would just as soon be with you than with him."

"Oh, uhm, well, Atlas and I do seem to have a special rapport,” I tried to counter this with a smile. I could only wonder if Gavin was fishing for a clue to my relationship with Alex. And I wasn't going to give him the opportunity to find out about my personal life, not from me. I averted his attention, and found a clumsy segue, “I must say your log home is beautiful. When I first came inside it reminded me of one that was the stage set in an old television show, but I can't remember the name of it."

"I get that a lot. You're probably thinking of the show called Bonanza. It was on TV often when I was little, on the channel that ran repeat programs of TV's classic westerns. The home was called The Ponderosa."

"Yes! That's the one, it was the Cartwright family! My grandmother used to watch it in re-runs on TV."

"Yeah. Of course, my home has all the modern technology in it, and no barn with horses. C'mon in and see the kitchen, nothing at all like a cowboy's mess hall."

I followed Gavin into his kitchen and was surprised by how modern it looked. Sleek recessed lighting overhead, black marble counters, brushed stainless steel appliances, yet it was all set off by the warmth of oak flooring and cabinets, lots of cabinets! I took a seat on a tall oak stool along the kitchen bar that provided a full view of the kitchen and the vista outside at the back of the home. The aroma from the oven was scrumptious and it made my stomach tug at my backbone.

"Whatever you're cooking, it smells delicious. Gavin, I had no idea you were serious about cooking lunch?"

His back had been toward me, opening up the oven door. He closed the oven in a snap and turned around to face me with a blank look on his face.

"You don't think I can cook?"

"I didn't mean it that way. I am very pleasantly surprised. And I'm hungry!"

"Missy, you've come to the right kitchen. The powder room is through those doors. You go on and freshen up and I'll meet you in the dining room off to the left, over there, “ he cocked his head in the direction opposite the powder room.

I wasted no time freshening up.

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Chapter 11

The dining room was exquisite; delicate flower-striped wallpaper in muted yellows and ivory complimented the old-fashioned tailored lace topper over a large bay window. The view outside was of rolling green hills. A stand of oak trees up on the center hill's crest provided a reference viewpoint.

Gavin pulled out my chair at the window end of the large oak table and I sat opposite him. We each had the window view to our side, to my right and to his left. The brass chandelier above the table lit up the darker corners of the room and yet did not distract from the bright natural light afforded by the window. Gavin had set the table with what looked to be hand-thrown stoneware dishes in peachy sunset hues. A covered casserole filled the air with wonderful aromas of spicy food. Iced tea filled our glasses.

Gavin sat down and took the lid off the casserole, “Hope you don't mind homemade tamales."

"Not at all, given the opportunity, I eat them for breakfast.” I held my plate up to the casserole and Gavin dished out three tamales before I could object, as if I really would.

He served himself and then stood up, “I'll be right back, I have salsa to top these and a green salad.” Gavin returned with a bowl of salsa and individual plates of salad. “Here you are,” he placed a salad to my left and set the salsa bowl in front of me, “Help yourself as you like."

I spooned salsa over my tamales and waited to see what Gavin would do next, wondering if he said a table grace before eating. He helped himself to salsa and looked over at me, “I always like to say a few words, he bowed his head and said, “Dear Lord, make us able for all that's on the table. Amen."

After my first bite I couldn't resist praising him, “Gavin, other than Francisco, and my dad, I've never known too many men who cook this well."

That brought a smile to his face, “Well, now if that's a compliment, I'll take it. I'm much obliged. Don't know your dad, but I'm proud to be in the company of Detective Francisco Zavala,” Gavin gave me a wink, but it wasn't the flirty kind, it was more like he let me in on a secret. “Now as to these tamales, I make up a bunch of them at one time and then keep them in my freezer. I hate coming home hungry and often don't want to go into town. My mom's a fantastic cook, I learned everything I know from her."

"That's right, you've been out of town on business?” I fished.

He took the bait, “Yes, went into Temecula, picked up a few things I wanted for the Spotted Coyote. Some supplies for the restaurant itself and some for the conjuring part."

"The conjuring part? What do you mean by that?” I asked.

"I have a friend there and she had gone into Los Angeles to a magicians’ supply store, I'd asked her to pick up a few things for me. Stick around after lunch and I'll show you. Alex says you're a good person to try out sleight-of-hand on,” He smiled.

"Oh, I love sleight-of-hand tricks, they are my favorite. Alex is wonderful at it and you know, he does it in the same style as a Victorian magician would have. What's your style?"

"Oh, sorta Old West around the early 1900s, some card tricks and such. I have one card trick that comes right out of the early 1900s, like to show you that one, if your game?"

"I'm game!"

Gavin nodded agreement and then he changed the topic to the view outside. He explained that the stand of oak trees had been kept on his property because of their historic significance. Supposedly in the late 1800s and up to about 1920, the largest oak in the stand was used as a hanging tree. “The tree that is a little off center, to the left, well, that's the tree called the Lynching Depot; the final terminus for many a criminal in these parts."

Gavin's narrative gave me new respect for this region and how much a part of the Old West it was. My plate was empty, I looked over at Gavin, and his plate was empty too. “I'll help clear these dishes,” I stood up and picked up dishes and my beverage glass. Gavin made quick work of the remaining dishes. I followed him into the kitchen, “Now what?” I asked.

"Right this way."

I followed him down a short hall off the back of his home, he opened a door and we walked into what I recognized as a practice room. I smiled, “I think all magician's practice rooms must look alike, regardless of where they are."

"Magic does have its practical side,” Gavin ushered me into a comfy armchair and then dimmed the lights to mimic a darkened stage. With another flick of his hand, he turned on a small spotlight that highlighted a darkened circle painted on the floor of the room. “Give me a moment."

I watched as he arranged a few props. Gavin set a small table to his right and then from behind him, he took a box of cards off a supply shelf and placed it on the table. As far as I could tell, the box of cards look like an ordinary deck of playing cards.

He bowed slightly, “Miss Shannon, if you would be so kind as to examine this deck of cards.” He broke the seal on the box, lifted the top flap and removed the full deck and then handed it to me. “After you shuffle the cards to your liking, look at the bottom card on the deck before returning the deck to me, please let me know when you are ready.” He turned to face the wall.

With Gavin's back to me I placed the deck on my lap and shuffled it making a mental note that the bottom card of the deck was a three of hearts. An ordinary card, as were all the cards in the deck. And other than being slippery because they were brand new, I noticed no other unordinary feature about them.

"Ready."

Gavin turned around and I held the deck out to him, being careful to prevent any view of the deck's bottom card. But instead of taking the cards, he picked up the card's box and held it out with the open flap toward me. “If you would be so kind as to slide the full deck of cards back into this box."

I slid the deck back into its box, making sure the cards faced down away from Gavin's sight. Gavin lifted the box up to his face, but not so close that I couldn't see what he was doing, he pretended to concentrate. I chuckled to myself, knowing enough about magicians that this was the time and place in the trick that he would milk for all its worth: this was the drama in the magic performance.

He set the box of cards on the table and said, “What's your favorite magic incantation?"

"How about abracadabra or maybe Kalamazoo?” I giggled.

"Hmm, Kalamazoo, never heard of that one,” he gave me an exaggerated wink. “But, Kalamazoo, it is! One, two, Kalamzoo, tell me which card is Miss Delaney's card!” He closed his eyes then opened them big and wide and said to me, “The three of hearts!"

"No way! Gavin you peeked somehow!” I exclaimed.

"Ah-ha! I am correct in saying it is the three of hearts?"

"Yes, that's it. But how did you do that?” If I was going to concede, I wanted in on the trick.

"You know the answer to that, it is a trade secret.” Gavin slipped the box of cards back up onto the shelf and set the little table over against the wall.

I got up and said, “Well, I bet Alex will tell me.” I feigned a pout.

Gavin gestured me out the door into the hall, “No he won't. Magicians stick together, you should know that."

We were back in the great room, “Yes, I know, but you can't blame a girl for trying."

Gavin laughed, “Not at all, and this case, I hope the girl doesn't give up trying."

I left shortly after that, obviously Gavin had some things to do and I had some things to ponder. On the drive home I couldn't get out of my mind that there was a well-known hanging tree just a short distance from my cottage. I wondered: was the rope that was around the ghost girl a lynching rope? I had presumed it was a jumping rope. Did they hang children in the old days, for failing to lock a door? Surely Old-West justice was not so harsh and unforgiving that towns folk took to hanging children? So many questions!

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Chapter 12

There was a note on the front door of my cottage. Odessa had left it saying that Francisco had tried calling me but couldn't get through on my cell phone. Odd, I know my cell was on, maybe in the orchard or at Gavin's it was out of my reception area? Anyway, the note said Francisco would meet me for dinner at six at the same restaurant where we had breakfast. I gave him a quick call and got his message service, I left a message agreeing to dinner. That gave me a few hours to snoop around in Julian on my own and I knew exactly where to go to first.

After grabbing a few things from my cottage and letting Odessa know I received the note, I was on my way. First stop, the Julian City Museum.

The museum was two blocks down from the Spotted Coyote and around the corner on a side street called Orchard Lane. The building itself was nondescript, probably built in the 1980s when California underwent a statewide earthquake code retrofit building spree. It was a tan stucco building, boxy with a low roof, practically no overhang. All the windows were up high, out of reach for a person of average height.

The inside was minimal, except for the numerous displays on the beige-colored walls and large tables in the center of a single vast room with flooring of industrial grade tan carpeting. Immediately upon entering I attracted the attention of a docent named Betty Salisbury, a middle-age woman of plump dimensions and graying shoulder length hair meticulously pulled back in a barrette. Betty's olive skin was set off in startling contrast to her crystal blue eyes! After I introduced myself, she insisted I call her by her first name. I was in luck; Betty was the hospitable and chatty kind of docent I was hoping to meet!

I let Betty lead me around, all the while listening carefully to her explanations about Julian's Wild West days as a mining town, founded by brothers out of the Civil War-torn South and of the town's transformation into a premier apple growing region. According to Betty, when the mines gave out the apples took over. Apple growing began in the late 1800s and was at a frenzied peak in the early 1900s. After the 1920s, apple growing settled into its own pace and has remained a popular and successful industry ever since.

Only after glancing at my watch did I realize I needed to get going to meet Francisco for dinner. Betty noticed my sneak peek at the time and graciously admitted she had kept me for too long, and that she needed to close the museum. I thanked her for her informative tour of Julian's history and she made me promise to come back if she could be of further help.

Because there were enough minutes left before I needed to meet Francisco, I left my car parked by the museum and walked the few blocks to the restaurant. I needed to digest all that I learned at the museum before dinner and conversation with Francisco. Betty had answered so many of my questions with such complete frankness that I came away with more clues to the ghost girl mystery than I had ever hoped for.

And besides, before meeting up with Francisco, I wanted to make a quick call to Gavin to get his help with a plan. An arrangement I was hesitant to make, but all things considered, there was no other person to turn to. I stopped in the shade of a tree, one store down from the restaurant and made my call. In all of five minutes I had my answer. Gavin was in agreement and willing to help. The moment we said good-bye, there was a tap on my shoulder.

"So, are you juggling dinner dates now? One handsome fellow is not enough for you?” Francisco was at his best when he was teasing me.

"I assure you, Gavin is no match for you. And besides, with Gavin my interest is strictly business,” I teased back.

Francisco offered me his arm, “Then I propose we enjoy another meal together, and I will not pick your brain about your so-called association with your handsome employer. After all, I know your heart belongs to my grandson."

I took his arm, “And indeed it does,” I smiled and walked with him into the cafee. A waitress showed us to a corner table, one where Francisco, ever the policeman, could look out at the crowd. We took menus and shopped for our next meal.

"Mmm, I think I will try the chicken-fried steak, mashed potatoes with gravy, cobbed corn and biscuits.” Francisco declared with relish.

"Francisco, that sounds like a heart attack in the making. What would Zach say?” I tried to shame him into healthy eating.

"He won't know, will he?” Francisco countered.

"Well, you're right about that, but you could at least order a green salad on the side,” I encouraged. The waitress must have heard our banter; she hurried over to us.

"What would y'all like tonight?"

Determined to set a healthy example, I looked up and said, “Chef's salad for me, Italian dressing on the side, please. Oh, and some coffee with cream, no sugar.” I shot a wary expression at Francisco.

"And you sir?"

"The chicken-fried steak dinner with a green salad on the side, same dressing. Iced tea, with lemon, no sugar,” He ordered and smiled at me.

"Would you like a biscuit and gravy with that, it's our specialty?” the waitress tempted Francisco.

He hesitated and for a split second, I was sure he would do the right thing. Francisco averted my inquiring glare and grinned at the waitress. “Specialty? I wouldn't want to miss out on that. By all means, serve a biscuit with gravy on the side."

"Comin’ right up.” The waitress left and as soon as she was out of earshot I scolded Francisco.

"I expect you to eat your salad first."

"What! And let the biscuit and gravy get cold?"

"You are hopeless!” I chided. “Enough of this, tell me what you found out today."

Our orders were served up in record time and we ate in silence with a few interruptions of easy conversation. After the waitress cleared our dishes away, and she brought refills on coffee and tea, we got down to business.

Francisco extracted a slip of quarter-folded paper from his blazer's chest pocket. He unfolded the paper and laid it on the table between us. Clearly it was a hand-drawn map of Julian. He pointed to the sketch of a dotted outlined large building. I recognized it as the present-day Spotted Coyote.

"Right here, along the red dotted line is the current outline of the Spotted Coyote. As you can see from the heavier black ink lines, there were once four smaller buildings in approximately the same space the Spotted Coyote is today."

I studied the map, “So, where the Coyote's stage is now, was once a dressmaker's store with a private residence off to its side, but they were connected by an interior wall and door?"

"Yes, this is correct. A dressmaker and her young niece lived in the small cottage and they worked in the store. Then over here, next to the dressmaker's, but with only a narrow foot path in-between, is a store that was an emporium. On the emporium's other side was a tailor's shop and immediately around the corner from the tailor, where the Coyote's kitchen is today, was the sheriff's office. Notice that between the emporium and the tailor there is a large amount of room, research suggest there were hitching posts along that side and in front of the sheriff's office."

"So this map dates back before automobiles?” I asked.

"Actually, this map dates to 1910, horses, buggies and autos shared the roads at that time. Though not much evidence supports there being many automobiles in Julian. Several of the wealthy families had them, but out here on the rural dirt roads horses were still the transportation of choice on a daily basis."

"I see. Francisco, what sort of goods did the emporium sell?"

He winked when I asked him that, “I knew you would want to know, so I found a old newspaper from that time, look here,” He extracted another quarter-folded slip of paper and unfolded it. It was a large photocopy of the emporium's ad that ran in a Julian newspaper. The date was April 21, 1910.

With the ad unfolded in front of me ideas swirled in my mind. I suspected I was looking at a piece to a puzzle, but I wasn't sure what the puzzle was! “This is fascinating! According to this the Julian Emporium was a forerunner to some of the home decorating stores of today! Wow! Look at some of the tiffany-styled lamps they have and the crystal candelabras and Oriental rugs!” I looked up very much surprised and delighted with Francisco's find.

"Yes, evidently what few families were here that could afford these fine furnishings was not enough to keep the emporium in business. It closed its doors by that summer."

"What happened to the owners and the building?"

"The owners, a married couple named Walter and Eugenia Carlyle closed up shop and moved away after a Fourth of July Independence Day fireworks show got out of hand. Some sparks landed on the emporium's roof, caught on fire and partially burned the building. The goods inside were ruined from water and smoke damage. After that, the building remained in disrepair until it was torn down later that summer. The lot remained vacant for over fifty years, a small bicycle shop went up in early 1970, but it caught fire and burned to the ground, too. Again the lot remained vacant until Gavin bought the property to build on, that was two years ago."

"This is intriguing, I wonder why Gavin hasn't said anything to me about it?” I asked Francisco, and wouldn't you know it, Gavin answered!

"I don't read minds, if you want to know, just ask. Mind if I have a seat?"

Francisco looked up, of course he saw Gavin enter, he was not surprised, but Gavin caught me off guard. Francisco gestured to him to take the seat next to us. “Would you care to order?” Francisco asked him.

"Much obliged, but no thanks. I'm here to walk Miss Shannon over to the Spotted Coyote, she agreed to go over a few of the finer details regarding our publicity plan.” I had to admire him for giving such a natural cover, Francisco would certainly agree to leave me in Gavin's company.

"We are finished. In fact, I am going to follow Shannon's advice and not indulge in dessert.” Francisco stood up, came around to me and gave me a hug; “I will call you in the morning.” I agreed and watched as he went to the front cashier, paid the bill and tipped the waitress. He turned in our direction and waved good night.

Gavin and I watched and waited a few minutes before leaving. Exiting the restaurant, Gavin looked long and hard in all directions. “No sight of him. I reckon the coast is clear.” He turned to me and offered his arm, “Ready to take a moon-lit stroll through the local boneyard?"

I looked up at his dancing blue eyes and almost questioned my motive, “I reckon I'll mosey along with you."

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Chapter 13

I half expected the cemetery to have a quaint name, such as Haven of Eternal Rest, instead it was simply called Julian City Cemetery. The cemetery was located on the uphill end of town; we approached it from the side that was a pedestrian entrance. Ornate iron lace fencing enclosed the burial grounds all the way around. We stepped up to the locked gate and I looked at Gavin, wondering if we were supposed to jump the fence. Before I could ask, Gavin reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a chain of keys.

"One of these will do the trick,” he held the key chain and flipped through a few keys. “Yep, this should do it.” He unlocked the gate and we stepped up onto the cemetery walkway of flat stepping stones, arranged in a circular pathway around the perimeter of the yard.

"How did you get a key to the cemetery?” I asked.

"I'm on the Julian City Cemetery administration board. I've always had a key. Never know when someone might call and complain about unusual happenings here. So we have a call list, and one of us board members will come out and investigate,” he explained in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Unusual happenings? Like what?” I asked.

He looked at me and smiled, “Oh, nothin’ to be concerned about. Mostly it happens around Halloween. The usual stuff with kids daring each other to jump the fence and wait out the night by a grave."

"Yuck, sounds horrible. And spooky,” I complained.

Gavin shrugged his shoulders; “Kids will be kids. After we catch them and give them the chore of weeding the cemetery grounds for a week, they pretty much stop the pranks. At least until another generation of teens come along. What exactly are we looking for?"

I cleared my throat, not quite sure how explain, “I'm following up on a side case that may have involved a young girl who died sometime around 1910, give or take a year or two."

"A side case? For who?” Gavin was suspicious.

"A friend who writes fiction,” gulp, small fib, “and she asked me to do this since she's stuck up in Santa Barbara. She recalls having heard something about it and thought it would make a good plot for a story she's writing. Really, I find it fascinating and I love doing this kind of research,” I smiled hoping he wouldn't question my motives, again.

Gavin nodded his head in a quiet way. “Well, okay. A child's grave should be fairly easy to find. Look for a smaller headstone. Let's start over in that direction, it's an older part of the cemetery.” Gavin headed out to the right, a little further up on the hill, now heavily shaded in the growing darkness under a row of tall pine trees.

We walked slowly, shining our flashlights on every headstone as we approached it. I read the stones one by one making a mental note of the various names and the unusual art on the gravestones. Gavin interrupted the silence with a few observations, “You'll notice the initials of UCV quite often, that stands for United Confederate Veterans. Many of the earliest settlers came here after the War Between the States in the 1860s."

We walked on. “I've noticed other art on the gravestones such as wreaths, trumpeting angels, birds in flight, even a rooster and a rising sun. Do you know what those symbolize?” I asked Gavin. He stopped, I could barely see him in the dark, and he looked like a ghost himself.

"Well, I recall that a wreath stands for victory, probably meaning the deceased person bested the Devil in finding eternal rest. If you see a rooster on the same stone as a rising sun, then the rooster means an awakening and the rising sun stands for a renewed life in resurrection. Hmm, come to think of it, a trumpeting angel symbolizes resurrection, too. Oh, and birds in flight, that means the soul of the deceased as taken flight...... hopefully heavenward, at least if the birds are depicted as ascending,” he grinned.

"I think you're enjoying our foray into the world of the dead a bit too much.” I couldn't resist; I had to elbow him in the ribs.

"Ouch!” he feigned a hurt expression. “And I thought you were enjoying my company."

"I am,” I admitted. “This is more of a task than I thought it would be. Where else do we go, seems to me we have covered this part of the hill?"

Gavin used his flashlight as a pointer, “See over there, that is yet another section to this hill, behind that row of juniper bushes."

I looked out in the direction of his flashlight beam, “Okay, I'll follow you."

"Watch your step,” he cautioned and without hesitation he took my left hand and locked it into his right hand.

I didn't resist, in truth I was relieved to have him as a guide. The ground in this part of the hill was mottled with root bumps and low shrubbery. We chose our steps carefully, keeping the flashlight beams down low on the ground. We stepped out from behind the line of juniper bushes into a small grassy clearing. In the darkness I could see the faint whitish outlines of numerous upright gravestones; some were figural. We stopped momentarily to get our bearings.

"This part is one of the older sections, that's why there are so many of these upright stones and statues,” Gavin explained. “Even the poorer families back then would raise the money needed for a fancy burial."

I let my eyes adjust; “I didn't expect so many statues!"

” Well, let's see, you can ignore the statues of what appears to be broken columns. Those columns are deliberately made to look broken and in doing so, indicate the head of a family: a husband and or father. And ones that have rifles or guns will probably be men who were in the military. Come to think of it, for a child, maybe we should look for an angel or just a simple cross, or maybe a lamb,” Gavin suggested.

I looked at him, well at least I tried to look at him through the darkness, “Gavin, I'm impressed. I appreciate your help,” and for good measure I added, “I'll be sure to tell my friend that whatever success I manage to have tonight is owed in great part to you."

"Now, you keep that up, it might just make me blush,” he joked.

"Blush all you like, in the darkness I can't see it.” I let go of his hand, it was a casual move and I could tell he didn't take it any other way. “I see an angel over there.” Gavin pointed his flashlight in the direction I motioned to and I gasped, “That's it!"

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Chapter 14

I couldn't get to it fast enough. Gavin followed me, always shining his flashlight beam a few steps in front of us. I reached that statue and pulled out a small digital camera I had tucked into my pocket. “I've got to try and get pictures of this for my friend.” Gavin stood still and positioned a flashlight beam here and there as I directed him to. I tucked the camera back into my pocket.

"What now?” he asked.

"I need to take a few notes about the angel and names, inscriptions, stuff like that. Maybe while I do that you could see if anything about the statue's style or artwork has meanings known to you?"

Gavin stood with his feet slightly apart and relaxed, he crossed his arms, “Don't need to, I can tell you just about anything you need to know. Heck, if I had known that it was Sarah Morghan you were looking for, I could have saved us the trip out here."

In awe that Gavin had come up with another telltale clue that I hadn't even thought to ask him, I queried: “You know about this little girl?"

"Sure do. And after you finish taking notes, we can go back to my place, your place, or heck, maybe the Spotted Coyote since it's only a short walk away and I'll tell you about her. In fact, I think I have her file in my office over at the Coyote."

I stared at him, and debated about what to say: “Gavin, you do know that this little girl is the ghost I have seen?"

"Figured that much. Though can't say why she has decided to appear to you."

I jammed my note pad back into my purse and grabbed Gavin by the arm, “In your lingo, boy howdy Gavin, do you have some reckoning to do!"

In ten minutes we were sitting at a back table in the Spotted Coyote. Gavin had made quick work of calling Ralph to let him know not to be alarmed, that he had opened up the Coyote after hours to get some work done. Next thing I knew Gavin disappeared into the kitchen saying to me, “You cool your heels while I go get what we need.” In fifteen minutes he came back out with a tray, two cups of steaming liquid were on it, along with a manila file folder. Gavin sat down and handed me a cup, “Figured if we're going to tell ghost stories we should be drinking hot cocoa,” he winked and I relaxed. Gavin was not the hard-core, strong silent type that I had first pegged him to be. Maybe I was wrong to not have clued him in from the beginning. I sipped my cocoa in quiet observation. Gavin opened the folder and thoughtfully sifted through pages of hand-written notes in a penmanship that I recognized as his. He separated a few pages from the bulk, and held them in his hands.

He took a sip of the hot chocolate, “Mmm, that hits the spot,” he smiled. “The gravestone statue itself is a small replica of one that is in the Natchez cemetery, that's in Mississippi. It's called the Turning Angel,” Gavin looked at me, I met his eyes, “Shannon the story gets a little lengthy here, at the beginning in Mississippi, but stick with me, okay?"

My heart pounded, Gavin was about to tell me everything I was dying to know, and he was asking for my patience! “I promise I won't interrupt. May I record this?” I held up my voice recorder.

"Sure, good idea."

I was beginning to like Gavin more than I should, all things considered. I listened with rapt attention the next hour as Gavin explained the story of the short-lived life of little Sarah Morghan, a Welsh girl who first lived in Natchez, Mississippi and who had traveled to America as a babe in her mother's arms in January of 1901.

"Sarah and her mom, Norah resided in Natchez from 1901 until the mother's death in March of 1908. Norah Morghan was a widow and she came to America from Wales to live with friends of her husband's family. There was good money to be made by a woman who was an expert dressmaker and Natchez provided plenty of opportunity. It was a major river port town that served wealthy clients up and down the river, south to New Orleans and up to Memphis, and all points between. Norah made a good living and was well respected for her skills and as a member of Natchez society. Then the Natchez Drug Company disaster occurred on March 14th of 1908.

"To make a long story short, a gas explosion at the Natchez Drug Company offices demolished the entire brick building that housed the company and caused major damage to neighboring stores and homes. Sarah's mom had a dressmaker shop only two doors down. Bricks were bomb-blasted through her shop's window, killing Norah when large slices of flying glass severed a vein in her neck. She was found dead from loss of blood; it had gushed out of her. Others killed in the tragedy included several young girls who worked at the Natchez Drug Company. Turns out, the company's owners felt so bad that they paid for the burial of all the employees who died, including five girls. For those five girls they erected a larger than life statue of the angel you just saw over in the cemetery. The statue is called the Turning Angel in Natchez because as a person walks along the cemetery road, it appears to turn and watch. One of those girls was Lizzie Worthy, only twelve years old and she was the best friend to Sarah Morghan, Sarah was nine at the time. Orphaned, the towns folk knew that Sarah's mother had a cousin here in Julian, they made arrangements with the cousin to send little Sarah out here. A society matron from Natchez accompanied her and then went back. Sarah lived here in Julian with her cousin, whom she called her aunt, a lady named Jayne Blair, also a dressmaker, and successful, too. Jayne got along famously with Sarah and indeed, in looking back at news from the time, they were more like mother and child than they were cousins. Jayne was a year older than Sarah's mom was and like her mom was a very independent gal. It was commonly known in Julian that Jayne had her pick of suitors, but she wasn't much interested in marriage.

"All was fine, Sarah was helping out in the dressmaking business and Jayne was more than proud of Sarah's abilities. Then one evening in 1910, an October day, same day that Julian had celebrated its second annual Apple Days Celebration, little Sarah was found strangled to death on the back stoop of her aunt's dressmaker shop. The town was in an uproar. Jayne was devastated, she wasn't at the shop at the time and had allowed Sarah to return to the shop to get something the child said she had forgotten. To this day, little Sarah's murder remains unsolved.” Gavin laid out the papers in front of us and took a drink of his hot chocolate.

"But why the same kind of grave statue, a turning angel?” I asked.

"Jayne wanted it, said that Sarah kept a drawing of it and of her mother's grave, too. Evidently her mother was laid to rest next to the Turning Angel, but her grave is marked with an ordinary stone, so Sarah fixated on the Turning Angel as the spot her mom was buried, as well as her best friend."

We sipped our chocolate in silence. My eyes strayed to the file folder, “Any chance I can have photocopies of everything in that file?"

Gavin answered my question with a gesture, he stood up, grabbed the file, “Won't take long, I have a copier machine in the back office. You stay put; I'll be right back."

Just as I sipped the last drop of my cocoa Gavin returned with the copies I wanted. He picked up our empty mugs and the tray, “Anything else I can help with?"

"No thank you,” I smiled. “It's late and I should be on my way."

Gavin set the tray down, “Then let me see you to your car."

He did and I drove away knowing the real reason I was summoned to Julian. I arrived at my cottage and parked my car, got out and looked over at the orchard where a sapphire twilight was descending into indigo darkness. Silently I promised: Sarah, I won't let you down. I'll find out who murdered you and why.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 15

That night my sleep was restless and broken by intermittent bouts of disturbingly dark images of little Sarah's body crumpled and lifeless on the back stoop of her aunt's dressmaker shop. By five in the morning I gave up on sleep. A rooster's crow beckoned me awake so I shuffled into the kitchen to put coffee on. In a quick glance out the living room window I saw that the light of dawn was on the horizon and my spirits perked up a bit as the sun peeked over the hill. Sitting at the kitchen table, sipping coffee and gazing out the window I made a mental to-do list and drummed my fingers to help kick start my brain.

First and foremost, investigating other deaths of children in and around Julian at the same time as Sarah's murder was a must-do. I needed to find out if Sarah had been the victim of a serial killer or if murdering her was personal. If only I was at home at Blackthorne House I would have so many more resources at my fingertips. Rosario, savvy nun and businessperson that she is, subscribed to numerous data bank services for doing research on. Using Rosario's computer allowed me global access to Internet libraries and archives. The drumming of my fingers grew so loud I almost didn't hear my cell phone ring from the bedroom. I made a mad dash to get it.

"Hello."

"Good morning, I hope I didn't wake you?” the voice was familiar but for a second I couldn't place it. I looked at my watch; it was only six.

"Alex?"

"Yes, it's me. Are you okay? You sound confused."

I relaxed, “I'm fine and it's not too early, I was up and getting my breakfast. And Alex, I wasn't expecting to hear from you. What's up?"

"Shannon, I have a few minutes, then I must leave. I'm teaching the early morning class on the course schedule and most of my students will be new, so I want to be in my classroom for them. Some students will show up early, they'll be nervous and curious about what to expect. Anyway, Aunt Dora called me late last night and said I should give you a message, uh-um, one moment.” I could hear Alex fiddling around with keys or something, “Here it is, I wrote it down and slipped it inside my jacket pocket, just a minute.” Now he seemed to be rustling paper, “Okay, says here, tell Shannon to look at newspapers, far and wide."

"Newspapers?"

"You know how Aunt Dora is. This could be one of her moments, so to speak, when she feels the urgency to pass along to you some cryptic message from her world, or the spirit world. Which by the way, these days I can't tell the difference from. Shannon, are you there?"

I had been quiet, taking to heart Dora's advice. “Yes, still here. I think your Aunt Dora is spot on, as she would say! Alex, I know exactly what to do! Be sure to thank her for me, okay?"

"I will, but are you going to clue me in?"

"Only if I can bargain with you?” I baited him.

"I don't have time for this. Name your price."

"Alex, I want your user name and password to the Newspaper Archive Web site. I know you have one because you gave it to Rosario to use when she set up her office at Blackthorne House."

That's it? This is all you want?"

"Yes."

"And you'll clue me in?"

"Yes. Come on Alex, give it up. You said you don't want to be late, just give me your info."

"And you'll agree to meet with me this weekend? I'll drive out there Friday afternoon, we'll have dinner together."

I sighed, knowing in my heart Alex was hedging for a date, “Yes, it's a date. Come on Alex, hand over the goods."

He did and I carefully wrote down the information that was the key to my next steps in unraveling the mystery of Sarah Morghan. After assuring Alex one more time we had a date, he said good-bye. I went back into the kitchen, opened up my laptop computer and sat down. My hands shook when I hit the on key and brought up the Internet. And at this exact moment a sudden chill in the room sent an uncontrollable shiver up my spine, I turned around: “Stop sneaking up behind me!"

Eric Blackthorne stood a few feet behind my chair, and for once I didn't care how handsome he was in all his Victorian ghostly elegance. I looked up at him, “I see you've raided Alex's closet, again. Take a seat Eric and tell me what you're doing here."

He sat next to me. “A bit testy today, are we?” he smiled and no way could I not acknowledge his charm. I relaxed, rays from the incoming sunshine once again warmed over me, and the chill was gone.

"I feel you may need my assistance,” He said with sincerity.

"I'm not irritated, honestly. But Eric, I no sooner hang up the phone from a conversation with the living Alex Blackthorne and then you materialize out of thin air. Sometimes, it's unnerving.” I studied him and wondered again, how amazing it is that he and Alex are identical. Well, except for a few minor features: Alex's hair was cut shorter, no sideburns, whereas Eric wore his hair a little longer, or maybe it just looked longer because his hair was combed differently, and he had sideburns down to his earlobes. Overall, Eric looked quintessentially Victorian. However, when Eric wore Alex's clothes, the resemblance was truly uncanny, eerie. He noticed that I noticed.

"Shannon? Are you feeling well?"

"Yes."

He leaned in close and studied my face, then he reached out and touched my cheek with his right hand, gently cupping my chin. “You appear confused, as if in a dream state."

I pulled back, “Oh, I was just pondering how you and Alex are so identical.” I smiled, thinking I really don't need a ghost examining my thoughts.

Eric resumed his perfect posture, sitting at the table glancing at my computer. “Yes, we are alike. Though Alex does not speak with a Scottish burr. And, I might add, Alex is not here to assist you. I am."

"Oh, are there ghosts in cyber space?” I chided and to myself, wondered if there might be. I knew for sure there were cyber imps in my computer.

"I would not know or be able to discern. This technology of yours is, ah, quite magical!” he chuckled. “May I observe as you utilize this magical device?"

His request silenced me and caused me to ponder. I couldn't even begin to imagine what advances in technology there might be a hundred years after I would be long dead. Eric's request warmed my heart. “Yes, I suppose this computer stuff would seem, or appear, to be magic. And you know it seems that way to me, too. I know how to use a computer and many of its applications, but I would never be able to explain how one works. So,” I leaned in closer to Eric, “if you don't mind limiting your learning to research techniques, I am honored to be your tutor!"

"Splendid! What shall I do?"

"Well, lean in closer to me so you can see the screen and keyboard.” Eric was an astute student. He asked brief and precise questions that clearly indicated he caught on quickly to computer research techniques. I spent the next few hours researching through the newspaper archive portal that Alex had provided. Eric offered insight on some of the cases that turned up, especially the ones that had involved scams targeting the well-to-do in society of the 1800s.

By noon my stomach was growling, a reminder I had forgotten about eating breakfast. Even Eric noticed the rumbling sounds.

"Dear girl, omitting breakfast in never a wise choice. Perhaps you should take a break, go into town to have lunch and then bask in the fresh air. A brisk stroll will restore the color to your cheeks."

I sat back and stared at him. Eric was engrossed in the computer screen and without missing a beat he deftly slid the computer in front of him and was tip tapping away on the keyboard. I tapped him on his shoulder, “Is this your way of politely telling me you have surpassed my instruction and I'm in your way?"

He didn't even look at me, “Shannon, I can do this for you. I promise I shall not leave a single cyber stone unturned in our determination to find out all we can."

"We?"

"Yes, we.” He turned to face me. “You would not expect me to abandon you in this time of dire need?” Eric had the same expression as Alex when challenging me to dare him not to be who he is; seductive smile, excited eyes.

I got up, pushed my chair in and leaned over to his ear, “When pigs fly! Have at it ghost man!"

He smiled and assured me he was the right man for this job.

I dashed into my bedroom and got dressed in a new outfit of jeans and a light green sweater, pulled my hair back into a ponytail, a couple of finger strokes of foundation, then a light dusting of blush and a quick application of mascara. I topped it off with a soft shimmer of pink lip-gloss. I walked back to the kitchen table, grabbed my purse, keys and cell phone.

Eric glanced up at me, “Lovely, absolutely lovely. You look like springtime itself. Now do be careful, I will be here when you get back.” He turned back to the screen and I was forgotten, might as well have been a ghost myself! Except, just as I turned to leave I stole a glance back at Eric. Odd, very odd, had I never noticed before that his sideburns weren't quite even? Had I not known better I would have thought they were pasted on, just like the ones my drama class had used for costume in college stage productions.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 16

I parked at the far end of Julian's Main Street, at the very opposite end from the Spotted Coyote. I was looking for a different restaurant to have lunch at. On the corner of Main at Pine Avenue there was one, aptly named the Corner Cottage Cafee.

The sign outside declared that breakfast was a specialty served all day long. Inside, the cafee was busy with a lunch crowd. Spotting a small corner table at the back, I walked in and took a seat with my back in the corner. This strategy gave me a view of the entire cafee and through the front windows to the street. A waitress made haste and brought me water and a menu.

"Would you like coffee or tea to start out with?"

"Iced tea with lemon, no sugar, please."

"Right up, I'll bring your tea and then take your order."

The time it took her to get my tea was just enough time to allow me to look at the menu and decide on a Belgian waffle for lunch. She brought my tea and took my order. Alone in the cafee, in the corner looking out at a crowd of what I assumed were local residents gave me a wonderful opportunity to people watch for a while. I loved doing this and never felt awkward dining alone when I had the chance to observe people.

Most of the crowd was the usual for what I expected to see in a rural community. Farmers in work shirts and jeans, some ladies that were probably the shop owners or clerks from the numerous gift shops and boutiques in Julian. Three men in business suits, I imagined they were bankers or lawyers. One woman stood out; she looked like she belonged to a different era that was of the Old West saloon gal type. She was petite, curvy, bright blonde hair in a fluffy up do. I couldn't get out of my mind that someone from the 1800s describing her a bottle blonde. Topping off her look she wore tight blue jeans and a white eyelet blouse that hugged her natural talents: yet another description from that century. I expected her voice to be loud, maybe crass. I was wrong. She spoke in soft tones and well-mannered speech, so much so that I couldn't hear exactly what she was saying to her companion, a brunette with curly short hair and was dressed in an attractive matching blue skirt and blouse. The brunette's overall look was contemporary and refined. These two women, probably about the same age, around thirty, had stark contrasts in personal appearances and yet seemed to be good friends.

I could understand and eavesdrop on the half of the conversation that slipped from the brunette's lips. Evidently, both women were local residents, and the brunette either worked at and or owned the art gallery a few doors down. The blonde woman owned a local hairstyle and manicure salon and was troubled about something going on with one of her operators. The waitress stepped up with my lunch order at the same moment I heard the brunette say to the blonde that she should fire that thieving no-good fingernail painter!

I looked up at my waitress, “This looks delicious. Thank you."

"You bet, hon and if you need anything else, just give a wave of your hand. We're real busy today, what with the town business folks having an annual meeting this morning."

A town meeting? Only in small town America is this tradition still carried on. In the next twenty minutes I focused on quieting the growling in my stomach. I looked up and the place was emptying fast. One of the men in a business suit stood up and announced that the Julian Main Street Business Association meeting would commence in twenty minutes. His announcement had the desired effect, tables emptied, patrons called for their checks. I watched the organized commotion and was impressed with the efficiency of how the one and only waitress handled the crowd as patrons lined up to pay their bills. Within ten minutes the restaurant was empty of patrons, except for myself and a silver-haired elderly woman who sat at the counter. The waitress walked over to her and said, “Edna, aren't you going to the meeting?"

"Oh, phooey! They don't need, nor want my two cents!"

"Now, Edna, you are the matron of the business district in Julian. Why not go on and at least listen to what they have to say?” The waitress had a concern for her elderly patron and I suspected that the two of them were old acquaintances.

"If I go anywhere, it will be to let Gavin know what I think. He's the only one with good business sense around here.” That statement made my ears perk-up!

The waitress responded in kind, “Yes, Gavin would be the one to talk to. Why not go see if he's at the meeting? Or maybe give him or his mom a call?"

"Now Pris, I know you are trying to help, but I don't take kindly to your interference."

Pris, now I know the waitress’ name. With that last statement the elderly woman walked out of the restaurant without paying her bill. Come to think of it, Pris didn't give her one.

Pris came over to me, “Would you care for anything else?"

"No thank you,” I smiled and continued, “As you can see from my empty plate, I enjoyed the waffle."

"Yes, our cook makes some of the best waffles around these parts, though that may not be for very long,” She grimaced as she reached for my plate and I held it for just a second to get her attention.

"Oh, is this restaurant closing?"

"Well, the owner might decide to close it, she's fed up with our business association here in Julian.” Pris looked away in the direction of the counter, “That was her, the lady that was at the counter a minute ago. Edna Werner is her name."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I hope whatever the problem is, it can be worked out. I like this cafee and I would come back."

Pris gave me a nod of acknowledgment and then went away with my dishes. She returned with my bill, “No hurry hon, whenever you are ready."

I got my purse and paid the bill. After leaving the cafee I stopped on the boardwalk in front of the cafe and looked up Main Street. Taking a second look down the street to the far end where the Spotted Coyote is, I spied a familiar person sitting on one of the benches outside the front door. It was Edna Werner and I felt she needed some company.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 17

Edna sat with her ankles locked and arms folded across her chest. She glanced at me when I approached but made no acknowledgment when I sat down on the bench opposite the front door from her. She stared straight ahead and it gave me the impression that she was silently rehearsing a speech. Edna's fists curled up into tight balls. Her lips moved just a little and her expression darkened. I waited and hoped Gavin would show up, the sooner the better. Fiddling around in my purse was all I could do to look busy, that was when Edna let loose a great sigh.

"Hi,” was my feeble attempt to break the ice, “Are you waiting for Mr. Longstreet?"

Edna turned and in that moment, she seemed to notice me for the first time. Her look was one of surprise and defense.

"Why would you ask that?” she demanded.

"Uh,” I stammered, “no reason. I'm here to see him. That's all,” I smiled, hoping to convince her that I'm not the enemy.

Edna peered at me, as if I was an antique doll on sale and she was looking for flaws that would give her a bargaining chip to lower the price. Under her scrutiny I felt I was on display. She pointed a finger at me; “You're that writing lady Gavin told me about."

"Yes, I suppose I am. My name's Shannon Delaney."

"Yes, that's right, that's the name Gavin told me. Gavin says you are mighty good at what you do.” She punctuated that comment with a grimaced smile.

"Thank you. I'm enjoying my work writing publicity for the Spotted Coyote. Gavin and his mom have done a marvelous job at making it the best of the Old West with all the modern conveniences for a restaurant and entertainment venue.” I hoped to chat up Edna, but my plan wasn't working very well.

She looked at me and for a split second I braced for a rude comment, then her demeanor softened. Edna leaned slightly in my direction and whispered, “That's not all I've heard about you, Miss Shannon Delaney.” She nodded her head up and down, agreeing with herself. I sat back and quickly considered my options of which way to run to get away from her. I was about to bolt when the front door opened. It was Gavin.

Stepping out onto the porch he looked at both of us and then said to Edna, “Well now, I'm not surprised to see you here, Edna. I suppose you should come on in and we'll get this over with.” He turned and winked at me.

Edna stood up, “Now Gavin, I'm not here to listen to your diplomacy and all that fancy sweet talk. I want the truth about what has been decided and what will be done.” Edna didn't wait for Gavin; she marched right in ahead of him and left him holding the door ajar.

"Might as well come on in, too. Edna doesn't know it yet, but she's about to find out that you and I are her greatest allies.” He smiled, I stood up and stepped in close to him, whispering in his ear, “I hope her bark is worse than her bite.” Gavin whispered back, “Don't fret, it is."

I followed Gavin over to the table in the back, Edna was sitting with her back to us and when I stepped up and took a seat at the table, she looked up at Gavin.

"Why is she here?"

"Gavin sat next to Edna, “Shannon is here because like me and mom, she is on your side, I mean, our side."

I smiled, desperately hoping Gavin would get around to informing me exactly what I was on their side of. I nodded my head affirmatively and sat back a little so I would not appear to be butting in.

Gavin took on a casual air of authority, he relaxed with his forearms resting on the table, he steepled his fingers. Edna sat tense and upright; Gavin reached over and patted her fisted hands that were lying in wait on the table.

"Relax, nothing will happen to the cemetery. No moving, no rearrangements, no sale of the land. I promise."

"How can you be sure?” Edna demanded.

Gavin reached into his back pants pocket and pulled out a folded packet of papers. Unfolding it, he said, “I own it. Period. I won't let anyone dig up graves and move them.” He handed Edna the paper and she broke into sobs.

Gavin was quick on his feet and went over to Edna to give her a hug. She looked at him and patted his arm. “If ever there was decent folks in this town, people who value all the sentiments of life, it's you and your mom. God Bless you both!"

"There, there. Edna, darlin’ you go on back to the powder room and freshen up. My mom is due any minute and you two have a lot of plans to make for the beautification of the cemetery. That brought a smile to Edna's face the likes of which I bet no one in this town had seen for a very long time. She walked back to the restroom beaming.

Gavin sat back down and watched her, in a low voice he said; “She's a dear heart, that one. Doesn't have a selfish bone in her body, one of the most generous proprietors in Julian."

"I ate lunch at her cafee today. I followed her here when she refused to go to the town's business meeting. Of course, I had no idea what this was all about.” My impromptu admission brought a sly smile to Gavin's face.

"I reckon a person who has a bountiful amount of intuitive intelligence as you do, doesn't have much need for ideas."

I bit my tongue to keep from saying Ah, shucks Mr. Longstreet, aren't you the one to make a lady blush, and instead I asked, “Why would the towns folk want to dig up and move a cemetery?"

"Because some high falutin’ banker came in a couple of months ago with his equally high falutin’ partner, a real estate investor, and they convinced most of the store owners that the cemetery over there was prime land for further development. And since the burial grounds had reached their capacity, that Julian needed a new cemetery. They went so far as to suggest they'd donate twenty acres on the outskirts of town if we would agree to up and move everybody out of the old cemetery."

"That's outrageous!” I exclaimed. “Can something like that really be done?"

"Matter of fact it has been done, all over the Southwest. Land is valuable and when cemeteries die, so to speak, meaning they are at capacity and no longer can be used for burials, entire cemeteries have been moved."

"Gavin, I'm so glad you stopped it. What will you do with a cemetery?"

"Keep it, what else can I do? At least I am guaranteed lots of parking at curbside for the Spotted Coyote,” he chuckled.

I looked at him, “And where do I come in?"

"Now that you know you won't be trespassing, you can mosey over and investigate the burial grounds to your heart's content. Oh, and I'd like to hire you to write up something nice and quaint about its history. Mom and Edna would appreciate that."

I extended my hand over the table, and in my best Old West drawl I said, “Mighty glad to oblige."

Edna returned with Vera and the two ladies sat at our table. Gavin told them what I would be doing and that they should not be alarmed if they see me over at the cemetery writing notes and taking photos. Edna's face lit up, she was so happy! She got up and came to give me hug. “Now Shannon, I saw you in my cafee, and I want you to know that whenever you're in town, you come on back to my cafee and the tab is on me. You hear?"

I stayed a few minutes longer and then took my leave saying I had work to do. I left Vera and Edna gushing over Gavin for his generosity. It warmed my heart to know that the American cowboy's indelible code of honesty and do-good ethics was alive and well in Julian. I hummed Home on the Range all the way back to my car and on the drive back to my cottage. After parking in my usual spot, instinctively I looked up at my cottage, and mused about whether or not Eric was still enthralled with computer magic. My gaze drifted over to the front door, when a jolt of panic shivered through me. The front door gaped wide open. I bolted up the stairs.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 18

Huffing and puffing I came to a stop on the porch and peeked around the corner into the living room. All was still, all was quiet. I listened and could hear soft footsteps in the back, maybe the kitchen? “Hello?"

The footsteps quickened, not giving me a chance to fight or flight, I braced for the worst and stepped back onto the porch, grab the rail and was ready to dash down the stairs.

Out from the kitchen into the living room stepped Francisco, an automatic handgun in his right hand, at ease, at his side. The pounding in my ears and heart stopped.

"Francisco? What's going on?” I stepped inside. Francisco clicked the safety on his gun and holstered it under his jacket. Weird, I never ever noticed he carried a weapon.

"Shannon, so sorry, I did not mean to scare you. Please, sit down,” he gestured me to the sofa. I sat down and he sat in a chair opposite me and then explained: “I had come over to see you and as I came up the stairs and looked in the window, I saw through to the kitchen and could see your computer running. That led me to believe an intruder was in your cottage, had heard my steps coming up the stairs and ran to hide. Of course, there's no where to go. I suspected the intruder was hiding in here."

"And there is no one here?"

"Not a soul."

Looking at Francisco I desperately wanted to tell him that someone was using my computer and it was probably zipping through pages of hits, and that someone was a ghost and of course Eric would not materialize for Francisco. I knew I couldn't give that explanation, so instead I said, “When I left this morning I put my computer into the automatic update mode. What you saw was my computer running on its own, going through security checks of all files and then updating the programs. I'm so sorry for this."

Francisco laughed and shook his head, “Wouldn't you know it! A silly scare like this would come from technology and not a real person!"

I giggled, “You know, this same thing has happened to me. When I first got that laptop it was programmed to do automatic updates at three in the morning. One night at Blackthorne House, I woke up and could hear it clicking away downstairs in the parlor. I crept down the stairs expecting to find, well, come to think of it, I'm not sure what I thought I would find, but I was greatly relieved to discover it was just my computer in automatic mode."

Standing up I hugged Francisco and thanked him and then offered to put some coffee on. He followed me into the kitchen, got out coffee cups and napkins. I spied the napkins, “What do we need those for?"

Francisco opened up the fridge and pulled out a pie box, held it up and laughed, “For pie of course. One can't come to Julian without eating the town's famous apple pie. I'll slice and serve, you pour."

Once settled at the kitchen table with pie and coffee, I asked, “Did you discover anything interesting today?"

Without putting his fork down, Francisco spoke in-between bites. “As a matter of fact I learned how to outsmart carnival midway game booth operators.” Francisco's grin was akin to a cat with feathers around its mouth.

"And this has to do with our investigation?"

"Most definitely, if one is to consider likely suspects. But first, the game cons. With the all-popular balloon dart-throw game, well the balloons are under inflated and the dart tips are dull and the best prizes are under the balloons along the outside margins, not in the center, which is where most people aim for."

"But, Francisco, if the balloons are under inflated and dart tips are dull, why play that game, at all?"

"Most people aren't aware of these circumstances. You see, the thing to do is ask the game operator for a demonstration. Notice that he will take a set of darts from behind the balloon board, or another place out of reach from the public. His darts are sharp as tacks and he'll stand back at angle, not front facing the way the public is, and he'll aim for a balloon along the perimeter, that's where the big prize tags are. Once he shows that it can be done, he unobtrusively hides his darts away as a rush of onlookers pull out their cash for a try at the game."

"So, how can anyone win?"

"The secret is to ask to use the game operator's set of darts and never stand front and center to throw the darts, stand at an angle."

I nodded acknowledgment, “And this still goes on today?"

"It does at the smaller carnivals. The larger ones, probably not, they're under too much scrutiny from law enforcement. But, it certainly was going on when carnivals came to Julian in the early 1900s."

"And, that means that someone in the carnival could be responsible for the ghost girl's death, because she found out they were a con?” I asked.

Francisco set down his fork, “No, that would not be enough of a reason to kill. Carnival operators would have been fined, very minor considering their overall take during a carnival's run in a community. The reporting of a scam like the balloon game was pretty common. However, by the transient nature of carnivals and circuses, it was easy for criminals to hide within the ranks of carnival employees. Especially in an era when names could be changed and identities hidden at the drop of a hat."

"So you think it was someone working in a local carnival that came to town who killed the little girl, and his or her identity was hidden from public knowledge because he or she was known by a different name?” I suggested.

"Yes. And I have a list of suspects. What I do not have is motive."

"So, what do we do next?” My eyebrows raised in query.

"Can you use your Internet skills to dig into files that far back?"

"I can try. It depends on what we are looking for. What are we looking for?"

"Banks scams, and jewelry thieves, especially high-society diamonds and such."

Now it was my turn to set my fork down, and I did so in awe, the look on my face could not have been more surprising, “A little girl was strangled because of burglaries?"

Francisco stood up and took our empty dessert plates over to the sink and then poured refills of coffee. “I think so. But there are many puzzle pieces yet to be found. I'm hoping today's technology will find the missing puzzle pieces. Perhaps, you would not mind a research assignment?"

"No problem, let me get a note pad.” I listened carefully for the next two hours as Francisco outlined a course of action for researching. After all was said and done, I looked out the window, the afternoon sun was dipping down over the horizon. I set my pen and paper aside. “I can get right on this, in fact this is how I will spend this evening. Should I call you if I find a clue?"

"Not tonight. I am leaving and going to Warner Springs, I'll be at Pedro's for a day or two. You still have his number?” Francisco asked.

"Yes. Then let's meet again, maybe on Saturday? Alex is coming into Julian on Friday afternoon. Maybe we could meet on Saturday evening, for dinner?” I suggested.

He looked up, a bit wary of my suggestion and said, “You want to include Alex in this?"

"In a way, he is already involved, to a much lesser degree. You see; I am using his subscription to research on the Internet through newspaper archives. I know he's curious."

Francisco drummed his right hand on the table, he looked at me, “Yes, Alex is good to have involved. Invite him to dinner."

Whew! I'm glad of that. I couldn't help but to think that as long as Eric is involved, Alex is too, by invitation or, what else I didn't know, but I was becoming a little suspicious of the two: Alex-Eric or Eric-Alex, whichever. I had confused their names on more than one occasion and now I wondered if it wasn't for a very good reason!

I said good-bye to Francisco on my front porch and then went back inside. I waited for him to leave, and watched out the window as the taillights of his car disappeared. I was dying to summon Eric and learn what he may have dug up in cyber space.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 19

I sat down at the table with the laptop in front of me. I closed my eyes to get a grasp on the situation, asking myself how does one go about calling up a ghost. I felt the laptop slide to my right and looked up to see Eric sitting next to me, with the laptop open and in front of him.

"Didn't mean to startle you, but you are curious as to what I have discovered?” His smile was sly, teasing.

"I suppose you took notes?"

"Sorry, but that would be a bit out of my realm. Not to worry though, I bookmarked the pages I found information on. Book-marking, that is the proper term, correct? Besides, my spectral memory far exceeds what my human memory ever did!"

"Book-marking, yes, that's what it's called. Hmmm, an enhanced memory? Is that in your talents of supernatural powers?” I asked.

Without a glance in my direction, Eric replied yes and continued to maneuver the computer. “Yes, here they are. I created a file folder and named it Turning Angel."

Eric opened up the cyber folder and up popped a list of findings. He had labeled the lists: Murdered Children, Robberies, Thefts and Scams. But it was the last title that caught my attention: Goodlett Lewis Morghan.

"Goodlett Lewis Morghan?"

"Yes. He is little Sarah's father. Shall we open this one first?” Eric asked.

Eric read from the file: “Goodlett Lewis Morghan. Born in Wales in 1864, died on the open sea near the coast of France in late 1899, pirates attacked his ship. Buried in Wales. He owned and ran a merchant trade business of supplying fabrics (cotton, silks and wool) and home furnishings (carpets, rugs and furniture) between Scotland and France. He married Norah in 1898. They lived in Wales. He kept company with well-known artists and writers in France and in Scotland. While on trips to Scotland he was frequently in the company of Robert Louis Stevenson. Their friendship spanned the years 1884 until Stevenson's death in 1894. Also, Stevenson would occasionally visit Goodlett's family in Wales. Goodlett never saw his child Sarah; he died a month before her birth. In 1901, Norah with the baby Sarah sailed for the U.S.” Eric turned to me, “I'm afraid that's all I have."

"Actually, what you have found out is far more than I expected. I had no idea you were going to research that side of the mystery."

"Hmmm, yes I failed to mention that researching Captain Morghan was in the back of my mind. You see, I vaguely recollect his name in connection to the writer Stevenson."

"And why is that?” I queried.

"Oh, Stevenson's works were quite the controversy of that time and place. Especially so with his novel The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr. Hide and then again with his epic adventure Treasure Island. Many believed that his Jekyll and Hide story was a thinly disguised recounting of Stevenson's own adventures of partaking too much of the green fairy, a habit he fell into while in France in the 1870s. Stevenson had originally studied engineering but switched to law. While studying law he would take his summers off to France.” Eric explained this as if I knew what he was talking about.

"Green fairy?” I asked.

Eric turned to face me and smiled, “A common reference to the highly addicting libation known as absinthe. It is an intensely intoxicating green liquor that stimulates the brain into all sorts of hallucinations. Writers and other artists used it frequently to heighten their imagination. Quite popular in France, it was. Though I would guess by now it has been outlawed."

"Oh, so the madness portrayed in the Jekyll and Hide story is the result of Stevenson's own experiments with mind-altering absinthe binges?"

"Possibly. It was never proven. Indeed, Stevenson's supporters trifled these claims saying that other writers were jealous of Stevenson's imaginative talent and pen wit."

I smiled, “In other words it was cheap speculation by tabloid mentalities to down play Stevenson's success and discredit his talents."

"I concur with your opinion. Now, as to the Treasure Island controversy, generally, people thought Stevenson was daft for sailing around the world looking for adventure and then making up stories for entertainment."

"But, isn't that what other novelists have done? Look at the American novelist Ernest Hemingway, he too was an adventurer who used his travel experiences for subject matter in his stories and books,” I wondered aloud.

"Dear girl, this Hemingway you speak of was after my time, but being the brilliant woman you are, I do not doubt your opinion. And Shannon, do keep in mind that those lacking talent often are in envy of the truly talented. Therefore, one must not pay heed to their ramblings. The controversy did not hurt Stevenson's career. I believe he left society behind simply because he grew tired of it."

"Yes, I remember something about his biography. He died on a Samoan island, where he had gone to live with is wife."

"I do think we have exhausted my meager findings about Captain Morghan. Shall we explore the other files?” Eric made his case for a segue.

"Yes."

Eric closed the file on Goodlett Lewis Morghan and opened up Murdered Children. “No reason to suspect that dear little Sarah fell victim to a serial killer. No other reports of serial killings were found.” He turned to me with a look of finality. “To be sure I researched the decade before Sarah's death and the decade following. Serial murders were highly unusual and suspect for that time and era, especially of children. I did find a few, but they were in other parts of the country."

"Are you sure?” I asked.

Eric turned to me, “Shannon, I sincerely do not care to bother you with the horrific details, but if you must know ......"

I nodded, “To be sure, I must."

"So be it. In New York in the decade from 1905 to 1915, a series of child murders took place. The most notable was that of eight-year old Mary Barusto. She was found floating in a nearby river. She had been strangled. A swatch of white linen and a bandana had been stuffed down her throat. Mary was third in the series. Two girls preceded her and after that, until 1915, nine more little girls and three little boys were killed in the same way. The murderer was never caught."

"What happened in 1915?"

"The killings stopped. No clue as to why. These murders remain unsolved."

This saddened me to no end. I looked at Eric with tears welling in my eyes. He immediately shut the computer. “Enough. I feared this information would distress you."

"No, Eric, please. I'll take you on your word that none of what you discovered about children is related to Sarah. Please, I'm okay. Let's continue. I really do want to know all of what you found."

Eric cupped my chin and lifted my face to meet his eyes. His thoughtful study left no doubt that he had my best interest in his heart. “Are you certain?"

"Yes."

"So be it. Let's move on to the last list, titled Robberies, Thefts and Scams,” He brightened. “This list is intriguing and might shed a clue or two. During the days before and after Sarah's murder there had been several traveling peddlers in Julian and the region, and there was a traveling carnival here in Julian for the apple harvest celebration. The carnival had set up on the outskirts of town, on the other side of the cemetery."

"Ooh, this sounds promising! Do I dare ask you to cut to the chase?"

Eric turned to me, “As m'lady wishes, so be it. I've narrowed the research to the most likely suspects.

"First, a carnival game booth operator named Fred Bales was brought up on charges of scamming the public for the use of dull-tipped darts at his balloon dart booth. Fined twenty-five dollars and told to leave town.

"Next is Samuel Frye, he was brought up on charges for selling a health elixir, which had no proven claim to support his advertisements. A local judge sentenced him to one night in jail and ordered him to refund all monies received from the selling of the elixir.

"Last but not least, a book peddler named Charles Weebler was chased out of town by local citizens, claiming he had pestered some of the wives for entry into their homes when husbands were not present."

I laughed at that one and asked, “What do you suppose the book peddler was really trying to get?"

"Could be the book peddler was merely hoping to buy or sell books while wives were alone and he considered them to be vulnerable to his sales pitch. However, I suspect he made an unwanted pass at a wife or daughter. A complaint of that nature is all it would take for towns folk to notify the sheriff."

"Is there more?” I asked.

"Hmm, perhaps. You see, that book peddler, Weebler, had been in Julian before. A month after Sarah had arrived to live with Jayne Blair he was here. That time he was fined for trespassing on a farmer's land. Evidently, he set up camp without first getting permission. He left after a week's time. But again he came into town six month's later. And he was here the week Sarah was killed."

"I wonder if he was ever questioned about his interest in coming to Julian?"

"That, I would not know. His trail goes cold after Sarah's death.” Eric shut off the laptop. “That's all I found."

"It's amazing, the work you've done, truly amazing."

"What shall we do next?” Eric questioned.

"Well, Francisco asked that I do a little research and your findings have given me a few ideas about what I want to delve into. So, for now, if you don't mind, I must take over the computer."

Eric stood up and slid the laptop to face me. “As you wish,” he said and then vanished right before my eyes!

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 20

I waited a moment just to be sure Eric was gone. I wouldn't want him to think I was second-guessing him, but I needed to double check his information and I knew I could do it quickly, given the information he had compiled. It took me all of twenty minutes to confirm that Eric had without a doubt, left no stone unturned. Looking at Francisco's to-do list, I got to work researching crimes of passion and financial scams of over a century ago.

At the end of three hours my eyes were burning, a glimpse out the window told me the sun had set and I had been staring into a computer screen against a darkened room. No wonder my eyes begged me for a break! Using the computer screen as a lantern of sorts, I flipped the laptop around toward the kitchen so I could see the light switch. Once I turned on the kitchen lights, I shut down the computer. Enough cyber surfing for the day.

For all the stress on my eyes I hadn't discovered a single new clue. Rats! Eric had done such a thorough job at investigating possible suspects that I was left empty-handed and in a fix as to how to explain to Francisco who uncovered the clues and set up the files. Fits of giggles overtook my sanity and I fell to the floor laughing out loud, practicing silly explanations like: Oh, yeah, did I forget to mention I have a new assistant that is great at undercover work because he is invisible? Or, may I introduce you to my new partner, huh, what do you mean you can't see him? Whew! I was tired and decided to call it a night.

Refreshed from a long hot shower I slipped on a favorite old nightshirt that was a gift from my Aunt Retta in Atlanta. The bright pink shirt proclaimed; Us Southern Girls Don't Drink, We Sip, A Lot! Three cartoon Southern belles dressed like Scarlett O'Hara were sitting around a wicker table sipping from mint julep glasses that were taller than they were. The last thought in my mind as I drifted off to the land of nod was recalling my Aunt Retta's soft Southern lilt and her infectious laugh that accompanied her habitual flirting with every man in sight. Of course, they all adored her, even at ninety years of age; Aunt Retta was beautiful and seemingly forever young! Pleasant memories sent me off to sleep.

I awoke when a sudden icy chill alarmed me. I bolted out of bed and stood at the night stand table, the alarm clock said it was two thirty-five in the morning. Huh? A flash of light in the dresser mirror drew me to it. I watched in mesmerized silence. The mirror shimmered in iridescent silvery swirls of cloud-like tendrils. Fog? Long fingers of the fog spilled over the mirror's frame snaking over the dresser's top and down to the floor, creeping across my bedroom. I dove for my bed and pulled the covers up and over, hiding underneath a tent of sheet, blanket and bedspread. I felt the cool mist shroud over me. Peeking out from the covers I sat up to discover my bedroom filled with dense snowy clouds of fog, no telling where it began or if it had an end. I was entirely swallowed into an abyss of fog as silent as death. I closed my eyes and opened my ears, above the pounding of my heartbeat a faint singsong voice filtered through, but from what direction, and where? It surrounded me; the voice came from nowhere and from everywhere! When I opened my eyes, little Sarah stood next to my bed, I reached out, and she scampered back, out of my reach.

"Please Miss, find the star.” Sara looked up at me; a wan smile crossed her lips.

"What star?” In the next instant I got my answer. Sarah turned and drifted away from me. I heard her singing Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star, then her voice faded away as she disappeared from view. The fog retracted. Silvery tendrils withdrew, as if on rewind the fog slithered back over my bed, the floor and up the dresser, back into the mirror. Not so much as a wisp of it remained. I looked at the clock, two thirty-five. The incident had escaped the passing of time; not a second had been used!

Climbing back into bed I pulled the covers over my head. I made a mental note about the rhyme, thinking that it too must be a jumping rope song. I hummed it, willing it to be in my memory in the morning when I woke up. Tomorrow, I'll research it. I slept. The rest of the night was peaceful.

My cell phone rang. I nearly knocked the night stand's lamp off its base reaching for my cell. “Hello?"

"Shannon? Did I wake you?” the female voice was familiar.

"Sorta, don't worry about it. I was up late last night and was sleeping in,” I looked at the clock; it was five to ten. “Actually, you are only five minutes early of my alarm."

"I wanted to let you know that the docent of the museum in town called here. She wasn't sure how to get in touch with you, but she remembered you said you were staying here at our place,” Odessa hesitated momentarily——

"Yes, Odessa, it's okay, I remember letting her know that I was lodging here, in case she came across information I had inquired about."

"Oh, good. I said I would give you the message. She said to let you know she may have found something of interest to you. She'll be at the museum all day. I have her number if you need it?"

"That's okay, I have her number, I'll give her a call right now. Thanks so much Odessa."

I sat in bed for a moment, wondering what docent Betty had found and how to phrase my call to her. Getting up I headed for the kitchen, put some coffee on and rummaged in my purse for Betty's number. I called her. All that she would say is that she located some old paper collectibles from the early 1900s, and wondered if I was interested in seeing the collection before she sorts through it and categorizes it. We agreed I would stop by within the hour.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 21

"Betty, I do appreciate you doing this.” I shook her hand.

She smiled and said, “Well, when this old suitcase of stuff was brought to me and I opened it, I couldn't think what to do with it. That's when it dawned on me about your interest. I called Vera and she said I should let you see it first. Vera and her son are on the museum's board of directors. I knew they could make a quick decision about this."

"I'm grateful for that. Where are the items?"

"Back this way in my office.” I followed Betty down a wide corridor to the back offices of the museum. I listened as she explained, “The suitcase was discovered down in a storage room of the Sheriff's old office. They are on a kick to spruce up everything over there and way back in the day, the Sheriff often kept public records and loose ends of stuff in an old storage room, more of a courtesy than a necessity. Anyway, Deputy Dave Gomez found the old suitcase and after he determined it had nothing to do with legal records, he brought it to me.” Betty stopped in front of a gray heavy metal door. She took a key out of her skirt pocket and opened the door.

The overhead florescent lights were on; we walked into a large room that was strictly utilitarian in purpose. Drab beige walls, ceiling and worn carpeting in a storage room that had been converted into an office, and now furnished with an extra large gray metal desk that had a bank of drawers on each side. Three battered metal file cabinets were to the left of the desk against a wall, and nudged up against the cabinets was a huge old copying machine. On the far side of the room was an oak table, I guessed its size to be four by six feet. Five gooseneck table lamps were scattered here and there on the table's top. The open suitcase was in the middle of the table. Two metal office chairs were to the side, out of the way. Betty walked up to the suitcase and stood off center from it, allowing me full access.

"I've studied the leather exterior and I believe it dates to sometime between 1900 and 1920. The interior fits that time frame, too. Actually, for its age, it's in good condition. This was a quality piece for its time and place."

I looked inside. Obviously, Betty or someone else had gone through the paper materials, they were neatly arranged by size into three piles. In the inside of the lid was a belted interior pocket that appeared empty except for a small Raggedy Ann type of home-made doll that peeked out at us. “May I?” I asked not wanting to presume I could help myself.

"Yes, let's have a seat. I have a few minutes then I need to go out and open up. But you stay here as long as you like.” Betty got two chairs and we sat down. She reached in for the pile of paper materials and set all three stacks in front of me. “Shannon, these aren't arranged in any order, other than size, so if you want to go to the trouble of sorting them into some type of logical sense, be my guest. Vera said you would want to take a good look at them. Also, that monster of an ancient photocopying machine in the corner, well use it if you like. It moans and creeks and protests, but it gets the job done. And as to the pocket in the suitcase lid, there's just that doll. Be my guest with that too.” Betty looked at her watch, “Sorry I have to leave you with this, it's time I open up."

Before leaving, Betty insisted I not hurry and that she was out front if I needed her. I sat in silence and said a little prayer, asking that whatever I was about to look at would help with my investigation. I took my voice recorder out of my purse and switched it on. I wanted to concentrate on my concrete findings as well as my less-than-certain thoughts. I decided before leaving to come here that I would not take notes with paper and pen. The little rag doll called out to me, but I resisted it's charm and whatever secrets she held. Instead, I picked up the first stack; it had the smallest pieces of paper materials in it.

Stack one, I noted. I picked up a handwritten letter of three pages of stationery paper that were post card size by today's measurements, the letter had been folded in half, and appeared to be a child's script:

Dear Sarah,

I miss you terribly. But I am happy you like your new home. Mother says we live too far away to ever visit. I believe California must be in another world by the way you describe it! Oh, I wish I could be with you. I would dearly love to compete with you in the jumping rope contest. I am certain that between us two, no other girls could win! Because I can't be with you, Mother said I could send this to you. Do you remember? This is the same jumping rope we used when you were here and we took turns using it at the Natchez Magnolia Days Celebration. That was when we tied for first place!

I will always be your friend, forever and ever! Charlotte.

No date appeared on the letter. I estimated by the mentioning of the jumping rope contest that Sarah received Charlotte's letter and the gift of the jumping rope, shortly before her death. How sad to think it may have been this same jumping rope that was used to strangle little Sarah! Two additional letters from Charlotte were in this pile, but were not as telling as this one. In one letter, Charlotte asked if Sarah received the old door stop that the mayor of Natchez sent, saying it was one of the few items that had been salvaged from Sarah's mom's dressmaking shop. And the other letter mentioned a photo from happier times being sent, and Charlotte hoped Sarah would receive it in time for Christmas, because all the girls in the Magnolia Guild signed the back. None of the letters had dates on them.

On to the middle-size pile: This one had a few photos. The sepia-toned pictures were badly faded and characteristically, they all had that wooden frozen-in-time appearance of don't smile or move for fear of blurring the photograph. One photo in particular was good size, about five inches by seven and it showed an outdoor scene. Obviously taken at a fair, two women, one man, one young boy and a girl, slightly taller than the boy, stood in the foreground. The boy and girl held up prize ribbons. Behind this little group of people was a dirt lane of decorated booths on each side. Unknown passersby strolled down the avenue of booths and stood here and there examining the array of wares. I flipped the photo over, an inscription read:

Dear Charlotte, This is the last photograph of Sarah. I know she would want you to have it. Sarah won first place in the jumping rope contest using the rope you sent her. Sarah's friend Sam Beufort won the pie-eating contest. His mom is standing with him and then there is the judge of the contests. Fondly, J. Blair.

I set down the picture and sighed; little Sarah didn't live long enough to send this off to her best friend in Natchez and Jayne somehow left it behind! What a shame it was never mailed, never received.

The third stack of papers was odds and ends, a real hodge-podge of items. I sifted through what were ledger pages, maybe from Jayne's dressmaking shop, couldn't say because none of the pages had names on them. There was a half sheet of paper that was part of a letter on the front and a list of what looked to me to be someone's wistful thoughts or meandering notes. Disconnected words that seemed not to have a logical connection or purpose. Nonetheless, I made notation of them: island, cay, RLS (or PLS?), check ledges (or edges?). That was it. And the front of the letter was just as confusing and very faded. All I could make out was what seemed to be directions for an address or place that ended with the letters dena. Rats! I had hoped to have something concrete to leave with. I looked up at the little rag doll, but resisted. Before delving into her secret pocket, I made copies of all the paper materials and safely tucked them away in a file folder Betty had set out for me.

Gingerly I lifted the little doll out of her pocket. About ten inches tall, she was hand made with great care. Dark curly yarn fashioned her hair. Silk embroidery colored her face creating blue eyes and a cheery pink smiling mouth. The doll's dress was a ruffled masterpiece of calico reds and yellow. Black felt was fashioned into Pollyanna shoes for her feet. I wondered if Sarah's mom had made this doll for her. I scrutinized every inch of the doll and discovered on her back, just below the dress line of her collar an embroidered script in faded red silk that said: For Sarah, Love Mother. Ever so gently I placed the doll back into the suitcase pocket. I picked up my precious file folder of copies and walked out to the front of the museum. Betty was tidying up a wall display of hand-woven baskets when I approached. She turned and smiled.

"Thanks so much for allowing me to examine the suitcase and its contents."

"Oh, my pleasure."

"What will become of them?” I asked.

"Oh, that hasn't been decided yet. I suppose that's up to Edna Werner and what she wants to do about it."

"Is Edna head of the museum?"

Betty drew a blank, she hesitated a moment before answering me. “No, Edna's never had much interest in the museum. But she is the only descendant we know of, so you see it's really her decision what to do with the suitcase and its contents."

Now it was my turn to draw a blank! “Edna, a descendant? Of whom?” I asked.

"Oh, of Jayne Blair, she was a dressmaker here in the early 1900s. And as near as we can tell, that suitcase belonged to her. Deputy Dave said it was with some boxed stuff that was found after Jayne left Julian."

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 22

After I asked Betty a few more questions, that she did not have answers to, I thanked her, got in my car and drove over to the Spotted Coyote. It wasn't open, not that I expected it to be, so I stepped up to the front and rapped hard on the doors. I put my face to the window, watched and waited. In a few seconds Gavin came out from the back of the place and strode to the door.

"What's the commotion about, you sound like a herd of buffalo trying to get in?"

I strode in to the bar, flipped on the light switch at the bar and stood. I set down my file on the bar's top and flipped it open, turned to face Gavin and demanded: “What do you know about Edna Werner being a descendant of Jayne Blair?"

If ever something or someone could catch Gavin by surprise, this was the moment. He approached the open file very cautiously and skimmed over the copies, turning to me he said, “How can you be sure that Jayne Blair is Edna's ancestor?"

"So, I take it that you did not know?"

"Correct."

"Betty, the docent, she told me, after I examined the contents of an old suitcase that was found at the Sheriff's office and then taken to the museum for safekeeping."

Evidently, Gavin was truly not in the know. He turned to the file copies and studied them. I watched silently, observing him for clues to his interest in these developments. He closed the file and asked in a very quiet voice, “I wonder why Edna has never said anything?"

"Who knows? Not all people are curious or caring about their ancestors. But, I do find it peculiar that a woman, such as Edna, who is so concerned about a town's cemetery would not care about a mystery in her own family tree, don't you?"

Gavin nodded thoughtfully, “Yep, I do agree with you. My best guess is that Edna may have given up on the mystery, maybe a long time ago when she might have been interested, there weren't enough resources to do much about it."

"Hmm, good point.” I was about to ask him what he thought we should do when a phone at the back rang. Gavin rushed to get it. I could barely make out the conversation and what I heard was just Gavin's part. When he returned, his face was lit up.

"What timing! That was Edna, she asked that we, meaning Vera and myself, come on over to her home. A deputy is bringing the suitcase and its contents to her. Also, Betty from the museum told her that you had the opportunity to look at the contents and Edna asked if you could go with us to her house. How about it?"

"Sure, when?"

"Edna said this afternoon, in about three hours. I can stop by and pick you up at your cottage, it's on the way to Edna's?"

"Sounds good. That will give me some time to sort out a few ideas I have."

We agreed that Gavin and Vera would pick me up at two this afternoon. I left the Spotted Coyote and drove back to my cottage. Once inside, I hit the cyber waves.

I was on the computer until one o'clock when I shut it down, made a few notes on paper and then skipped into my bedroom to freshen up and change clothes. I was just about finished when my cell rang.

"Hello."

"Shannon, its Francisco. I may have a lead on who murdered Sarah."

"No! Really? How can that be?"

"Uncle Pedro has quite a collection of old newspapers, remember we used his collection before, and he recalled that one of his ancestors had been intrigued about the murder and had done some research. It's a long story, so to summarize it, using that information I followed up on some leads, I need you to do some computer research in the newspaper archive and check out a few names and details."

"Okay, but I can't do it now. I'm leaving in a few minutes. But I promise I'll do the research later today and I'll get back to you this evening, Okay?"

Francisco agreed and I quickly, but carefully, jotted down a few notes as he told me to. I said good-bye and reassured him I would call him back later tonight.

No sooner had I hung up did the cell ring again, “Francisco, did you forget something?"

"No, it's me, and not Francisco."

"Alex! I'm sorry, I just got off the phone with Francisco and I thought he was calling back. What's up with you?"

"I wanted to confirm our plans for tomorrow and let you know where I will be staying."

Odd, I thought, but didn't say so. I assumed Alex would stay at Gavin's. “Just a minute, I'm about ready to leave, what's the info.” I jotted down the name and telephone number of the lodge Alex had reservations for. “Okay, got it, anything else?"

"No, uh, well I was wondering if you had any luck with the newspaper archives?"

"Yes, a matter of fact, but I don't have the time right now to tell you. I promise I'll give a detail-by-detail account tomorrow."

"Okay, I get it, you need to leave. Take care and do be careful, I would be remiss if I didn't caution you. I'll see you tomorrow, I'll call when I get into Julian."

"Bye Alex, see you tomorrow.” Remiss? I mused about Alex's vocabulary, now Alex was starting to sound like his Victorian ancestor Eric! I grabbed my things and as I was locking my door, Gavin drove up. He beeped his horn and I dashed down the steps. We were off to Edna's!

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 23

We arrived at Edna's home: a sprawling brick rancher with a low-hung roof and broad eves that shaded the wide picture windows from the sun. Edna greeted us at the door and we followed her down a short entry hall to a large living room. Vera took a seat in a maple rocking chair that I suspect was a regular seating arrangement for her. Gavin and I sat on the sofa, while Edna took a seat in a matching maple rocker, across from Vera. I took a quick look around, trying not to be conspicuous. Edna certainly had a heart for patriotism. The deecor was country reds, whites and blues set of by starred banners and pictures and a myriad variety of Americana decorative items from woven scatter rugs to book-ends. Immediately, little Sarah's request that I find the star came to mind, but where to start? And maybe, I was over-simplifying the hunt? That's what I was pondering when Edna spoke up.

"Shannon, you look lost. I hope my request that you come here is not a bother to you."

My surprised look at her frankness must have conveyed my feelings, “Oh not at all, I'm pleased to be invited."

"Good.” Edna stated. “I must admit, I was a bit taken back when Betty and Deputy Dave told me about the suitcase and the items, which as you can see, are here, now.” Edna looked in the opposite direction from where we sat. It was an area over by the big picture window that had a large writing desk and chair; the suitcase was on top of the desk.

In unison, we all turned to look in that direction, but not a one of us got up. Gavin was the first to speak up: “Edna, in order to determine what your wishes are, what exactly did you request we three come here for? What can we do for you, dear?"

"Good point, Gavin, drive right to the heart of the matter.” Edna said with conviction, then she hesitated for a moment, “Well, I suppose I want your opinion about what to do with these things,” she hesitated again, “but before that, most importantly, I want to use these things to solve a conundrum."

"Oh, Edna, stop beating around the bush. Tell Shannon you want her to investigate the murder of that little Sarah, the ghost that's in your family,” Vera encouraged.

I sat closer to the edge of the sofa, waiting for Edna to speak up. Ever so gently, and inconspicuously, Gavin put his hand on my arm, I got the sense he was reigning me in.

"That's true and a bit more to the point than I would have said,” Edna gave a sideways glance at Vera, “but Vera is right. Shannon will you investigate the murder of Sarah Morghan?"

Not knowing what to say or if I should admit I was already on the case, I answered as honestly as I could, “Edna, I have been researching it, at least in a cursory fashion. Forgive me, but you see, uh, I became interested in Sarah and her story when I came across her grave statuary. So, I guess my answer is yes."

"What do you mean, you guess? Either you will or you won't. I need to know and I'll put you on retainer here and now. You ask Vera or Gavin, I'm good for my money."

Oh, dear! I had offended her without meaning to. “Oh, Edna, no, I can't possibly accept money for this! I was intrigued and doing the research before the suitcase was found, but now that I know I have your blessings, I won't be so shy about the investigation. In fact, I will need to interview you and ask questions about your family tree, if you don't mind?"

"Why, I was hoping you would have this attitude! Now when do we start?"

"Right now if you like. To begin with, I have some questions. But of course I do not want to inconvenience Gavin and Vera."

Edna took control from there, she told Gavin and Vera they could be on their way and that she would take me home when we were done. Edna practically shooed them out the door. I caught a smile on Gavin's face as he turned to leave; he gave me a secret wink!

Edna came back and insisted she “fit me out with refreshments” before we got started. I was impressed with her enthusiasm. In no time at all we were comfortably ensconced at the big desk with iced tea. Edna had pulled out all sorts of family memorabilia, letters, photos, and a few vital records.

"Gavin says you've seen little Sarah's ghost?"

That question unnerved me a little, but I didn't want Edna to get the impression I was spooked. “Yes, in a matter of speaking, I have seen little Sarah. Do you mean to say, you see her too?"

"Oh, not for a long while. You see, that was years ago, about the time Gavin and Vera moved into town and I got to know Vera. Well, she could tell I was vexed by something, so I confided to her about Sarah's unsolved murder. It was at the time that Vera and I became involved with the cemetery management. You know, just about everyone who sees Sarah's grave statuary of the angel wants to know more about her."

I smiled my understanding, “Yes, I can appreciate that. At that time were you able to find out much?"

"No, not much. And according to Gavin, you have the file on Sarah, so you already have everything that I know."

"I see. Hmmm, maybe, if you don't mind you could give me a family tree run-down. I didn't see anything like that in the file?"

"You're right, that information is not in the file. Well, now where do I start, with me going back in time, or with Jayne Blair, and going forward?"

I took out my voice recorder and a pen and paper note pad, “Let's start with you!"

Edna smiled, and I listened and took notes for the next hour. When Edna stopped, she simply said, “That's all I know."

I nodded and quickly glanced over my notes, “Edna, does the phrase, find the star mean anything to you?"

She perked up, “Did Sarah say that to you?"

"Yes, but I have not the slightest idea what she meant. Not a clue."

"Neither do I,” Edna confessed. “In a dream she came to me and said that exact phrase,” she shook her head in confusion. “Look around, I have stars every where! And not a single one of them seems to be a clue!"

Now I understood Edna's sense of decorating. “Well, let us both keep the phrase in our minds, who knows, clues can turn up in the oddest places.” I smiled, hoping Edna would see that I had hope for solving this case. “I hate to be a bother to you, but I should be on my way."

"Dear, dear, yes. I'll be just a minute. I'll go pull the car out of the garage and I'll meet you out front. Just lock the front door and pull it shut."

Edna disappeared in a rush down the hall. I heard her go out a back door. I picked up my things and clutched them as I gazed around the room. Stars were everywhere! Metal barn-star curtain tiebacks held in place homespun curtains trimmed in embroidered star borders. On the fireplace mantle little girl and boy porcelain figurines were dressed in apparel decorated in stars. Looking at the walls, I counted six separate pieces of framed artwork that portrayed various images of Uncle Sam, all donning top hats with starred ribbons serving as hatbands. Patch-worked quilted pillows were arranged here and there on the chairs and sofa, all with quilted star motifs! On the various tables and the desk were bookends, candle holders, several vases and a red, white and blue striped candy jar with a white star-shaped glass lid. Stars were everywhere! Was I supposed to take Sarah's directions literally, and if so, then which star is she referring too? I shook my head in dismay and at that very moment I heard two loud beeping honks. Uh-oh, better not keep Edna waiting!

I dashed out to the front entry hall. Clumsy me, in an effort to do too much at one time, I attempted to stuff the recorder, pen and paper in my purse as I reached around to engage the door's lock, I dropped my purse. I knelt down to pick it up and a few items spilled out and when I rummaged around for my lipstick tube that had rolled behind the door, that was when I spied it!

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 24

"Edna!” I hollered as I ran out to her car. “Turn off the car, it can wait. Come back inside, I found it!” My hands trembled with excitement and for the second time in less than five minutes, I dropped my purse and most the contents spilled out.

Edna got out of her car and leaned over me as I scrambled to pick up my things. Once again, my lipstick tube rolled out of reach. But this time it landed in Edna's hand. She picked it up and looked at the tube's label.

"Fortune's Kiss? What kind of a name is that for lipstick?” Edna frowned and handed the wayward lipstick tube to me.

I stashed the lipstick back into my purse and said, “We should rename it, maybe call it Portent Pink, or Eureka Rose. Edna, because of this lipstick I found the star!"

Edna took my arm and hustled me inside, “Dear, dear, I think this situation is a bit too much for you. Let's get you sitting down and I'll make us a nice cup of sassafras tea, that should be enough time for Gavin to come and fetch you."

I didn't argue with her, but the moment we got inside I whirled around. “There!” I claimed and pointed down at the floor behind the door, “That's the star Sarah wants us to find!"

Edna looked at me and then down at the floor. “Shannon, that's just an old doorstop,” She tapped the doorstop with her foot and then nudged it. “There's no star on it."

I bent down and picked it up, “Ugh! This is heavy as bricks,” I lugged it into the living room and set it on the desk.

Edna walked over to look at it; “Well of course it's as heavy as bricks, look what it's made of. Besides, what good is a doorstop if it isn't heavy enough to hold back a door?"

"Edna,” I urged, “look real close at the end of the wrought iron box, a label is stamped into the iron, is says: Twinkle Iron Works, manufacturers of heavy-duty all-star brick box doorstops."

Edna reached into the desk drawer and pulled out a hand-held magnifying glass. She sat down at the desk and pulled up close. I moved back a little so I wouldn't be in her light. I wanted her to discover the marking for herself. I counted the seconds, minutes, then she turned to me.

"Yes, I see the stamped-in label, it reads exactly as you said. But Shannon, take note, dear, this type of old doorstop, basically just a rectangular iron box, was designed to hold two bricks inside. As heavy as it is, I think it's empty, it would be much heavier if bricks were inside.” Edna looked up at me, and I could see she was still wondering what all my excitement was about.

"Yes, I know, but when I first moved it, I could hear a little rustling, and yes I agree, there are not bricks inside. Edna, something else is inside. How do we open it up?"

She looked at it, studied it, and carefully moved it from right to left and then rolled it over. “Here, on the bottom, it comes off. I'll need a screwdriver.” Edna got up and started to walk out of the living room, she turned around, “I do believe you are right. I'll go fetch my little hand-dandy tool box."

In the meantime, I opened up the curtains further to shed as much light as possible, and then I turned on every lamp in the room. My excitement was palatable as I stood nervously waiting for Edna. She returned in a few minutes. “Oh, excellent thinking, dear, the more light the better to see!"

Edna sat down at the desk and carefully began unscrewing the ten screws that held the bottom plate in place. When she extracted the last screw, she paused a moment, looked up at me and said, “I do so love a mystery!"

Edna took off the lid and lifted out a small rectangular package wrapped in old butcher paper. The paper crackled and fell apart as she unrolled the multiple layers of it. Finally, the item was exposed!

"Why, it is lovely! And quite old, don't you think?” Edna held up a small book, not much bigger than an average man's hand, it was an inch thick, was bound in royal blue-colored leather and heavily gilded in gold on the front and the page edges. She handed it to me.

"Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson,” I read the title and gently opened the front. “Edna, look, and here inside it says: Dear Goodlett, this first edition is yours with my hearty well wishes for good fortune. And it is signed R.L.S.” I showed Edna the inscription and then I turned the page, “Oh, Edna there's more. Here, in a different handwriting it says, “Norah, My good friend R.L. has sent this to me. In my absence, please know it is for our child and as R.L. so kindly points out, this book brings with it well wishes for our fortune. G."

Edna nodded slightly. “So, it is a gift passed from Sarah's father to his wife, Norah, for her to give to their only child. But why in the world would someone put it in an iron box meant to hold bricks and to serve as a doorstop?"

"I read something about this in one of the letters in that suitcase. Evidently, this doorstop was one of the few items, maybe the only item, left unharmed in Norah's dressmaking shop after the horrible explosion. The mayor sent it to Jayne Blair to keep for Sarah. I doubt if anyone ever bothered to look in the box itself. And to think, had it not been for the book being in this iron doorstop, it would have been destroyed in the explosion that killed Norah and demolished her shop!"

I handed the little book to Edna. She looked at it with awe: “And to think all these years, through the generations, it's been in that doorstop. Well, one thing is for certain, now it will have an honored place in my home! I'm going to see to it that it has a glass case all its own!"

"That would be wonderful. And when you combine this discovery with that suitcase of memorabilia, I can't but hope it will make Sarah happy. After all, we did find the star!"

Edna was absent-mindedly listening to me, and I, in all honestly couldn't blame her. The little book was a treasure. Yet, an unanswered idea nagged at me. I found it hard to believe that this book was all there was to the mystery of Sarah urging me to find the star.

Edna came out of her starry-eyed fog and looked up at me, “I'm going to take this to Gavin's for safekeeping. You know, he has a monster of an ironclad safe in the back of the Spotted Coyote, much newer and better than the one I have at my restaurant. I can't imagine a safer place to keep this little book until I have a case made for it.” Edna sparkled with happiness.

"Sounds like an excellent plan to me."

Edna wrapped the book in a tea towel and then placed it in a tote bag. She grabbed her keys and we left. She dropped me off at my cottage on her way to Gavin's.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 25

After checking for messages, of which there were none, I sat down at the kitchen table and jotted down lists to organize clues and details. Before I met with Francisco tomorrow and before I began the research he requested of me tonight, I needed to sort out some of the more confusing aspects of Sarah's mystery.

List: Sarah's Star.

1.Doorstop from Norah's shop sent to Jayne Blair for safekeeping, to give to Sarah.

Question: Did Jane and Sarah know about the contents? It would seem so, according to Sara's visits to me.

2.Doorstop passed down in family to Edna Werner. No mention in Edna's family about the book inside the doorstop. Evidently, no person in her family ever knew about the book!

3.Doorstop found at Edna's home. Edna and I open it to discover a pristine first edition of Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson.

4.The book has a handwritten message from Robert Louis Stevenson, a.k.a., “R.L.S.", to Goodlett Morghan, husband to Norah and father of Sarah. R.L.S. writes; Dear Goodlett, this first edition is yours with my hearty well wishes for good fortune, signed R.L.S.

Question: Is there an inside meaning to the mention of well wishes for a good fortune? R.L.S. and Goodlett were friends; did they share an interest in adventure or maybe some kind of a partnership in a business investment?

And, while in today's market, this little volume, as a pristine first edition inscribed by the author, could undoubtedly fetch a goodly sum at auction, when it was first published it wouldn't have been of particular value, would it? Ask Francisco about this issue.

5.Goodlett also wrote inside the book: Norah, my good friend R.L. has sent this to me. In my absence, please know it is for our child, and as R.L. so kindly points out, this book brings with it well wishes for our fortune. G.

Question: Yet another reference to fortune! This phrase must mean something, but what?

I set down my pen and went over the notes. An itching feeling in my brain would not let go of the idea that R.L.S. and Goodlett were communicating a hidden knowledge that was in the book. Or at least the book provided the means to solving a puzzle or passing along covert information. I pondered this, recalling again and again how very carefully I had examined the book. It was beautiful and indeed in like-new condition, but absolutely nothing about it appeared out of the ordinary to me. I recalled my careful examination of the binding, the front and back matter and flipping through the pages, yet nothing jumped out at me. Would R.L.S. have gone so far as to use some kind of code within the text of the story? If so, who alive today would know how to find it, and decipher it? I let go of this conundrum and directed my attention to the next list.

List: Edna's Family Connection.

1.Edna Werner is a great-grand-daughter to Jayne Blair.

2.Jayne Blair married George Grayson about a year after Sarah's death. A month after Sarah died, Jayne moved to set up shop in Pasadena, north and slightly east of Los Angeles. She met Grayson, a successful banker in Pasadena. They married and lived in Pasadena.

3.Jayne and George Grayson had one child, Edmund Grayson. He went into banking and was successful. He married Juliet Nordstrem. They resided in Pasadena with three children: Edmund, Jr., Katherine and Laura.

4.Edmund Grayson, Jr. was a successful attorney and lived in Pasadena. He married Sonia Somnerstein. Four children from this marriage: Edna, Joseph, John and Henry.

5.Edna Grayson married Frank Werner. They lived in Pasadena all their lives until Frank died ten years ago and Edna moved to Julian to live in the country. Frank and Edna owned and operated a small grocery retail store and a bakery shop in Pasadena. Edna bought the cafee she now owns and operates. No children (I don't know why, and I did not ask).

6.Edna says she has always been curious about the unsolved murder of her ancestor cousin, Sarah Morghan. It wasn't until she moved to Julian that she tried to find out more about it, but did not have the means at that time to do much about it.

7.The half-piece of a letter found in the suitcase is believed to be in the handwriting of Jayne Blair. Edna says she has seen other writing from Jane's script and it matches. Edna says that the partial address is a match for the place Jayne first moved to in Pasadena. The other words: island, cay, RLS (or PLS), check ledges (edges) has no meaning to Edna.

Question: We are pretty sure that the initials of RLS stand for Robert Louis Stevenson and are not PLS, but why would these initials, along with the other seemingly disconnected words be written down on a scrap of paper? Could Jayne have been trying to figure out a mystery? Did little Sarah's ghost appear to her?

Again I set down my pen and looked over the list. I wondered to myself, hoping that with the research that Francisco has and whatever findings I could discover next, there would be some light at the end of the tunnel.

Right now, I was in the dark, figuratively speaking and literally. The sun had set and I was staring out the window at a rouge-colored bruised sky. I knew that if I planned to get the cyber surfing done that I had promised Francisco, I better brew some coffee before I dare open up my laptop.

While the coffee brewed I freshened up, splashing cold water onto my face and lubricating my eyes with saline drops. A cup of steaming coffee in my hand, I inhaled the caffeine mist and took in a long swallow of the invigorating dark and delicious liquid. Hmmm, maybe I love coffee a bit too much, is that possible? No. Never.

I set the coffee off to the side of the laptop and opened up cyberspace. The Internet was humming to me, telling me to rev-up my cyber savvy and get going!

In the next two hours I delved relentlessly into deep research, using secret names and passwords known only to Alex and me. I smiled secretly at the thought of how easy it is to get into personal records because of laws requiring public access to records. If the general public only new what could be discovered about their identity and background through census files, property and tax rolls and vital records, they would be shocked to learn that so much of their private lives are truly an open book!

Bingo! On the third foray into medical files of patients at the old City of Angels Hospital in Los Angeles, I got the goods on the people Francisco had named! He was right, even though the hospital had been demolished over fifty years ago; the patient and personnel records remained in an archive of the county library. And true to the nature of hospitals that operated in the 1800s and into the mid-1900s, the hospital wasn't just a medical facility; it was a sanitarium and insane asylum! I saved my findings to a flash drive and closed up the laptop. Now I was ready to call Francisco.

"Yes, you were right,” I told Francisco.

"Shannon, it is critical that you not breathe a word about this discovery to anyone, absolutely no person other than you and I can know about this,” Francisco's tone scared me a little.

"I promise, not a soul will I tell. Do you think it could be dangerous?” I asked.

"Most certainly, it could be. Even though this is a long-ago crime, now that we know that the past has a real-life, present-day connection, we must be especially cautious about not letting a single person know. You are positive, no one could have known about this research you just did?"

"Oh, Francisco, don't worry about that, I've been here at my cottage, all alone. And beforehand, well, I didn't tell anyone what my plans were for this evening. Really, no need for concern, I'm okay."

"And where is this information you discovered?"

"I saved it to my flash drive, and I didn't keep it on the computer. I hid the flash drive. You want to know where?"

"Yes."

"La Llave."

Francisco laughed. “Most excellent. I shall sleep easily knowing how clever and like of mind we are. We do share many of the same passions, don't we?"

I giggled and agreed and said good night. I went to sleep and slept dreamily until little Sarah woke me up and insisted I get up and look in the mirror. At least this time ghostly fog was not spilling from it. So I stood there and marveled at the fact that I not only could see my reflection, but Sarah's too. From our reflections in the mirror Sarah said, “Miss, do see that the world is backwards?"

Too sleepy to explain the logic of mirrored images and such, I agreed with her, “Yes. I see. Sarah, what else do you want me to do?” I turned to her, “I found the star?"

She turned to face me, “Miss, it is all backwards, look again,” she pointed to the mirror.

I turned to face the mirror and she was gone. I went back to sleep and woke in the morning feeling expectant and wary of what the hours ahead would reveal.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 26

I planned to meet Francisco for breakfast at a cafee outside of Julian, just a few miles down the mountain. Ever the cautious police detective, he wanted to meet in a place where we would not be recognized. I grabbed my purse, my notes, swung open the front door, and in a rush I nearly knocked Alex off the front porch!

"Alex!” I grabbed him by his right arm. He stepped back onto the porch and steadied himself. Full of apologies, I babbled my regrets as I brushed off the arm of his jacket sleeve where I had scrunched up in my fist. He took my hand in his.

"Never mind. And imagine, I thought I would surprise you by showing up early.” His smile was dazzling and sincere.

I stepped back and looked at him, now fully aware that he was, indeed, early, “I thought you weren't coming into Julian until later this afternoon?"

Alex averted my direct attention and played around with the scrunched sleeve of his jacket, “Yes, well all things considered, I became increasingly concerned about you when I went Online last night and saw what you were researching.” He finished fidgeting with his sleeve and directed his eyes right at me.

I hated it when he did this, whenever Alex looked anyone straight in the face, it was if he was looking through them, worse, it was if he knew their very thoughts. I tried my best defensive mode; “You spied on me?"

"Won't work Shannon,” Alex smiled. “Besides, I have every right to see what you're up to, you're using my account, my log-in name and my password."

"Alex, I'm in a hurry and now I might be late.” I tried to step around him, but it was no use, the small porch just wouldn't allow it. “Please?"

"Sure, but I'm tagging along. In fact, I'll drive; my car is parked next to yours. I am as eager as you are to find out what Francisco has to say."

Alex stepped down the steps in front of me without so much as giving me the opportunity to challenge him, so as I stepped up to his car, and Alex held the car door open for me, I turned around and said, “Huh-uh. I'm not getting in until you tell me what you know, and how is it you know about my breakfast date with Francisco?"

He gave me that dead-on look, again. “Francisco called me last night, after your conversation with him. He filled me in on a few things and invited me in on the case. He asked that I stop by this morning. Okay?"

"I'm not sure I like this."

"Shannon, I promise you, this is not my doing. But I agree with Francisco. And previously I have helped out in these situations. Why do you object?"

I didn't have a really good answer. So I got in and sat down. Alex entered from the driver's side, sat down and looked at me, “Buckle up. And don't pout. As cute as you are when you do that, this is serious business and who are we to question Francisco's expertise."

I rolled my eyes to heaven in an exaggeration of Alex's statement. “Really? How serious can it be? A century-old murder? And if it is so dangerous, why hasn't Francisco called in the police?” Now it was my turn to give a dead-on stare.

Alex kept his eyes on the road but answered me all the same. “The danger is not exclusive to solving Sarah Morghan's murder, there's more to it than that. And there's a good chance you might be at the nexus of it."

"How can this be, Alex?"

"As it stands right now, you, Edna and Gavin know about the doorstop and the first-print edition of Treasure Island. Edna hasn't a clue to the book's importance, to her it is a family heirloom and easily could be replaced with a fake. She wouldn't know the difference."

"So,” I countered, “I happen to know that the book is safely tucked away in Gavin's safe at the Spotted Coyote. Edna herself chose that safe, saying it was a monster of a safe, and far more secure than the one she has."

Alex was quiet. Too quiet. I had observed him this way before and I knew he was brooding. And I knew that getting the full story from him would be nearly impossible, especially since the restaurant was in sight. We drove in to the parking lot. I saw Francisco's car and pointed it out and Alex pulled in next to it. Alex parked, but stalled before getting out, he turned to me, “There is far more to the deception in this case than what meets the eye. Shannon, I can't explain right now, but you are the best chance we have for full closure and because of this, you could be in danger."

Huh? I wondered. But before I could say another word, Alex was out of the car and holding my door open for me. We walked into the restaurant. Francisco was easy to find. He sat at a back booth facing us. A wave of our hands signaled we saw him.

Alex and I slid into the booth opposite Francisco. I desperately wanted to ask about Zach, to see if Francisco had any new information. And to maybe help put Alex in his place, let him know it was Zach who was paramount in my thoughts. But one look at Francisco cautioned me not to. I had never seen Francisco looked so ragged before. I reached over the table to him; “You look as if you have not had a good night's sleep in days. Francisco, it worries me to see you like this."

He brushed off my concern, “What, you do not like my attire?” he teased. “And to think, I chose this shirt because you have commented many times that this particular shade of robin's egg blue brings out the robust color of my cheeks!” He smiled a basset hound crinkled grin and my heart melted.

"You've been partying, I can tell,” I teased back and threw in a wink for good measure. “And to think, I thought you had lost sleep over this cold-case we are working on."

Francisco patted my hand; “You know how I am before breakfast. Now let's order before I get really grouchy.” He handed menus to Alex and me.

"Excellent advice,” Alex commented and retreated to the menu, giving us a play-by play of his considerations. After too many minutes of Alex and Francisco debating the virtues of buttermilk pancakes over buckwheat waffles, I signaled to the waitress. She appeared instantly. I snatched up the menus and handed them to her and said: “I'll have a short stack of buttermilk pancakes with blueberry syrup and orange juice, please."

She looked to Francisco: “I'll have the same but make my pancakes a tall stack. Thank you."

And then Alex added, “Ditto on the tall stack and orange juice. And thank you."

We ate with little chitchat. After the dishes were cleared away and the waitress brought a freshly brewed carafe of coffee, Francisco got down to business.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 27

After twenty minutes of listening to Francisco, most of what he said seemed clear to me, though I couldn't quite piece together the logic of his plan. And if Alex felt the same puzzlement as I did, he didn't let it show. That left me to speak up.

"So, let me get this straight. Francisco, you want me to go with you to meet with Edna at the Spotted Coyote, in just a little while. And the purpose of this meeting is so you can examine the Treasure Island book?"

Francisco nodded and I continued.

"But why would Edna let or want you to look at her book?"

Francisco nodded again and then explained, “Deputy David Gomez and Betty, the museum docent, have advised Edna that she may want to have the book insured for practical reasons, in order to add the book to the inventory of personal possessions on her homeowner's insurance. I arranged this referral last night in a personal call to David Gomez,” he grinned. “David is not the only one in his family in law enforcement, I worked with his uncle when I was on the force at San Diego P.D.. David told Edna I was in town and that I have been called in on occasion to do appraisals. So, basically I'm meeting with Edna at the Spotted Coyote because that is where the book is in safekeeping. However, remember, Gavin will not be there."

"Yeah, that part I don't get. Doesn't Gavin need to be there to open the safe?"

Alex spoke up, “Possibly, we don't know. Though we would like to find out."

"So, this whole charade that we will perform in about an hour is just so we can discover if anyone other than Gavin has access to his safe?” I asked.

Francisco answered, “For now. Yes."

"And I suppose you arranged for Gavin to be with you, just for today's charade?” I asked Alex.

Alex gave a sly smile, “Yes, as a matter of fact. I consider this a minor ruse, a payback of sorts, for the numerous times he pulled practical jokes on me in college. I rather chuckled when I woke him up early this morning and insisted he accompany me on an outing with a local real estate agent to look at ranch property up for sale. We'll be way out in the countryside by the time you and Francisco are with Edna."

"You're not really going to buy a ranch, are you?"

"No, but Gavin hasn't a clue. And speaking of my old college roommate, I best not keep him waiting. He should be on his way to meet me at the realty office, right about now.” Alex stood up, offered to pay for the check, of which Francisco immediately grabbed the paper tab and insisted that Alex and I were his guests. Alex turned to me; “I'll call you later."

Francisco paid the check and we left only a few minutes after Alex, but enough time has lapsed, so that, according to Francisco, we would not be suspected of having been at a meeting together.

In fifteen minutes we were parked outside the Spotted Coyote. It looked the same except for a large colorful sign on the front door that declared the grand opening was in two days. Sunday evening at seven, the doors would open for a free community show, accompanied by a free serving of Julian's famous apple pie with coffee or tea on the house. Francisco used the ornate steel head of his walking stick to rap on the front door. Vera waved to us from inside at the bar and hurried over to let us in. She locked the doors behind us and motioned to a table near the stage, where a window provided plenty of glare-free light. She gestured to us to sit down and offered refreshments. We declined.

"Edna will be here in a moment, she's in the back.” Vera sat down and made small talk about the upcoming grand opening. Edna came around the corner from the back and took a seat next to Francisco.

"So, we meet again, Detective Zavala!” Edna smiled.

"Please, call me Francisco. And I might add it is fortuitous that I was in town when you and Shannon made this most remarkable discovery. I sincerely appreciate being called in for my opinion,” he gently touched Edna's hand. Had I not witnessed it myself, I would not have believed that once again, the charismatic charm of one of the Zavala men had worked its magic in the blink of an eye.

Edna blushed, a rare occurrence I imagine for a woman of her tough disposition. Had she been a bird, she would have fluttered her feathers, instead she breathlessly rushed through an explanation, “Oh, I do value your expertise on this matter. When Betty and the deputy suggested I should have the book appraised for my homeowner's insurance I was at a loss as to whom to contact,” and then in the same breath, “Betty said she knew you were an expert in this type of appraisal. I'm so delighted that you are in town. I immediately called Vera and she said we should all meet here. How convenient!” Edna caught her breath.

We all nodded and it was the opening Francisco was looking for.

"Then let's see what we can do. And do you have your little book?"

It was Vera who answered, “Well, no. You see I've been waiting for my son, but I can't seem to find him. I called his home this morning, all I got was his answering machine and he's not returned my call."

That was my cue, the opening I was waiting for and it happened just as Francisco had predicted. “Oh, I heard he was going with Alex Blackthorne to look at some real estate that's for sale. Alex came into Julian early this morning because he heard that there is a ranch near here that is going up for sale and he wanted to look at it before it's officially listed on the market. Alex made an early-morning call to Gavin; he wants Gavin's opinion on the property. He wanted me to go along, but I begged off, this is far more interesting!” I did my best acting to sparkle with enthusiasm and awe.

"Hmm,” Vera looked to Edna, “Well, Gavin is the person with the combination to his safe. I hate for us to sit around waiting for those two, who knows how long it will take?"

I held my breath and waited in silence, hoping Edna would too.

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt if I tried to reach Gavin on his cell phone?” Vera offered.

"Yes, let's do that!” Edna chimed in.

Vera got up, “You all stay right here, I have his cell number in the back office, I'll go back and call him and see if I can get the combination to open the safe. Should take a few minutes."

We waited for what seemed like hours but in actuality it was only ten minutes. Vera returned and she had Treasure Island in her hands.

"May I please?” Francisco asked. Vera handed the little book to Francisco. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pair of cotton gloves, “Precaution is always necessary when handling a book such as this. Next he took out his little magnifying glass. We watched in quiet observation as Francisco examined the book. Finally, he placed it down on the table in front of Edna.

"Of course, you will want a second opinion, and I can recommend a professional appraiser. This little book is indeed a treasure. To the best of my recollection, there were less than a dozen of these specially bound first editions ever signed by Robert Louis Stevenson, and the fact that he scripted a personal note to a member of your family adds a great deal of provenance to the value. The last I heard, from a famous auction house in England, a first edition of Treasure Island with the author's signature and in as good of condition as this one, sold for one and a half million dollars."

Edna nearly fell off her chair! She tilted back and forth and then slumped forward to land on her folded hands. “My gracious! Never would I have suspected its value to be so lavish! Dear, oh-dear, I don't know if I should keep it at my home. Doing so could make me a sitting duck for a burglary!"

"All the more reason to keep this information just between us and keep the book secured here in the safe!” Vera declared to Edna.

"Why, yes I couldn't agree more,” Edna said. “Vera, right now, please, will you put it back in Gavin's safe?"

"Certainly, consider it done.” Vera gently picked up the book and retreated to the back room.

Edna turned to Francisco and said, “I will need the name of the professional you mentioned."

Francisco deftly took out a little pad of paper and wrote down a name and contact information, and then he handed it to Edna. “Before you decide what to do with your book, you may want to consider different options. Donating it to a museum is of course an option and has tax benefits to it. Then, again, you might want to sell it, in which case an auction company is what I would advise. Should you decide to keep it, remember there could be liability and consequences."

Edna looked at Francisco and blinked hard several times, “You mean, should I keep it, I could end up a sitting duck for a burglary, don't you?"

Francisco nodded. “I am at your service should you desire additional referrals of professionals in the industry of art and artifacts. But for now, take your time and make the decision based on what is good for you, what you want to do."

Francisco stood up, this was my cue. I stood up and said, “Edna, I'm sorry, but we must be on our way. You can reach me or Francisco by phone, and remember, we are staying over at Odessa and Isaac's place."

By the time I had scooted in my chair, Vera had returned and assured us that the book was, once again, safely secured in Gavin's safe. We said our good-byes, left the place and got in Francisco's car. I waited until we pulled away to call Alex.

The conversation was short. Alex said they were still out at the ranch property and then answered my single question with a single-word. We agreed he'd call me later in the afternoon. I hung up and turned to Francisco.

"You were right,” is all I needed to say.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 28

We sat comfortably in the living room of my cottage and pondered the next steps. “What now?” I asked Francisco.

He was quiet for a moment and then offered, “Edna's reaction was genuine. Therefore, our next step is to stage another cozy get-together at which time we will reveal to Edna who murdered little Sarah."

"But, won't that prompt our present-day suspect to take quick action, and then Edna might lose the opportunity to decide what to do with Treasure Island?"

"Possibly. We must be very smart at setting this trap. Allowing just enough time for the suspect to act within a time-frame that will allow us to catch the culprit.” Francisco fell silent for a moment and then said, “Tonight is too soon. Tomorrow, yes, Saturday in the early evening. Let's arrange for a meeting after dinner, say about eight?"

"Where?” I asked.

"Ideally, Edna's home would be the best place. However, we cannot very well invite ourselves to her home. And meeting here at your cottage would be difficult for Edna to navigate the staircase up here,” Francisco let that thought dangle.

"I suppose you don't think meeting at the Spotted Coyote is a good idea?"

"We want to avoid doing that, we must give the suspect time and room to make a move,” Francisco explained.

"I see. But, if we were to suggest meeting here, maybe Edna would say it would be better to meet at her home. When I visited her house, she seemed quite pleased to have company over."

"And if your reverse-psychology suggestion does not work, what will you counter with if Edna suggests meeting at the Spotted Coyote?” Francisco said.

"Hmmm, well I could say that Gavin said that his place would be too busy getting ready for the grand opening on Sunday? I'm sure I could convince her that stage hands and such would still be there in the evening setting up?"

Francisco nodded in agreement, “Good point. We must have complete privacy. Yes, I do believe your plan will work. That decided, would you prefer I call her to make these arrangements?” Francisco asked.

I giggled, “Why of course! I'm no competition for the Zavala charm!"

Francisco stood up. “Then I will call you a little later to confirm.” He turned at the door and said, “Make no plans for tomorrow. Give my apology to Alex, I know this may spoil his plans for his Saturday evening with you."

"I'm sure he'll understand.” I saw Francisco out the door.

Less that ten minutes after Francisco left there was a knock at my door. To my surprise, it was Alex!

"I thought you were going to call?"

"Must I remain out here on the porch and deliver an explanation before you allow me inside?” he smiled.

"Come in. I don't mean to be rude, it's just that I wasn't expecting you."

Alex sat down on the sofa in the exact spot that Eric had. In fact, his posture was the same, identical. It caught me off guard and my facial expression must have revealed my observation.

"You look as if you've seen a ghost?” Alex prompted. And I knew all to well what his reference was.

"Ha-ha, very funny. Blackthorne DNA must be incredibly strong. Uncanny how even the slightest nuances and gestures do not skip a generation."

"Aside from borrowing from my wardrobe closet now and then, I've lived with the fact of Eric all my adult life. The similarities are no more and no less than blood memory.” Alex admitted.

"Wardrobe closet? Alex you are beginning to speak like Eric. Most people would have said clothes closet. Don't you find this aspect of having an active ghost in your life a bit unnerving?"

"Aspect? You mean that we wear the same size and have similar tastes in style?” he smiled.

"You are hopeless!"

"In that case, you are my only hope. Let's take the afternoon off. I'd love to show you the ranch property I almost purchased."

I studied Alex for a moment and he was perfectly comfortable that I did. His eyes never wavered from my gaze. Movie star good looks is how any other woman would describe Alex. Here, in the filtered light of the sun coming in from the window, Alex's handsome face with his strong features and his dark eyes shining with calm and warmth, I sensed an inner mystery about him, one I could not put my finger on. And, in fact, have never been able to put my finger on. Was his invitation to see property he almost bought an excuse, but for what reason? I broke my gaze and turned away to look at my wristwatch, “Okay, sounds like a pleasant way to spend the afternoon. Of course, if you keep me out too late, you'll have to feed me,” I chided.

Alex stood up and bowed, “Your wish is my command."

I rolled my eyes and got up, “Okay Sir Lancelot, take me to your steadfast steed."

The ranch property was twenty miles outside of Julian. We sped along an open highway and I marveled at the diversity of California geography. The countryside changed from green alpine mountains to rolling hills of golden chaparral until we were in a little valley of lush green pasture. Alex slowed down and turned left onto a gravel road. He shifted down to second gear. Here along the road grassy overgrowth sprouted pillars of wild flowers. To my surprise I saw purple blooms of thistle among the wide-swept bushes of sweet yellow broom that scented the air with its heady fragrance. I inhaled deeply, “If only scientists could developed a candle scent of sweet broom, I'd invest my savings in that!"

"And you'd be rich in no time,” commented Alex. “Some things should not be tampered with, Mother Nature's fragrances really have no match.” Alex skillfully negotiated the bumps in the road as it changed from gravel to dirt, adding “The recent rains have created some difficult roads, what with the water run off seeping into and enlarging potholes."

We rounded a bend and there before my eyes the property in question was revealed in all its beauty. Alex parked his car near the front door of a sprawling adobe ranch home.

"No one is here?” I asked.

"The property has been vacant for about a year. Today, it is ours for the looking.” Alex held up a set of keys. I followed Alex up to the arched-topped oak front door.

"This looks original, how old is this home?"

"According to the real estate agent it dates to 1880. This is one of the few adobe ranch homes built in the hacienda style that is still alive, so to speak. It has been magnificently updated without detracting from its original splendor"

"Alive?” I questioned his choice in words.

He took my hand and said, “Walk with me through it and you'll see what I mean. The home has an energy about it. I can't quite put my finger on it, but this house has very good vibes. Happiness emanates from every corner."

It wasn't like the Alex Blackthorne that I knew to wax and wane poetically about architecture. I walked with him and listened to his commentary as we toured the rooms. Finally, we stepped into a large open room that had a magnificent river-stone fireplace and mantle that commanded our attention. To the right of it was a picture window that looked out on a grassy meadow with a ridge of oak trees along the hill that topped the meadow. Alex and I stepped up to the window.

Quite suddenly he turned to me and said, “I'm leaving tonight. I'm going to Scotland for a while. When I return I will decide if I will buy this home and the ranch property it is on."

Words escaped my thoughts; I could not ask or act fast enough. “What do you mean? Alex what's up with you?” I reached for his shoulders, but he had stepped away, not to escape or avoid me, but to meditatively walk over to the fireplace. He stood there and then turned to me.

He raised his right hand and said, “Shannon, please hear me out."

I said nothing, but I did nod my understanding. Alex acted as if he was under a spell, and I wanted nothing to happen that would break his spell. I feared that if I did not play along, and let whatever was going on to play out, that I would not learn what these strange happenings were about.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 29

I listened to him and after twenty minutes, I had to speak up, “Let me get this straight,” I looked at Alex and stood my ground. As tempting as it was to walk over to him, I wanted to make sure I was speaking from logic and not affection, “you're taking off to Scotland to do genealogy research? All because, all of the sudden you have a nagging itch to dig up the dirt on your Victorian master magician ancestor Eric Blackthorne?"

"Don't make it out to be so sinister. I've always wanted to know more about him, no one is better equipped to dig into the myths and truths about his life than I am,” Alex stood his ground.

"But, Alex, why the sudden interest?"

He turned to me and walked over to me, but remained an arm's reach away. “I can't say."

"Can't? Or won't?” I challenged. I stared him in the face, hoping to find some hint, some clue to his motives. I saw none.

"Shannon, this is family business."

"Oh,” I said the singular phrase in the coldest tone imaginable. “Then pardon me for asking.” I strode out the front door and to the car. I got in, fastened my seat belt, slipped on my sunglasses and waited.

Alex locked up the ranch house and got in the car. He said nothing, not so much as a glance in my direction. It was a long silent drive back to my cottage. I was prepared to hop out as soon as Alex drove into the parking. But instead of cutting the engine, he left it running, and when he sensed my gesture to open the door, before I could unfastened my seat belt, he reached over and put his hand on my shoulder.

"Shannon, I won't be in Scotland for long."

I resisted in silence and remained perfectly still. I kept my sunglasses on and stared straight ahead.

He reached up and removed my sunglasses; it was a gesture befitting a magician so adept at sleight-of-hand magic. Just as deftly he cupped my chin and turned my face to meet his eyes. I said nothing.

"Shannon, I am always with you in spirit."

I felt tears welling in my eyes, I blinked them back, removed his hand and quickly as I could manage, I unfastened my seat belt, got out of the car and ran up the stairs to my cottage. Slamming the door shut, I locked it. I wanted to lock Alex out of my life, but locking the door was the best I could do, for now. I heard his car drive away.

I ran to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face, blew my nose several times and dabbed away the redness under my eyes. Walking into the kitchen to get a cold glass of water was when I realized I wasn't alone.

Eric sat with his back to me, facing the laptop computer. He was completely engrossed with Online research.

I sat down next to him, “I suppose you knew nothing about Alex going away?"

Eric glanced at me, “Correct assumption."

"And you haven't a clue as to why he is really going to Scotland?"

Again, he glanced at me, “What reason did he give?"

"Eric, stop playing cat and mouse with me.” I reached over and shut off the computer. That got his attention!

"Why did you do that?"

"Why are you answering my questions with a question?” I demanded.

Eric turned is entire body toward me, we were knee to knee and the odd thought occurred to me, as it had before in similar close encounters of this ghostly kind: How can it be that I can feel his touch?

"Shannon, I am at a loss for the answers you desperately seek."

"So, you truly have no clue to Alex's behavior and motives?"

"Correct."

"Aren't you curious as to why he is going to Scotland?” I asked.

"Yes. Which is exactly why I queried you as to what explanation he gave you."

"Eric, Alex said he is going to Scotland to do genealogical research on you."

Eric appeared sincerely puzzled and then amused. He chuckled.

"I don't find this very funny.” I was annoyed by Eric's reaction.

"Shannon, don't you see, it is so obvious. Alex's efforts will, quite logically, come to a dead end!” Eric laughed out loud.

That made me suspicious. “Did you send Alex to Scotland on a wild goose chase?"

Eric looked at me wide-eyed and said, “More appropriately, do you mean a wild ghost chase?” He was having far too much fun with this line of query.

"You are hopeless!"

"Oh, please, do not be angry. Shannon, in all sincerity, allow Alex the benefit of the doubt."

"Why should I?"

Eric was serious now. “Because in important matters, Alex has always come through. Perhaps, he needs time alone. At his age men often retreat to a mood of self-examination. Most likely he is pondering the greater issues in his life."

"Oh,” I was not convinced, “you mean like buying exclusive ranch property with a magnificent historic home on it? Are you saying that this is the kind of thing men do when they are speculating about counting thirty candles on their next birthday cake?"

"Exactly. Makes perfect sense. Thirty is life-mark numeral. Men begin to wonder about settling down. Before doing so, they want every aspect of their life in order. No loose ends, so to speak. In our family, Blackthorne men have a history of marrying on or about the thirty mark."

Eric's thoughtful insight threw me for a loop. I kept my thoughts to myself and used this information as a segue, “What are you researching?"

Eric opened up the computer and tip-tapped back to the Web site he was on, “Knock-Knock jokes. They are hilarious. May I try one on you?"

And so, instead of going out on a Friday evening with a dashingly handsome young magician, who was now on his way to the other side of the world, I spent my afternoon and evening swapping knock-knock jokes with a dashingly handsome young magician who was not of this world.

Our banter continued until Francisco called. Once I was on the phone with him, I had to shush Eric. I hung up the phone and Eric was all questions.

"You need not have shushed me. Others can't hear me or see me."

"But it would have seemed peculiar to Francisco had he heard me answering you. He would have wondered with whom I was talking."

Eric nodded agreement, “Yes, I tend to forget about that aspect. Quite right you were, to shush me. Are plans in place for tomorrow evening?"

"Yes. But wait. Eric, what do you mean, you said others can't see you or hear you? What about Alex?"

"Oh, that. On occasion I have had interaction with him, but I assure you, never to the extent of having the kind of rapport I share with you.” He smiled and quickly changed the subject back to, “Now, about the plans for tomorrow night?"

I looked at him with a steady gaze. I wanted, desperately, to ask him more questions about his existence in my life, but I knew my query would not be answered, he would find a cagey way to avoid my questions. I caved and gave Eric the information he wanted, “We will meet at Edna's, at eight."

Eric was quiet, then offered, “I should attend. I could ride along in the back seat of your car. That way, I will be in on the conversation between you and Francisco and I will not pester you. Once we arrive at Edna's all you need do is stall, a mere second, as you walk in the front door. Doing so shall allow me to pass over the threshold without notice to anyone. Shall be our little secret!"

Eric's idea left me dumbfounded. But, I could see the advantages, so I agreed. “Okay, but you must promise not to interfere with the people or their actions."

"Absolutely. I am in perfect concurrence with you on this issue. Shannon, by no means do I intend to upset the balance of the arrangement or the objective for the get-together."

Eric was serious and I appreciated that. “Oh, one more thing I insist on."

"Yes, and that is?"

"Absolutely, no knock-knock jokes!"

"Eric feigned melodramatic humor and crossed his heart, “I promise, I shall not jest."

I offered my hand, “Shall we shake on the deal."

"Certainly.” He offered his hand and surprisingly, it felt like any other person's hand.

"Good night then. I need to get some rest.” I got up and as I turned the corner from the kitchen to the hall that led to my bedroom, I heard Eric say, “Sweet dreams for the sweet."

In my heart, I hoped Eric's wish would see me through the night. Please, let there be sweet dreams tonight.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 30

I spent Saturday in Julian shopping for souvenirs. It was a way to ease my nerves about the upcoming evening. At a bird-watcher's shop I bought a cute humming bird feeder in the shape of a large red hibiscus flower. Rosario's birthday was approaching and although she always hemmed and hawed about receiving birthday gifts, I knew she would not resist this one. Humming birds have always fascinated her and this lovely and clever feeder was the perfect gift for her.

I left the shop on the hunt for more treasures. No sooner had I turned the corner to go into a fudge and candy shop that I stopped in my tracks, alarmed to see a white vector-control truck parked in front and next to it a blue exterminator's van. The name on the exterminator's van was RATS: you got'em, we get'em. A cartoon like advertisement on the van showed a larger than life rat relaxing in a lounge chair reading a recipe book titled Gourmet Recipes. The book was held upside down in the rat's lap, not sure what the point of that was. Unbeknown to the lounge rat, he was about to get the boot, literally, from an ominous-looking heavy black boot coming up behind him. I turned away from the van to look in the shop window, that was when the reflection of the van's ad shot back at me in a mirror image! Rats spelled backward said Star!

I froze in thought. Eureka! A spectacular idea occurred to me and I knew exactly what Sarah meant about mirror imaging and appearances being backward and now I was certain that Edna's Treasure Island book was the key to a fortune!

A woman came rushing out of the candy store, “Oh no, you have misunderstood. That exterminator's van and vector control truck has nothing to do with my candy shop! Please do come in."

I stood there a bit tharned by my wondrous discovery and not wanting to disappoint the candy shopkeeper I let her nudge me into the shop. In a fog I listened to her explanation that just a few minutes ago she told those men not to park there and then she put in a call to the Sheriff asking them to have the van and truck removed. She assured me the matter would be cleared up shortly. In the meantime she plied me with free samples of fudge. I left the shop with a pound of butterscotch walnut fudge, and then made a quick getaway in my car. I could not get back to my cottage soon enough. I needed to do research before tonight's tell-all evening at Edna's!

No sooner had I parked and hopped out of my car, ready to dash up the stairs to my front door that Isaac came out the back-door of the main house and hollered to me. Darn! Just when I'm really anxious to get up the stairs and onto the Internet, I now have another stall!

Politely as possible in my heightened state of anxiety, I told Isaac I had some important business calls to make and asked if his matter could wait. He waved me on, saying he just wanted to remind me that he and Odessa hoped to see me at the grand opening of the Spotted Coyote on Sunday. I told him I wouldn't miss it for the world and to please save me a seat at their table.

That said, I dashed up the stairs into the living room, dropped all my belongings on the sofa and stashed the fudge in the refrigerator. I had left my laptop on the kitchen table. I sat down and nervously opened it up. My hands trembled with excitement as I logged onto my favorite search engine and typed in the phrase: fore-edge books.

One hour's worth of research rendered everything I needed to know. It was true that Edna's copy of Treasure Island is worth a bundle of money just the way it is. However, if what I suspected is true, Edna's particular edition is incredibly rare, it was a one-of-a-kind book for which the French Government would happily pay a reward of several million dollars to whomever delivered it to them! No wonder Robert Louis Stevenson had written inside to Goodlett that: this first edition is yours with my hearty well wishes for good fortune. Good fortune indeed! Stevenson and Goodlett must have been working on this treasure hunt for years. And no doubt, it was this treasure hunt that sent pirates looking for Goodlett. They must have gotten word that Goodlett had the book with him on his ship or that Goodlett was in route to locate the treasure and then they ambushed him. Whatever happened, Goodlett died with the secret and made sure to put the book in safe keeping for his wife and child. And, a person looking to get their hands on the book murdered Sarah!

I was deep in thought when a knock startled me into realty. Who could be at my door? I went to answer it and there on the porch was a UPS delivery man. “Yes, may I help you?"

"I have a package for Shannon Delaney?"

"That's me."

"Please sign here."

I did and he handed me a small package.

What in the world? I wondered as I stepped back inside and closed the door. I opened it up and held in my hand another edition of Treasure Island that looked remarkably like Edna's. A handwritten slip of paper read:

This is a cleverly reproduced fake. But it will do for a switch tonight. Guaranteed, no person will know the difference except you and myself. Leave it to E to make the switch. Please, trust me on this! A.

Huh? The script was Alex's, no doubt in my mind. But, by the initial of E, did he mean Eric? I got my answer before I could sit down on the sofa and ponder the very recent turn of events!

"Oh, what fun this will be. Piece of cake, I assure you. Now Shannon, don't get, what is it you say, loopy?"

I looked at Eric standing in front of me, “Yes, loopy, out of sorts, brain fog, those catch phrases describe what I am feeling right now."

"Here, do try to focus and I'll explain the course of events for our scheme tonight."

I listened to Eric lay out a plan that would allow him to seamlessly and without anyone's notice, exchange Edna's authentic copy of Treasure Island for this fake copy.

"But how can we be sure that Edna will have the genuine Treasure Island with her tonight?"

"Francisco asked her to have it, giving the explanation that the appraiser he recommended to her will be with us tonight,” Eric said.

"And this person will be there?"

"Yes, though, not for real. It is a contrivance, of sorts."

I studied Eric, “Who, or more appropriately, whom is this appraiser?"

"He is a good friend of Francisco's. Not known to anyone in this vicinity."

"And how is it Alex knew that I would discover the fore-edge feature to the real Treasure Island book?"

Eric shook his head sideways, “I admit, I am stumped by that."

"Then tell me, how is it you knew of these plans before I did?"

"Oh, I read your e-mail. Alex sent you a letter explaining his thoughts on this, though he made no mention of a fore-edge book. Had you opened your e-mail first, before doing research, you would know this too.” Eric smiled, quite pleased with his knowledge.

"Eric! Reading another person's e-mail is snooping!"

He looked apologetic; “I had no choice. You see, I needed to do a test run of my account and sending an e-mail to you was the surest way."

"What do you mean? You have an e-mail account?” I asked.

"Yes, when you open up your e-mail you'll see that I sent you knock-knock jokes. My Online name is Got to be Ghost at Yahoo.com. Of course, I put it in text language, writing it as, Got2bGhost@yahoo.com.” He smiled and then added, “Clever pseudonym, if I do say so myself!"

I stood up, “Whatever. But in the future, do not, ever, read my mail!” I glared at Eric. “Now excuse me, after I read my e-mail, I'm going to go soak in the tub and I do not want to be disturbed."

"Oh, I assure you, I shall not disturb you. I will be right here, ready to leave for the evening to go to Edna's."

I walked away from Eric, went to the table where my laptop was, checked my e-mail, did the research I needed and then went to take a long soak in the bathtub. Afterward I went to my bedroom and didn't come out until I was ready to leave.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 31

At seven thirty I exited my bedroom, Eric stood at the living room window.

"Here's Francisco, right on time,” Eric announced.

I went to the door to greet him without waiting for him to knock. “Hi, just a minute, I need to get my laptop and its satchel."

"Oh, why are you bringing it?” Francisco asked casually enough that I knew he hadn't a clue to my recent discovery or Alex's plan, at least he didn't let on if he did.

"It's a long story, I'll explain on the ride over.” I grabbed the satchel and my purse and we left. Just as Eric had advised, I opened up the passenger seat behind the driver's side of the car and placed the satchel on the seat, toward the middle, leaving room for Eric to be seated right behind me.

In the few minutes it took to drive to Edna's I explained to Francisco about my discovery regarding the rarity and value of Edna's copy of Treasure Island. My notes on the computer would better illustrate the complexity of the fore-edge book theory and the value placed on this particular book by the French Government. I also told him that bringing along my laptop allowed me to take my big satchel inside, in which I had stashed the fake book. And if I could manage somehow, I would switch Edna's book with the fake Alex had supplied.

Francisco ruminated over my discovery and then asked, “You do not know for certain that Edna's book is the rare edition wanted by the French?"

"No. But I have a very strong hunch. What my mom used to called intuitive intelligence. She always claimed it passes from one generation to the next in our family. And by the way, I will not bring up this aspect of the case until after you have explained who murdered Sarah. When we get there, I plan to leave my laptop satchel in the entry hall, near the coat rack so I do not raise questions as to why I brought it along."

Francisco nodded agreement. I pulled up into Edna's driveway and got out. Once again I opened the driver's side of the back seat and hesitated just long enough to make sure Eric got out, then I reached in and pulled out my satchel and purse.

Edna saw us pull up and came to the door to greet us. “Oh, please do come in."

I went in first and then Francisco. It was a bit tricky, but I managed to dodge the closing of the front door and interrupt Edna from shutting it for a second, just long enough for Eric to slip in behind Edna, “Excuse me, but may I leave my satchel here, next to the coat rack?” I asked her.

"It might be in the way, dear. Why don't you take it to the pantry room off the hall near the kitchen? There's a large table there, just set it next to the tea towel that I have my book wrapped up in."

Francisco went with Edna into the living room while I walked down the hall to the pantry room and set down my satchel right next to Edna's book. Perfect arrangement for a switch! I then joined everyone in the living room. Gavin was there, which I didn't expect. A quick glance around told me the mysterious appraiser hadn't arrived yet. We took seats.

Francisco spoke first, “Edna, my friend, the appraiser I told you about, he will arrive very shortly.” At that very moment our attention was drawn to the view outside of the living room's main window. A yellow taxicab pulled into Edna's driveway. We watched as an elderly man exited the cab and walked up to the front door. Francisco stood up; “I'll go let him in."

I turned to Gavin, “Where's your mom?"

"Oh, she's real busy getting ready for the grand opening. She asked me to bring along Edna's book, course my being here is all very conditional, I've agreed to fill her in on every detail."

Francisco entered the living room with the elderly man at his side; “May I introduce to you, Paul MacBride."

Paul MacBride was quite tall, maybe as tall as Gavin or even Alex, I guessed him to be at least six feet, plus an inch or two. He was thin, all over, except for a full head of stark white hair. Standing slightly stooped, he looked at us with bright blue eyes in a pale-skinned face. His features were classic, and in that way, they had a vague resemblance to someone familiar, but I couldn't remember who or when. In my mind I tried to compare Mr. MacBride to uncles, uncles I knew now and uncles I remember having met as a small child.

His voice was thin, but strong. “So very good of you to invite me. Mr. Zavala has told me a little about this case, must say, it is fascinating!"

That was enough to put Edna into action. She immediately began to flutter about Mr. MacBride and it wasn't until she had him comfortably settled in a rocking chair that we proceeded with the reason for the meeting. Francisco took command.

"Edna I will be brief as possible and then will answer questions to satisfy any doubts. Records show that a book peddler by the name of Charles Weebler murdered little Sarah.” Silence deafened the room. Francisco retrieved a note pad from his jacket pocket and read: “He confessed to this crime upon his death bed at the City of Angels asylum for the mentally disturbed, in Los Angeles. The confession has gone unnoticed all these many years because no one looked for the murderer in a hospital, and of course, Los Angeles is a good distance from Julian, in a different county that would have been at least a half-day travel from Julian."

Edna spoke up, “But why? And how did he know Sarah?"

Francisco continued, “Weebler was a book peddler that traveled throughout the country, old newspaper accounts show that he had been in Natchez, Mississippi when the tragic explosion killed Sarah's mother. It was not by accident he was there. He was on the trail of the Treasure Island book. It is rare and he knew it. He wanted it for its collectable value. Newspaper accounts also prove he was in Julian before Sarah's death. Shortly after Sarah arrived here to live with Jayne Blair, Weebler showed up. A local sheriff fined him for trespassing on some ranch property where Weebler illegally set up a tent store. Weebler left town but came back again for the festival.” Francisco reached into his packet and pulled out some photocopies. He held up one page.

"This is a picture you'll recognize. It is Sarah with her friend Sam, Sam's mother, Jayne and the contest judge. Look behind Sarah and the group she is with and you'll see a row of decorated booths. The booth that is three stalls down is the book peddler's shop. See the man? That is Weebler.” He handed the enlarged photo to Edna.

"Yes, I see him. But how can you be sure?"

Francisco held up another photocopied page. “This is from the story that ran in the Los Angeles newspaper. Notice that along with a brief description of Weebler's deathbed confession, there are two photos of him. They match perfectly with that of the book peddler.” He handed the page to Edna.

She scrutinized it then looked up. “I can accept he is the murderer. But how ever did you put this together?"

All of us were on our seat edges waiting for an explanation.

Francisco sat down. “To make yet another long story short. My cousin lives not too far from here and his family has been in this region for over a hundred years. His ancestors had taken an interest in this case and he followed through with it, always collecting little pieces of information here and there. It was from his collection I did newspaper research and then with Shannon's help of getting into the records of patients from the hospital in Los Angeles, the pieces all fit together. The leading thread was the photo that was in the suitcase that is now in your possession. That is the last known picture of Sarah, from when she won the jumping rope contest."

Gavin spoke up, and I think he asked what Edna was trying to figure out. “But, how is it you went looking in Los Angeles?"

It was my turn to answer, “I put that together. You see, it is because of Edna's family history and her direct lineage to Jayne Blair.” I turned to Edna, “I hope this is agreeable with you, to let everyone here know how you are related?"

She nodded and smiled, “Oh, sure, and you can explain it better than I can. Go right on, dear."

I reached into my purse and pulled out my notes. “Edna's lineage goes like this: Jayne Blair moved to Pasadena, California after Sarah's death. She was successful as a dressmaker there and soon married a prominent lawyer named George Grayson. Together they had only one child, Edmund Grayson. Edmund was a very successful banker in Pasadena. He married Juliet Nordstrem. They had three children: Edmund Jr., Katherine and Laura."

I looked up to make sure everyone was following me. They were, in fact, glued to my every word. I took a breath and continued, “Next, Edmund Grayson, Jr. was a successful attorney and lived in Pasadena. He married Sonia Somnerstein. Four children from this marriage: Edna, Joseph, John and Henry. I guess we can stop there, because the daughter named Edna that I just mentioned is sitting here with us.” I looked at Edna and she smiled.

"Yes, that is correct. Of course I married a wonderful man named Frank Werner. I grew up in Pasadena and Frank and I lived there. Several years ago, after he died, I moved here to Julian. But dear, I still don't see the connection?"

I cleared my throat; “I need to back track just a little bit. You see,” I hesitated, knowing darn well I was about to drop a bomb, “before Edmund Grayson married Juliet Nordstrem, in fact, before he ever met her, he had a child out of wedlock with a bank teller from his bank named Leighann Strobel. Seemingly, to all appearances at that time and in that social arena, Miss Strobel disappeared in the earliest stages of her pregnancy, meaning the Pasadena paper reported she moved out of town to pursue a teaching career. In reality she left to spend her pregnancy at the unwed mother's wing of the same hospital where Weebler was in asylum, he was of course quite elderly at this time and indeed he died within a few months. In time, a child was born to Miss Strobel. She remained at the hospital. Evidently, the stress of her situation drove her mad. She was a patient in the same hospital section as Weebler. Of course they were separated from each other because the female and male wards were on opposite sides of the hospital wings. But, recreation events were often co-ed under very strict supervision and diverse in age and generations of the participants, this lent more of a family and social atmosphere."

I glanced to Francisco who extracted yet another photocopied piece of newspaper. He held it up, “You see, here there was a gala summer event with many recreational activities. In this top photo of the shuffleboard court is pictured the very elderly Weebler sitting in a wheelchair observing the sport and young Miss Strobel is standing nearby, waiting her turn as a member of one of the shuffleboard teams. And here, in this other photo, near the ice cream stand, they are again.” He handed the page to Edna.

"Why this is remarkable and absolutely astonishing! Never would I have known! And Shannon, you say that it was doing this little bit of family tree research that just happened to coordinate with Francisco's research that brought all these pieces together?"

I nodded yes.

"My goodness, hasn't Vera missed out on a good story!” exclaimed Edna. “Gavin, rest assured, I'm not leaving a bit of this news for you to convey to your mother. Why, this very evening I'm calling her to let her know. And I don't care how tired she is, I know she'll want to share in this discovery."

"I don't mind a bit, after all it is your story. And to be sure, Mom will want to know first hand what all the hoopla is about.” Gavin looked at all of us and then said, “Well, I suppose that about does it?"

"Oh, no. Don't run out on us yet,” I teased him. “There's much more to come! I promise."

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 32

Edna was quiet, no doubt in contemplation of the recent turn in her family tree. She looked at me with a perplexed look and asked: “But how did you find out about the connection between this young woman, Miss Strobel, and my family?"

"Well, that popped up quite by accident,” I explained, “maybe it was just meant to be. When I was researching the vital records of births and deaths, I came across a court case that attempted to name the child that was born to Miss Strobel as a legal heir to Edmund Grayson when Grayson's will was challenged in court. The child, named James Dobbler by his adoptive parents, filed for legal rights to Grayson's estate. Because of lack of evidence documenting his birthright, James Dobbler was denied. The story was published in a Los Angeles newspaper, albeit it was buried in a page of advertisements for grocery retailers and furniture shops."

"I see,” Edna said and then asked, “Do you have further information on this James Dobbler?"

I hesitated for a moment, more for drama than any other reason, “No, I have no other information about him. I did not pursue his lineage or his life once I found out he was denied claim to legal heir."

Edna looked around, “Oh, well. I suppose I could hire a genealogist to help locate his family, if there are relatives alive today.” She smiled, ready to put that questionable hunt behind her.

Francisco used this moment as the perfect opening; “Shall we address the purpose of Mr. MacBride being here?” And not waiting for an answer he added, “Edna, please allow Mr. MacBride to examine your book?"

Edna stood up, “Just a moment, I have it tucked away.” She left the room, exiting out the hallway that led from the living room into the entry and then down through the rest of the house. She returned in a short while, the book was wrapped in the same tea towel that I had seen earlier. She handed the book to MacBride, “Here you go, if the light is not good enough here, then would you be so kind to examine it at my little desk over there?"

MacBride accepted the book and got up, he moved over to the desk where a bright light was already on.

We watched in silence and MacBride looked at the book for several minutes, gingerly flipping pages back and forth from front to back cover and opening the book to pages here and there for a closer examination. He set it down and turned to us. “I do believe, it is authentic and extremely valuable. However, I must advise that until I can examine it under laboratory conditions, I cannot say so with complete accuracy its worth in value of dollars."

Edna was very concerned, “Oh dear, what would that involve?"

MacBride spoke matter-of-factly, “I can arrange for an armed and bonded courier to pick up the book and deliver it to a lab used for examining art and artifacts. The determination process is straightforward and will not harm your book, whatsoever. You see, we use exacting types of tests to identify and authenticate the inks and paper used in the book, as well as dating the bonded leather cover."

"And how long will these tests take?” asked Edna.

MacBride looked once again at the book, then turned to Edna,” I can arrange for your book to be picked-up this Monday. It will be delivered the same day to the lab in San Diego. My best guess is that within two to three days you will have the results."

"Then so be it. I, of course, would prefer for the book to be held at Gavin's in his safe,” She turned to Gavin, “that's okay with you?"

"No problem, I'll be sure to be at the Spotted Coyote all day on Monday, ready for the pick-up."

"Well then,” MacBride started to say when I interrupted.

"Uhmm, I was wondering, Mr. MacBride did you examine the book as a fore-edge book?"

MacBride gave me the weirdest look and said, “A fore-edge book? No, I hadn't even considered it. Miss Delaney, you aren't suggesting this could be that book? Are you?"

All eyes were on me, I felt as if I was under a microscope. “Uhmm, it is a thought, given its history,” I offered. “You see, this book, well, someone thought it valuable enough to murder a little girl. And,” I took a deep breath, “given that the author Robert Louis Stevenson was a personal friend of Goodlett Morghan's and they, Stevenson and Morghan that is, are believed to have been researching an infamous hidden fortune when Morghan was killed by pirates, well, I suspect upon closer examination, we will discover the fore-edge map that Stevenson left on the book.” Whew! I exhaled in a rush and effort to calm down. I looked around, all eyes were on me, except for MacBride, and he had turned his attention to the book.

Edna spoke first, “Fore-edge, what in the world does that mean?"

I had a sense that if I took my time and answered her question, it would buy enough time for MacBride to declare that what I said was true. “Edna, if you would not mind, I brought my laptop computer and I could set it up, right there on your desk, you see I have my notes about your book on it, and I can better explain by showing you examples of what I am talking about."

"Well, certainly dear. Go right ahead and do that."

I got up and walked out to the pantry room to fetch my laptop out of my satchel. In digging around in the satchel I noticed that Eric hadn't yet made the switch in books. All the better I thought, I would be using the authentic book for my explanation, leaving no chance that MacBride or anyone else would discover our ruse. I came back into the living room. Mr. MacBride had cleared off a spot on the desk. He held the book in both hands, evidently, he saw in the book what I meant and was ready to help me explain my findings. He gave me a nod and a smile and in a quite tone, he said, “Most excellent deduction, Miss Delaney."

I set the laptop on the desk and opened it up; it took me a minute to get back into to my notes and files. “Bingo. If you'll move up a bit closer, please.” Edna stepped up to the desk; right behind her was Gavin and Francisco. Mr. MacBride stood off to the side.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 33

I cleared my throat and said, “First, some background information on the relationship between Goodlett Morghan and the author Robert Louis Stevenson.

"Goodlett Lewis Morghan was born in Wales in 1864 and he died on the open sea near the coast of France in late 1899 when pirates attacked his ship. He is buried in Wales. Goodlett owned and operated a merchant trade business of supplying fabrics such as cotton, silks and wool and home furnishings such as carpets, rugs and furniture. His trade was primarily in markets between Scotland and France. He married Norah in 1898. They lived in Wales. Goodlett kept company with well-known artists and writers in France and in Scotland and while on trips to Scotland he was frequently in the company of Robert Louis Stevenson. Their friendship spanned the years of 1884 until Stevenson's death in 1894. Also, Stevenson would occasionally visit Goodlett's family in Wales. Goodlett never saw his child Sarah; he died a month before her birth. In 1901, Norah with the baby Sarah sailed for U.S.” I looked up from my notes to see if I still had their attention, a nod from Edna told me to continue.

"A very interesting aspect to the friendship between Morghan and Stevenson is that they shared a belief in a buried treasure. Both men relentlessly searched out clues to its whereabouts while in France. Morghan was often in France for business reasons and Stevenson took many summer vacations there. Their visits to France are documented in biographies on Robert Louis Stevenson and through business records of Goodlett Morghan.” I was going to continue when Francisco spoke up.

"This is a very intriguing turn in events, what hidden treasure do you mean?"

I looked at MacBride who stood calmly and held the book in both hands. He had a knowing look on his face, it conveyed to me I was on the right track.

"I'm talking about Morghan and Stevenson's quest to locate the buried treasure of Napoleon Bonaparte."

Edna gasped and said “Dear, oh dear, yet another astonishing discovery!"

Francscio looked suspicious and said, “I have heard of such a treasure. I have always thought it was no more than a myth."

Gavin said nothing, so I continued. I turned to my laptop and pulled up a close-up map of the island of St. Helena. “This shows the Island of St. Helena, located in the South Atlantic Ocean. A thousand miles to the east is the coast of Africa, and a thousand miles to the west is South America. The only other land mass that is close to St. Helena is Ascension Island, seven hundred miles to the north. In 1815, after Napoleon was defeated at Waterloo, the British exiled him to St. Helena. Napoleon died there in 1821.

"During Napoleon's exile it was rumored that a band of French loyalists to Napoleon plotted and prepared for his escape by burying a treasure in French gold and valuables on Ascension Island. The plan was for two English-speaking French soldiers to infiltrate the British guards that oversaw Napoleon's exile and arrange for Napoleon to secretly sail away on a small ship to Ascension Island. Once there Napoleon and his crew would dig up the buried gold and sail to South America where allies had established a small colony.

"Napoleon died before this could take place, or the plot was never executed. No one knows for certain. However, the myth and lore of the buried treasure did not die. It is believed by treasure hunters that Stevenson, using clues he and Morghan had discovered and deciphered over many years of hunting, discovered the exact location of Napoleon's exiled gold and in an effort to communicate his knowledge to Morghan, Stevenson left a map in a book sent to Morghan. Appropriately enough, the book is rumored to be Treasure Island."

Edna was wide-eyed, “But dear, there's nothing drawn in the book, no pictures, no map!"

I turned to Mr. MacBride; “You are far better adept at it than I to demonstrate the fore-edge illustration."

He smiled and said, “It is my pleasure.” He held the book, closed tight, with the gilded edged facing us. “The fore-edge is the long side of the page ends. Notice that with this book, the edges are heavily gilded in gold. Fore-edge refers to the painting of the edges, hidden by the gilding.” MacBride gently laid the book on its back and then ever so slightly fanned out the edges, before our eyes a pictorial scene of pastel hues was revealed. “This scene depicts a small sailing ship, look closely and you will see that it is flying the flag of France."

In turn we all came up for a close look. Edna stepped back and asked, “But where's the map or clues?"

Mr. MacBride turned to me, “Miss Delaney, would you care to explain?"

"Mr. MacBride, if you would be so kind to reverse the fanning of pages?” I turned to Edna, “In this case, the true pictorial, or scene that Stevenson wanted to convey is on the reverse. It was a clever technique for the time, since most collectors of fore-edge books did not think to look for the scene in a backward order."

MacBride flipped the book over as if he were going to read it from its last page to its first page and when he fanned out the book; there was the map!

"I do declare!” exclaimed Mac Bride; “Stevenson was magnificently clever in doing this. Look, right there is St. Helena and off to the side, at the opposite, near the top margin is Ascension Island!"

"How do you know for sure?” Gavin asked.

"I know!” I offered. “See that little rocky outcropping, that's known as Boatswain Bird Island, it's part of Ascension Island but so-named for the unique species of birds that nest there. Those birds, as tiny as they are, are unique in appearance, they are Ascension Frigatebirds and Boatswain birds."

Francisco stood up and moved closer for a better look, “And that arch on the South side, look, it has a small red-lettered X next to it."

"That must be where the treasure is buried,” I announced.

We gawked in awe at the little book until Edna asked Mac Bride to close it. He did so and handed it to her. She carefully wrapped the book in the tea towel and disappeared out of the living room and down the hall. It's now or never I thought to myself, hoping Eric would use this opportunity to make the switch. Once Edna came back, I knew the visit would quickly come to an end.

Edna slumped down into her chair down. Poor dear, she looked like she was the one who needed a cup of tea.

"Edna,” I said to make sure I had her attention, “I did further research on your book and I know that the French Government has an open reward offering several million dollars to anyone who hands over the book to them. You see, St. Helena and Ascension Island are still under British rule and if England gets a hold of the buried treasure first, well, the French cannot claim it."

Edna nearly fainted, “Oh, oh, oh dear! What am I to do? I sure don't want to make enemies with the French or the English!

"Perhaps,” Francisco said in a calm tone, “once the book is authenticated, you could have it put up for auction by a reputable auction house here in the U.S. That way, you are not taking part in a biased arrangement. The auction management will see to it that the French and English will have equal opportunity to bid on the book."

Edna perked up, “Yes, yes, I do like that idea! Thank you so very much Detective Zavala. And, I thank all of you."

That was perfect timing as far as I was concerned. I turned to Francisco; “We should be on our way. But Edna, please know that we are only a phone call away."

"Yep,” Gavin said, “and I'll see to it that the book is put back in my safe. Edna, darlin', why don't you go freshen up and I'll take you back to my Mom's house, and you two can gab all night long."

Gavin's offer was all the encouragement Edna needed. We said our good-byes and I walked through the hall to the pantry room to put away my laptop. When I placed my laptop in its satchel I felt around with my hand and could tell there was a book at the bottom. I prayed it was the real book and not the phony one.

On my way out the door I stalled just a moment long enough to guarantee Eric had the time and space he needed to exit with me. The last thing I wanted to do was accidentally exile my ghost at Edna's!

Francisco had remained behind saying he would share a taxi with Paul MacBride. I'm sure the two of them had plenty to talk about.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 34

I returned to my cottage and hurried up the stairs. Once inside, I took the real copy of Treasure Island out of my satchel. I securely enveloped the book in a freezer-safe sealed plastic bag and hid it in the kitchen cupboard inside a half empty cereal box. I made sure several inches of corn flakes completely covered up the bagged book! Good thing I like to bring my own groceries with me when I travel, corn flakes can come in handy.

Relieved that the book was safe, I was about to make a cup of hot cocoa when in looking out the window, I saw the glow from the orchard I witnessed before. Once again, little Sarah's ghost emerged from the orchard's path.

"Eric?” I called out as I moved closer to the window.

"I am here."

He was right beside me, facing the window, watching the glow move through the orchard.

"Can't you do something?” I pleaded

"Such as?"

"Go to her. Please, can't you have some kind of ghost-to-ghost talk with her? Let her know we know who killed her? Please Eric, let Sarah know she is free to finally be at rest?” Tears filled my eyes and trickled down my cheeks.

Eric reached up and wiped away my tears. I turned to the window. Sarah was now in full view, standing in the same spot she did before, looking up at us.

"Yes, as you wish. I cannot make a promise. Albeit, I will attempt to let her know, she is now safe, she is free.” Eric looked at me and gave a wistful smile. He seemed to have doubts about his ability. He turned around and then as quickly turned back around and asked, “Do you have paper and pencil I may take to her?"

I reached over the table and got my large yellow legal pad of paper and a pencil, “Here, take these."

No sooner had he taken them, did he vanish. I turned back to look out the window, and there, on the ground right next to Sarah, Eric stood. He knelt down on one knee and faced Sarah. She turned to him, smiled and said something that I couldn't hear.

I watched in amazement that I, a mere human, could observe this awe-inspiring and seemingly normal exchange between two ghosts! A tall handsome man engaged in a conversation with a delightful little girl that could be his niece. They laughed, and I wondered, is Eric telling Sarah knock-knock jokes?

Eric took out the pad of paper and a pencil; he handed them to Sarah. She balanced the pad on his knee and began to draw! He watched her with a smile on his face and then she handed the pencil to him and pointed toward the window, at me. Sarah turned to Eric and gave him a big hug, he stood up and Sarah walked back into the orchard. I followed her with my eyes and noticed that ahead of her, in the distance shrouded by the trees, there was a brighter glow, a dazzling starburst of light that she walked toward. Sarah disappeared from my sight as she walked deeper into the orchard and closer to the light. I timed her gait and just when I estimated she would have reached the starburst of light, the light fragmented into millions of glimmering tiny stars and then in the blink of an eye, the starburst was gone. In my heart, I knew that Sarah was finally at peace.

I caught my breath and then exhaled deeply. Eric stood right behind me.

"Would you care to see the picture Sarah drew for you?"

"For me?” I asked, incredulous that this could be.

Eric stepped in close beside me and held out the picture, choosing to keep it in his grasp, he said, “I'm afraid if you handle it, it will disappear."

I nodded and gazed in fascination at the drawing. Eric couldn't help but to point out, “See, this is Sarah. She is standing by a garden gate and behind her are all these lovely things, flowers and people she loves and look, her dog is beside her."

It was the dog that captured my attention. He was huge, obviously a black and white harlequin Great Dane. His left ear had been cut short and on his forehead was a unique birthmark, a heart-shaped black spot. “Eric, that's not Sarah's dog!"

"Oh?"

"No, that's my dog! The dog I grew up with, when I was about Sarah's age. See the left ear, how it is cut straight across toward the end. That happened when he was just a puppy and his ear got caught in a cupboard door. And that birthmark? The heart on his forehead? Because of that mark, he was disqualified from being a show dog and my dad bought him as a puppy, the breeder didn't want Hammy because of that disqualification."

"Hammy?” Eric asked with amusement.

"My father named him Hamlet, but he was always Hammy, to me."

Eric smiled, “Yes, of course, Hamlet, because the dog is a Great Dane! Then I might add, what Sarah whispered to me, to tell you, makes perfect sense."

"Oh?"

Eric turned to me, “She said that you should not be afraid when your time comes. They will wait for you by the gate.” Eric handed Sarah's picture to me and said, “Before you take it, remember it well, let this picture and Sarah's words become indelible in your heart and in your memory."

I took the picture in my hands and watched as the drawing faded away into nothingness. Within seconds all that was left was a blank piece of paper. I looked up, Eric was gone.

I slept soundly and without dreams that night. When I woke in the morning, I had a profound sense of peace. I was ready to deal with the disjointed evilness of the earth-bound world.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 35

I busied my morning and afternoon doing some laundry. Odessa made her washing machine and dryer available to me and it was fun to sit and chat with her waiting for my laundry to finish. It was the only time I had ever wished I had more than two loads of laundry to do. By one-thirty I was finished and Odessa insisted I stay for a late lunch. She made grilled cheese sandwiches saying that anytime there's laundry to do it's a good idea to have comfort food to ease the drudgery. We sat at a small picnic table near the side of her house that faced the orchard. For a moment I indulged in the poignant happenings from last night as I gazed out into the orchard, lost in thought.

Aware of my silence, I broke my gaze; “This is the best grilled cheese sandwich I've ever had! What's your secret?"

I had caught her with her mouth full. Odessa chewed, swallowed and dabbed a napkin at the corner of her mouth, “Mustard. Just a light swipe of classic ball park yellow mustard really brings out the flavor of the cheddar cheese. I guess every family has there own grilled cheese sandwich traditions, this is mine."

"Hmmm, if you don't mind, I'm making it a Shannon Delaney family tradition. You know,” I continued with a smile but in all sincerity, “many years from now when I make grilled cheese sandwiches for my children and grandchildren I'm going to tell them about you, your home here and this orchard. I can't imagine a more prefect setting, a more perfect companion for a picnic."

Odessa's eyebrows shot up, “Children? Are you planning to settle down soon, marry and have children?"

"Oh, no, not anytime soon. But someday I probably will. At least I am sorta planning on it. Though, I guess you can't really, honestly plan on falling in love, can you?"

Odessa set down her sandwich, “I agree. It just happens and hopefully you fall for the right guy. I did.” She laughed and I did to.

I finished my sandwich and swallowed the last drop of lemonade. “I best get going."

Odessa got up and began picking up our dishes, “You go on, I'll see you tonight at the Spotted Coyote's Grand Opening. Isaac insists on getting there early to get the best seats, whatever those are, and we'll be sure to save one for you. How about Detective Zavala, should we save a seat for him, too?"

"Yes and thank you. I'll be sure to let him know. Bye and thanks for the lunch."

Odessa went off to her home and I went back up the stairs to my cottage. Even though I wasn't leaving until tomorrow afternoon, I wanted to have most of my belongings packed. I was busy folding laundry, trying to decide what to keep out, for now, when Francisco called and said he was about to leave, and asked if I would ride with him. I told him to go on without me, I still had a few things to do and I didn't want to get there as early as he did. I told him about Odessa and Isaac saving seats for us, and at that moment I looked out to the driveway, Odessa and Isaac were pulling away.

"They're leaving right now. So you won't be the only person showing up really early. I'll be there later, before curtain time, I promise."

I hung up and went into my bedroom to freshen up and get ready. I decided to dress for the occasion in a cowgirl theme to the best my creativity and wardrobe would allow. I donned my blue jeans and a red gingham blouse with a ruffled collar. I slipped on some moccasin flats and pulled my hair back into a ponytail. As a last minute thought I loosely tied a red cowboy type bandanna around my neck. A quick check in the mirror confirmed that the color red brightened the green in my eyes and ever so lightly highlighted my auburn locks. Well, I wasn't exactly the spitting image of Annie Oakley, but at least my garb paid homage to the Old West.

One more thing to check on before leaving. I went to the kitchen cupboard and took out the pseudo box of corn flakes. A peek inside told me the book was safe. I set it back in the cupboard, up behind a box of saltine crackers. I arranged the cracker box in front and then set my can of La Llave coffee next to it.

I arrived at the Spotted Coyote and had to pull around the corner and down the street to find a parking spot. The place was packed! Walking in I spotted Odessa, Isaac and Francisco sitting at a table just one table away from the stage front. A couple of other people were with them. Francisco pulled out a chair for me. Odessa did the introductions. I learned that the three strangers were Odessa's longtime girlfriends from college. All three, Becky, Leesa and Trudy were teachers in San Diego and had traveled here for tonight's show.

I was just about to ask them a few questions when the overhead lights dimmed and the stage lights came on. A hush fell over the crowded room.

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Chapter 36

Gavin walked out on stage. He was outfitted in full cowboy regalia, including a tan suede drover's coat, brown shirt and pants and tan pointy-toed boots with silver spurs. A couple of young women at the back of the restaurant gave loud wolf whistles, and one hollered, “Hey Sundance, you can ride my pony anytime!"

Oscar was quick on the scene and he hustled them outside, no doubt for a cautionary word or two about tonight's agenda being family oriented. Gavin shrugged off the comment.

"Looks like the Spotted Coyote's lead wrangler had to take care of a few broomtail fillys. You'all at the bar, pardon Oscar for the moment, he'll be right back, darn sure."

The crowd laughed and applauded. Gavin waited for the right moment and then continued, “Ladies, gentlemen and children, tonight we have for your enjoyment a samplin’ of entertainment to come. And while your eyes are on the stage, our staff of cowboys and senoritas will be serving up Julian's famous apple pie, along with coffee, tea or apple cider, all on the house.” The applause was nearly deafening. Gavin waited again for it to subside. “First on stage is the bedazzling balloon artist, Mr. Bellows!"

Gavin stepped off stage and Mr. Bellows came on. He was dressed like a rodeo hobo clown and my immediate thought was that rodeo clowns aren't scary looking like the circus clowns of my childhood nightmares, which looked just like circus clowns of the wide-awake world. Mr. Bellows was goofy looking. He wore a tattered old coat, baggy pants and polka dot shirt with a striped bow tie. The colors were a mixed-up palette of orange, green and yellow. Not quite a mime, he said very little and used gestures instead.

Pointing to a small table that had dozens of deflated balloons on it, he held up three fingers and pointed to the crowd. Children of all ages raised their hands. Comically and with exaggeration he pointed out three children, they happily clambered up on the stage.

The audience watched in wonder for the next twenty minutes as Mr. Bellows delighted children in blowing up balloons in all sizes and shapes and twisted them into three-dimensional forms at the request of each child. Of course each child sought to challenge Mr. Bellows’ ability to create a variety of animals and the children were never disappointed. The display came to an end when Bellows made every child a kangaroo hat and he got them to hold hands and hop off stage. Mr. Bellows bowed and thanked the audience, everyone applauded and as they did so, Bellows left the stage and Gavin entered.

This time he introduce a mime troupe called Silence is Golden. Three mimes, all dressed in classic black with white faces came out onto the stage with a large cartoonish looking storage trunk. One mime opened the trunk and took out yellow fireman coats and hats. The mimes quickly slipped on the costumes and then the same mime picked out of the trunk a large sign, he held it up. It read: Fireman! Save My Child! Another fireman mime blew a horn and out from behind the curtains bounded five small dogs of a variety of breeds. Next, two stagehands brought out a tall false front building made to look like an Old West hotel, from which five window openings were on the second story. By no mistake did the stagehands wheel the building around for a 360 view before setting it square with its front facing the audience. The five dogs trotted up the pooch ladders in the back of the building to sit in the windows.

Once the dogs were in place and the stagehands left, red and yellow lights mimicked flames licking at the windows and the mimes went into action creating a hilarious and havoc scene by which each dog acted out in barking and pawing the air on cue, begging to be rescued. In between rescuing the dogs, the mimes would solicit the audience to choose which dog to rescue next. Great time was had by all as the audience interacted booing, hissing and clapping as dogs were rescued. Once all dogs were rescued, the mimes and their pooches bowed and scampered off stage. The stagehands came back to fetch the props.

Then, the ambiance became darkly dramatic. The stage lights were dimmed even lower and blue floodlights skirted the stage front, giving an eerie glow.

Gavin came on stage and this time he was dressed all in black, cowboy gear nonetheless, but black! His face was serious; he was in character as the Cowboy Conjurer! It was a striking look. Gavin bowed deeply.

"May I ask a volunteer to come on stage?"

Several women raised their hand, now that didn't come as a surprise. Gavin played out the moment. He looked at each and every person and then gestured to a young woman who was dressed plainly, in tan slacks and a light blue blouse. I guessed her to be about my age, mid-twenty-something. She had long brown hair and wore little makeup, pretty in a college coed way. She stepped up on stage and walked over to Gavin.

Without smiling, he asked, “What's your name?"

"Carrie,” she replied.

Gavin turned from her and faced the audience, announcing, “With Miss Carrie assisting me, I will allow her to make me disappear."

That got everyone's attention! The stagehands reappeared rolling a tall box that looked like a coat closet on wheels. They brought it to a stop right behind Gavin and locked all four wheels. Gavin turned and opened up the door to the portable closet.

"Miss Carrie, please step inside to inspect the interior, I will leave the door open."

Gavin stepped off to the side and Carrie stepped in. At first I thought she was a plant, but the way in which she inspected the closet convinced me she wasn't. She poked, pounded and slid her hands all around the interior, then she stepped out.

Gavin asked her, “Miss Carrie, what did you find?"

Wide-eyed she said aloud, “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” She looked at the audience and announced “This closet is solid as a rock."

Gavin stepped up to the open closet and turned to the audience. “Once I enter the closet and Miss Carrie closes the door, I would like two men volunteers to come up here, unlock the wheels, rotate the closet exactly three times and then open it."

Hands sprung up! “Let me clarify,” Gavin announced, “Miss Carrie will choose two volunteers after I have been shut in the closet.” Not uttering another word, Gavin stepped inside the closet and Carrie shut the door.

She stood on stage alone, looking out at the audience and a sea of raised hands.

"Uhm......, Dad would you come up, and uh, uh,” She looked around, “oh, Isaac, would you come up?"

Isaac and Carrie's dad, whom she failed to introduce, got up on stage. Just as Gavin instructed, they unlocked the wheels and rotated the closet exactly three times. Isaac and Carrie's dad stepped aside as Carried opened the door.

Gavin wasn't there!

The audience gasped and roared with comments wondering how he pulled it off. After a couple of minutes of audience commentary, Carrie piped up and said, “Uh, maybe we should repeat the process to bring Mr. Longstreet back?"

Everyone agreed with that. So, Carrie closed the closet door and the two men rotated the closet and Carried stepped up to open it again.

Gavin wasn't there!

Some people laughed, and some heckled, most were whispering about what to do next. But not me, I got a sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach. I looked at Francisco and he got up and made his way over to the bar where Oscar was. I saw him step in behind the bar and whisper to Oscar. Oscar quietly made his way to the stage.

"Folks, Folks,” Oscar said in a friendly and loud tone. “That's all for tonight. Remember, Mr. Longstreet said this was a sampling of what you can expect, so it's no surprise he's vanished. I'm sure he wants you all to re-appear in the week to come to find out how he did it!"

Everyone got a good chuckle out of that and they began to disperse. Francisco hastily excused himself and I noticed that he hurried back stage. I did my best to act naturally with Isaac, Odessa and her friends. And as soon as I saw them off to their cars, I made haste back to the Spotted Coyote. Oscar had already locked up and turned off most the lights. I tapped on the window and he let me in.

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Chapter 37

"Where's Francisco?” I asked Oscar as I walked into the main room and looked around.

"He's still in the back in one of the rooms behind the stage, or he might be in the kitchen with Miss Vera.” Oscar nodded toward the back.

"Vera? I'd completely forgotten about her. So she knows nothing of this?"

"No. Not at all. As you can imagine, she is confused and very upset. I think her friend Edna is back there with her. Shall I go tell them you are here?"

"Uh, no, I'm going to find Francisco and if he is with Vera and Edna, all the better."

Oscar seemed to agree or at least he was just as confused as we all were and had no reason to object. He began to tidy up the place, pushing chairs back in, wiping down the tables. I noticed too, that he had already closed all the curtains and pulled shades down on all the windows, except for the small one by the door that I had used to peek in. I made my way to the back of the restaurant and found Francisco, Vera and Edna in the kitchen. I entered slowly. Francisco saw me and gestured me to where they were sitting at a cook's kitchen table in a corner by a small window.

Vera was in tears and dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. She saw me and said, “I'm so sorry Shannon, it looks like you were duped, too."

I looked to Francisco, “So, Gavin has really and truly disappeared?"

He nodded. Then Edna added, “Not only that, he cleaned out the safe! He left Vera without a cent. Why, if ever I get my hands on him, that no-good selfish thief, I'll give him a piece of my mind! He not only broke the bank, he's broken Vera's heart, too!"

"Vera, I'm so sorry. Do you have any idea why Gavin would do this?” I asked as tenderly as possible.

She was about to say something when the kitchen door was pushed open, she looked over and said, “Alex, do you have any idea why he would do this?"

"Alex!” I exclaimed.

Alex stepped in, slowly and cautiously, first he addressed my astonishment, “Shannon, I'll explain later. For now, understand that I had to fool you, in order to fool Gavin.” He looked around for another chair, there wasn't one, so he pulled up a three-legged stool from the butcher's table on the other side of the kitchen. He draped his jacket over the back of my chair and sat down next to me.

Alex was quiet for a moment, I could tell he was carefully choosing what to say next. “Vera, ever since Gavin and I shared college lodging in Paris, that one summer years ago, Gavin has been on the hunt for the Treasure Island book, the one that is Edna's."

"Oh, good grief, you mean that is what this is all about?” Edna interrupted and then continued, “This smoke and mirrors business is all because Gavin wanted my book?"

Alex explained in a quiet and serious tone. “I doubt if Gavin as ever wanted anything more than that book, your book. In Paris he would spend long afternoons chasing down book dealers and antique merchants. By night he hit the cabarets and bars, hoping to befriend sailors who knew of the myth, the legend that your book earned. With Gavin, the lust for that book was more than just a treasure hunt, you see; he felt he was entitled to it. Albeit, at that time and place, I had not, could not, have known he felt the book was his birthright."

"Huh?” Edna said with a look of complete confusion.

I looked at Alex and nudged him. He turned to me, “Shannon, the reason I lied to you is because I found out that you made the connection between Gavin and Miss Strobel. That was when I realized that Gavin's sole purpose for asking you here was because he had learned about your uncanny ability to,” he hesitated and I knew he wasn't just going to come right out and say communicate with ghosts, “speak to the past, as Francisco has described your ability. Gavin was betting on you solving Sarah's death and in doing so, you would dig up information he needed to find the Treasure Island book. Turns out, it was better than he could have ever imagined, you found the Treasure Island book!"

"And that's when you had a replica made?” I asked.

"Yes. Luckily, in my line of expertise of merchant marine trade history, I have met a few artists who replicate rare and valuable originals, for the purpose of museum displays and such."

"So, the book I have is not authentic?” Edna asked.

I turned to her; “Your book is the real deal. The book that Gavin has stolen is not. At the meeting last night at your house, I had the fake book in my satchel and I switched it with the real one before I left. It's safely tucked away at my cottage.

"Actually,” Alex said, “I have it with me. Before coming here I stopped off at Shannon's cottage and picked it up.” He reached into his jacket's pocket and pulled it out. The book was still in the plastic bag. He set it on the table in front of Edna. He brushed off a few corn flake crumbs that clung to the bag, smiled and said to me, “Good choice, remind me to always let you hide the family treasure."

Edna was elated! “Vera I can't fix your broken heart that a no-good scoundrel broke. But by golley, I can go into business with you and we'll make this here Spotted Coyote work."

Vera looked up, and a small smile broke through her misery. “But why would he do this? And what do you mean by a connection between Gavin and Miss Strobel?"

"Well, I guess I have to be perfectly honest. You see, when I told Edna I hadn't followed up on what happened with the child that Miss Strobel had, the one that the adopted parents named James Dobbler, well that's not the whole truth. At the time I thought that if I revealed what I knew it could ruin everything. You see; James Dobbler repeated the mistake of his father, he too had an affair with a young woman and would not marry her and she had a child out of wedlock. The child was a little girl that ended up in a series of foster homes, was never adopted and she repeated her mother's situation and gave birth to an out-of-wedlock child. She had a little boy and named him Royce Longstreet, his mother gave him the father's surname.” At that point I felt it was best if Vera took up the story.

Vera explained, “When I found out I couldn't have children, we decided to take in foster children. For ten years my husband and I fostered many wonderful children, and many of them did go on to be adopted, except this one little boy, that was Royce. So, when we decided to give-up foster parenting, because of time constraints of getting a business going, only Royce was left. He was just a little boy, only three years old. We adopted him and named him Gavin. He never had liked Royce as his name and he chose Gavin from a baby name book we had. It wasn't until about the time he went into college that he wanted to use his birth surname. Well, with my husband now passed on, I thought it wouldn't hurt. I had no idea he hid so many ill feelings. I do recall one time when he was a teenager and had learned how to drive that he wanted to find his birth parents. I tried the best I could to help, but we never found any real information. Then, Gavin located a library in Los Angeles that had a genealogy section and it was at that library he would spend afternoons. Each time he returned he said he hadn't had much luck. After a while, I thought he had accepted the fact that he wouldn't ever know his birth parents."

Vera sighed deeply. It seemed to me that the reality of Vera's situation was becoming clear. And she was accepting the fact that no matter how loving of a home she had provided, Gavin was his own person with his own warped ideas not influenced by the love and common decency of his adopted parents.

Francisco lent an air of sensibility when he brought up the issue of making sure the real Treasure Island book would be delivered safely into the hands of the courier in the morning. He also boosted Edna's and Vera's spirits by letting them know that he had made a cursory call to the most prestigious auction house in New York and they had made an offer to represent the Treasure Island book in an exclusive international sale. He then informed them that he planned to stay right here at the Spotted Coyote all night in the company of off duty Deputy Gomez. They would personally deliver the book to the armored courier first thing in the morning.

Oscar poked his head through the kitchen door to ask if he should start to close up. But when Francisco informed him of the plans, he offered to stay and keep them company. He then went back out to put some coffee on.

"He's a good man, that one,” Edna said in reference to Oscar. “I should think we might could consider making him a partner?"

"Why, I suppose so,” Vera nodded her head. I could tell she was wondering what we all were thinking, but hesitant to say, so I piped up.

"Francisco, what will happen to Gavin?"

"He'll be caught, sooner than later. The replica book Alex provided has a hidden electronic bug in its spine. It will set off any type of security alarm. The police have been notified and I bet by now the F.B.I. are on the look out for Gavin. We'll probably have news soon. I doubt if he'll try and exit through an airport in California. My best guess is he's on his way to catch a flight in Arizona, probably out of Tucson or Phoenix."

Alex nudged me, “How about if I take you home?"

"That's okay, I have my car."

"Sorry, but you don't. Gavin used your car as his getaway."

"No! I had some stuff in it, my camera and a few extra clothes!"

"But nothing of great value?” Francisco asked.

I thought for a moment, and then shook my head. “No, not really."

"Then let Alex take you home tonight and tomorrow you can ride back to San Diego with me. We'll file a stolen car report in the morning."

Alex got up and took his jacket from the back of my chair, then I stood up. We said our good-byes and walked out. Once outside, the night was clear and a bit cool. I crossed my arms and Alex put his jacket around my shoulders.

I stopped short of getting inside his car. “You really and truly had no idea what Gavin was up to?"

"Not at the beginning, when he asked you to come here, honest.” He was sincere. And he looked tired.

"I wish I could just go home tonight,” I mumbled, but Alex heard me.

He opened the door and I got in, then he got in. He turned to me; “I have an idea."

"What?"

"All my stuff is packed in the trunk, let's stop by your cottage pick up your things and head back to San Diego, right now."

Oh, Alex, Rosario will be asleep and I don't want to get her all upset.” I looked at my watch; “It's close to midnight."

"Rosario has heard all about what's going on, I doubt if she's asleep. I'll call her.” And before I could object, he took out his cell phone and speed dialed Rosario. He said hello to her and then handed the phone to me.

"Yes, Okay. Right away. I promise.” I handed the cell back to Alex.

"You planned this?"

"I suggested it to Rosario, that's all. It was she who called me because she couldn't get a hold of you on your cell phone."

I laughed, “Oh, Alex, I just remembered, I left my cell phone in my car!"

I left an envelope with a check in it underneath the back porch mat at Odessa ad Isaac's place. Along with my lodging payment, I gave them the number for Blackthorne House in San Diego and told them to call if they had any questions. Before getting in Alex's car, I stole a look over at the orchard, the night was quite, the orchard was dark, and above in the clear night sky, stars sparkled.

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Chapter 38

In the wee hours of the morning we drove into the driveway at Blackthorne House Bed and Breakfast. I looked up at the grand Victorian mansion and sighed, it seems like whatever happens to me, I always find myself returning here, to my home away from home. I could see a light on in the front parlor. As we walked up to the porch, the foyer light came on and the door opened. Sister Rosario Santiago, my favorite nun and ever-loyal family friend of my deceased parents fretted about me like a mother hen and immediately issued orders like a military general.

"Alex, go on up the stairs and take Shannon's luggage up to her room. Shannon you come in here, I have some hot cocoa for us. Then I want you up the stairs for a good night's sleep.” She hugged me and we walked into my favorite room, the front parlor. Here in its cozy Victorian elegance of tiffany-shaded lamps and a huge Persian rug over the polished wood floor, I sat in my favorite winged-back tapestry chair. Rosario set a cup of cocoa on the table next to me. Alex came in and sat near me, in a companion chair. Rosario served him cocoa and then sat on the sofa facing us.

I looked around and asked, “Are lodgers upstairs?"

Rosario answered, “Yes, both rooms on the second story are occupied. And both of them are leaving in the morning. I must say, if they had known you two were coming in tonight, they would be up waiting too."

"Why?” Alex asked.

"Because one of the lodgers is Paul MacBride and the other is his assistant, a woman named Sandra Santos. When Francisco first got in touch with Mr. MacBride, he specifically requested to lodge here. Alex, I believe Mr. MacBride may want to speak with you about some of the books locked in the library cabinet in the second parlor."

"Oh, by all means, I'll be glad to talk with him or his assistant. Give him my home phone and personal cell number. For some reason, I thought MacBride lived here in San Diego. He and she are leaving in the morning?"

"Well, they only booked for the weekend, so I presume so. No other guests are checking in until Thursday, so if they need to stay longer, no problem. And of course he did live in San Diego when he was on the P.D.. He retired to the San Francisco area,” Rosario explained.

I finished my cocoa and was beginning to fall asleep when Rosario said, “Right now Shannon, let's get you into bed."

Alex took the cue and got up, “I'll call in the morning.” Rosario saw him to the door and I went upstairs, showered quickly and then hopped into bed. The night was deep, dark and quiet. I slept as if I was under the watchful care of Hypnos.

I woke at ten in the morning to the annoying announcement that I had mail! Alex had set my lap top computer on the desk in my room and had it opened and it was on. I got up, muted the sound and switched on the little TV that sat next to the computer. I was far more interested in news than opening e-mail. Finding the news I wanted was easy; Gavin's criminal escapade was on all the major channels! And just as Francisco had suggested, Gavin was caught when he went through security at the airport in Phoenix. And indeed, it was the F.B.I. who caught him. Come to find out, Gavin's criminal activities included the theft of several sought after rare books! All of which were found in his carry-on luggage. And if not for Alex's clever replica book, bugged with an electronic device, Gavin probably would not have been caught!

I switched off the TV and was feeling darn good that Gavin got what he deserved. With the F.B.I. prosecuting him, he'll end up in a federal prison, maybe for the rest of his life!

I switched off the television and turned my attention to my e-mail. Opening up my mailbox I saw a message that read: Guess Who? Looking at the sender's address, Got2bGhost@yahoo.com, I knew Eric was sending me another knock-knock joke! Good grief, he could be relentless once he latched onto something. I was about to open up Eric's letter when I heard a soft rap on my door. It was Rosario, she held out a tray with a thermal coffeepot, and porcelain cup and saucer.

"I thought you might be up. Here, dear, you take this and don't rush getting dressed. I'll be downstairs if you need anything. Mr. MacBride and his assistant are checking out this morning, so if you hear traffic on the stairs, just ignore it."

I thanked her and set the tray at the foot of my bed. I poured a cup of coffee and sipped it while I got dressed. Not sure what I was going to do today, I opted for a favorite pair of jeans, a blue knit tank top and a blue chambray long sleeve blouse. Comfy, but not too fashionable. I could change later if I was going to go anywhere. I was about to brush my hair when the mail alarm went off, again. Good grief! I thought I had muted that alarm, what now, Eric has rigged my mail so I can't ignore him? Was Eric trying to drive me crazy with his sense of humor? “Okay, okay, okay!” I said aloud and opened up the mail. Sure enough, Eric had sent a knock-knock joke!

"Knock. Knock,” Eric wrote.

"Who's there?” I e-mailed back.

"Abbott!” Eric answered.

"Abbott who?” I replied.

Silence! No immediate reply from Eric. What is he up to? I tapped my fingers on the desk. “C'mon Eric, you're the one who is so anxious I open up your e-mail and play along with your joke!” I hissed to the screen.

Ping! Eric answered back.

"Isn't it Abbott time you answered the door?"

"What?” I said aloud. I don't hear a knock or doorbell. I listened carefully. I could make out a sound on the stairs, footsteps followed by a soft clunk-thud noise, I figured it was MacBride or his assistant moving a suitcase down or up the stairs. Now it was silent, and I could swear the noise came to a stop right outside my door.

"Rosario?” I asked.

No answer.

Again and a little louder I asked, “Rosario?"

No answer. Well it's not her; she would have come in by now. I turned to my computer to see if Eric had left another message and that was when I heard a loud knock on my bedroom door.

"Who is it?"

No answer. But again, a loud knock at my door.

Ping! My e-mail box sounded. I turned to the screen and there was another e-mail letter from Eric. It was a repeat of his message, but this time it was in bold font:

"It is Abbott time you answered your door!"

I took a deep breath, “Okay Eric,” I sighed,

I slowly walked the few paces to my door, and cautiously opened it.

"You!” I screamed.

"Hey gorgeous!"

It was Zach, and except for a heavy cast on his leg and foot, he looked great!

I fell into his arms!

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Author's Notes

Cover

The vision of the Turning Angel used for this book's cover is a photo by Christopher Cox, taken at Natchez Cemetery in Natchez, Mississippi. The picture was taken at night on a scheduled stop of the Natchez Ghost Tours operated by Mississippi historian, Eric Williams, on Halloween Night 2008.

Book covers are not in the hands of a single person, and for this I am grateful because a picture in and of itself does not make a book cover idea come to life. Breathing life into the Turning Angel photo is the result of the professional effort and art of the talented Shelley Rodgerson Chase.

Storyline

This identical angel statuary is also in the Clonmel Old Church Cemetery, County Cork, Ireland. As an author whose ancestry is in Mississippi and out of County Cork, Ireland, I could not resist the gentle urging that Fate was guiding my pen to write.

The aforementioned tour on Halloween Night in 2008 cinched the concept for this book. It was when I was under the spell of Eric Williams’ knowledgeable and entertaining narrative about Natchez history and ghosts that I hatched the plot for A Ghost Meets and Angel. The woeful story of little Sarah Morghan is based in part on the reality of the Natchez Drug Company disaster. In my story, my description of the disaster is based on newspaper accounts that followed within days of the event.

Located on the eastern side of San Diego County in southern California's mountain region, the town of Julian was perfect for my setting and had been an idea long in the making. That idea came full circle with the Southern element of a Natchez connection. Southerners founded Julian in the late 1860s. It has been a mining boomtown and later, after the mines went bust, apples were introduced. Apples became the saving grace of the town and to this day, Julian is a premier apple-growing region that is famous for its apple pie.

My depiction of a friendship between the fictitious Goodlett Lewis Morghan and the very real Scottish author Robert Louis Stevenson is alive only in my imagination. To the best of my knowledge and research, Stevenson, nor anyone within his circle of friends, ever pursued a so-called lost treasure of Napoleon Bonaparte. And as a personal homage, I chose Robert Louis Stevenson in a nod and a wink to a paranormal author whom I greatly admire. And my use of the surname Morghan draws upon my ancestry from a grandmother I never knew.

The lost treasure as portrayed in my story is a fanciful tale that I first heard as a child while on vacation in the Caribbean. However, it is not beyond the reach of reality or imagination, to believe that some treasure tales are truths waiting to be discovered.

Chapter 1

Julian is at a four-season elevation of 4,500 feet and is situated between the northern end of the Cuyamaca Mountains and the southern slope of Volcan Mountain. It is fifty miles northeast of San Diego and driving there is accessed via state highways and mountain roads. The Julian Chamber of Commerce was very helpful in my research. The Chamber's web site is a good starting point for anyone interested in Julian: www.JulianCa.com

Shannon's reference to Gavin's physical resemblance of actor Robert Redford is from the classic western movie: Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, released in 1979 and starred Paul Newman as Butch and Robert Redford as Sundance.

Chapter 2

Architectural writer Rosemary Thorton describes the American Foursquare House as “American as Apple Pie.” As a style of very functional housing, the Foursquare was used from 1890 to 1930 and it represents the quintessential farmhouse, rural house as well as an orchard house style very popular in California. More about Thorton's study on the web site: www.oldhouseweb.com

Chapter 5

Francisco’ menu choice of Hangtown Fry is no joke and his recounting of its history is true.

Chapter 7

The jumping rope rhymes used in this story are in fact jumping rope rhymes. However they did serve another use, predating their popularity for jumping rope. The rhymes were also counting rhymes, used in lace making, mostly by children when lace was hand-loomed. The onset of the Industrial Revolution in the late-1700s that continued for a century of remarkable machine-oriented progress made hand-made lace nearly obsolete. What once took a child days to make could be manufactured by machine in minutes. Children went to work in the sweatshops of sewing and looming manufacturers and their lace counting rhymes became the singsong entertainment of games for children.

G.H.O.S.T. as an acronym for Ghost Hunters of Southern Territories is a fictional name I came up with and at the time, no other paranormal investigation group existed in the area with this moniker.

Chapter 10

The reference to Bonanza is the classic TV series and the expansive log home on the Ponderosa Ranch of the Cartwright family. The series ran from 1959 to 1973.

Chapter 11

Gavin's card trick and here's the reveal: This trick, as performed by Gavin is from the late-1800s and early-1900s, and is still performed today, but with far more sophistication. After shuffling the cards, Shannon slips the deck into the original box which Gavin is holding. Shannon made sure the cards are faced down and her card is the last one in the deck, facing down. Gavin handles the box of cards and distracts Shannon with conversation, allowing him to steal a peek at which card is hers. He can detect her card because a small hole is strategically placed on the backside of the box, near a corner and this serves as a peephole for him to identify the bottom card. Today, cards are sold in specially crafted boxes for this specific trick.

Chapter 14

The Natchez Drug Company disaster happened on March 14, 1908. A gas leak was reported and a local plumber was hired to detect it. Unfortunately, the plumber used a lit candle in his exploration of the five-story brick building and the flame from the candle ignited in the gas fumes, instantaneously causing an explosion. Bricks from the building blasted into neighboring stores and homes. In all, ten people died. Some were killed instantly and some died soon after from injuries. Of the employees who died that day, five were young females: Carrie Murray, 22 yrs; Ada White, 19 yrs; Luella Booth, 17 yrs; Inez Netterville, 17 yrs, and Mary Elizabeth “Lizzie” Worthy, 12 yrs. These five were buried at the volunteer expense of the Natchez Drug Company in the grave that is marked by the Turning Angel in the Natchez City Cemetery.

Chapter 15

Much of my research is conducted through primary archives of first-hand information, such as the Newspaper Archive that Shannon used, with the assistance of Alex's name and password. The archive is real, it is a paid subscription archive: www.newspaperarchive.com.

Chapter 18

The carnival game booth cons described in this chapter are real.

Chapter 19

The mentioning of child serial killings stems from murders that occurred in the greater New York area in the summer of 1912. The victims were Mary Barusto, 8 yrs; Sigrid Ekstrorae, 6 yrs; and Julia O'Connor, 12 yrs.

Chapter 24

An iron box doorstop was designed to hold one or two bricks and was a convenient way to use up scrap iron as well broken bricks. The ugly boxes gave way to more decorative iron doorstops.

Chapter 25

La Llave brand of coffee is an espresso grind and is readily available in southern California. The name means, “key."

Chapter 30

The fore-edge book description used as a plot device is real. Though, I have no reason to believe there is such a book regarding Treasure Island that depicts Napoleon's mythical hidden treasure. This concept is derived from my imagination for the sole purpose of the plot. The art of fore-edge books date back to the 1600s and were immensely popular in the 1800s and early 1900s. To create such a book, the pages of a bound book are fanned out and secured by a vice, then the scenery is painted, using the fanned pages as a canvas. Once dried, the painting on the fanned pages in disguised by a thin layer of gold gilt applied to each page's edge. The Antiquarians Booksellers Association of America is a good starting point for learning more about fore-edge book art and collecting, www.abaa.org.

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About Elizabeth Eagan-Cox

Elizabeth Eagan-Cox enjoys digging up history through her own ancestry that is documented to the 1600s in America and to Patriots of the American Revolution of 1776. Elizabeth is a member of the National Society Daughters of the American Revolution, known as the D.A.R. She is equally proud to be a member of the Irish Clan Mac Aodhagain with headquarters at Redwood Castle, Ireland. The authentic spelling of her surname Eagan is Mac Aodhagain ("Mac Egan"). Elizabeth resides in California.

For A Ghost Meets an Angel, book three in Elizabeth's Shannon Delaney paranormal mystery series, Elizabeth used history of the early 1900s to weave together various elements, including the collecting of rare books, California's connection to the culture of the Southern states and the origin of jumping rope rhymes. And of course a little bit of magic as well as a nod and a wink to one of the world's foremost paranormal authors, Robert Louis Stevenson. Visit Elizabeth Online: www.ElizabethEaganCox.net

Visit www.ebooksonthe.net for information on additional titles by this and other authors.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Author's Notes

About Elizabeth Eagan-Cox

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