Ghouls, Ghouls, Ghouls: A Ghost Hunter Mystery Page 9

  “We can’t just leave Gopher there alone,” I argued. “Seriously, Heath, we’ve got to do something.”

  “I can go,” said John. “You two did more running around than me. Plus, the keys to the van are in my room. I can go file a report at least.”

  Heath sighed wearily. “Yeah, okay, John. Thanks.”

  John moved quickly and quietly up the stairs, and everyone else worked their way up at a much slower speed. “I’m so tired I don’t even think I’ll change. I just want to do a face-plant into my pillow,” said Meg.

  “Me too,” said Kim.

  “Me three,” said Gil.

  Heath and I did not play along this time, but I was thinking, Me four ... big-time.

  I don’t remember my head hitting the pillow. I don’t even remember the final steps to my room. I do remember falling immediately into a deep and blissful slumber, and somewhere near daybreak Lord Dunnyvale visited me again. “Hello, good lady Holliday,” he said cordially.

  “Lord Dunnyvale,” I replied, with a dip of my chin.

  “Have you considered my offer?”

  “I have,” I told him. “And I don’t think I like the terms.”

  Dunnyvale appeared taken aback. “Why, I thought they were quite agreeable,” he said to me. “Don’t you want to see your friend again?”

  “Of course I do. But it hardly seems fair that the longer you hide his whereabouts from me, the more likely it is that he’s in mortal danger.”

  “Ah,” said Dunnyvale. “Yes, that’s a good point. Shall I sweeten the deal with a little bullion?”

  I blinked at him. “A little what?”

  “Gold, dear. A little gold.”

  Was he for real?

  “I don’t want your gold, Lord Dunnyvale. I want my friend.”

  But Ranald eyed me with a look that suggested he didn’t believe me. “Everyone wants the gold, lass.”

  I glared at Dunnyvale. “I said I didn’t want it, Lord Dunnyvale. I just want my friend.”

  “Yes, well, start with Alex, then follow the trail to the gold, and there you shall find the clues that will lead you to your friend. You can’t have one without the other, I’m afraid, and you can’t do the last without dealing with the phantom.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You talk in riddles, my lord.”

  Dunnyvale gave me a look of mock surprise. “Do I?” he said coyly. “Why, I believe I’ve spoken quite plainly.”

  And with that, I woke up to the thin pink light of dawn seeping in through the blinds, and Gilley’s soft snores in the next bed.

  “Gil,” I whispered.

  “ZZZZZZZZ ...,” he said.

  I frowned. He looked really deep in sleep, and he was a bear to wake at times like that, but I really wanted to talk this whole visitation from the lord of Dunlow Castle over with someone.

  “Gilley!” I said, right into his ear.

  “ZZZZZZ ... snort ... ZZZZZZZ,” he replied.

  “Fine,” I told him. “Have it your way.”

  With that, I moved off to the shower and soaked up all the hot water.

  A bit later, showered, in clean clothes, and feeling quite refreshed, I tiptoed out of the room in search of food. As I closed the door softly behind me, I found myself staring right into a manly bare chest. “Morning,” said Heath, his voice husky with fatigue.

  I felt a blush hit my cheeks. “Hey, there. You’re up early.”

  The corners of Heath’s mouth lifted. “Thought I’d grab a quick shower before everyone else took the hot water, but I couldn’t get the temp above lukewarm for some reason.”

  The heat in my cheeks intensified. “That may have been my fault.”

  Heath’s grin widened. “I thought I heard you in there. Maybe next time we could share.”

  Sweat broke out onto my forehead, and my eyes darted to the floor. I opened my mouth to say something clever—and absolutely nothing came out.

  I thought of making an excuse and darting away, but Heath wound his strong muscled arms around me and pulled me close. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered into my hair.

  Jesus, he smelled good. I wrapped my own arms around him. His skin was soft and smooth under my touch, and holding on to him, I felt safe and good.

  He rocked us gently back and forth, and for the longest time that was all we did, just held each other and swayed a little. I wanted to kiss him—hell, I wanted to throw him down and mount him—but as I tilted my chin up, my stomach gave a loud rumble.

  The romantic moment evaporated and Heath chuckled. “Hungry?”

  Another blush hit my cheeks. “Yeah, you?”

  Heath’s eyes smoldered into mine. “Oh, I’m famished, M. J. But enough flirting. Let’s get you something to eat.”

  Heath turned away, still holding my hand, and I boldly stood firm, pulling him back. He looked curiously at me, and I took a chance, leaned in, and touched my lips to his.

  He inhaled sharply and there was a sizzle of energy that crackled between us. He then kissed me long and passionately and I wondered why it’d taken us so long to do something that felt so amazing.

  We probably could’ve gone on like that for a while, but someone cleared his throat loudly behind us and we both jumped back. “Morning,” John said, his eyes looking anywhere but at us.

  I fiddled nervously with my hair and Heath looked slightly chagrined. “We were just ... uh ...,” Heath said, his voice trailing off as he looked at me for help.

  “Heading down to breakfast.”

  John cleared his throat again. “Thought you two would want an update on the search for Gopher.”

  I bit my lower lip. Damn. I’d briefly forgotten all about our producer, and I felt awful for indulging in a little tongue hockey instead of focusing on finding him.

  “Did the authorities find him?” Heath asked.

  John shook his head. “No. I smell pancakes and I think Anya’s making us some breakfast. I’ll fill you in downstairs.”

  We trooped quietly after John to the first floor and made our way to the rather cramped dining room. “Well, there you all are!” Anya said happily. “I’ve been watchin’ for you, but I didn’t want to disturb your sleep when you likely got in so late. Am I right?”

  I sat down next to Heath and under the table he squeezed my hand. “This looks amazing,” he told her, nodding at the spread on the table.

  I had to agree. There was an enormous plate of pancakes in the center, flanked by both sausage and bacon, a huge bowl of sliced fruit, juice, tea, coffee, muffins—enough food for an entire platoon of soldiers ...

  “Are those pancakes I smell?”

  ... or one Gilley.

  My best friend bounded into the dining room with a flourish and immediately took his seat and began piling hotcakes onto his plate. “I’ll just have a little,” he said to those of us staring at his lack of decorum. “I don’t want to go overboard on the carbs, you know.”

  I counted five pancakes on his plate.

  Patting his stomach, he added, “I’ve got to watch my figure and all.” Gilley’s attention then snapped to a large basket in the center of the table. “Oooh! You made muffins too?”

  “They’re blueberry,” said Anya, her face flush with pride as she watched Gilley sweep aside the towel keeping them warm.

  He then picked the largest muffin, which was nearly bursting with blueberries, and plopped it onto his plate. “Has anyone seen the butter?”

  I rolled my eyes and handed him the small dish with what looked like freshly whipped butter. Gil snatched it greedily and began slathering it onto his muffin. “I’ll just have a nibble,” he vowed, before taking a huge bite.

  Tearing my eyes away from Gilley, I turned to John again and asked, “How’d it go with the authorities last night?”

  John took two pancakes from the plate in the center. “It didn’t go well.”

  “Mmuff mwpned?” said Gilley, still chewing on the half of the muffin he’d stuffed into his piehole.

  “What’d he
say?” John asked me.

  “He said, ‘What happened?’”I speak fluent Gilley, no matter what language he’s talking.

  John eyed Gil, now thirstily gulping down a large glass of juice. “Uh ... they said that, given the storm surge and currents around the rock, that they couldn’t get a boat out to check out the island until this morning, and they also said that the most they’d be able to do is to search the base of the rock. They flat out told me they would not be going up the stairs to the castle.”

  I stopped spreading butter on my own muffin and looked at John. “Damn. I was afraid of that. They really won’t help us search the castle?”

  John shook his head. “Nope. They were definitely firm on that point. They pretty much repeated what it said on Gopher’s permissive-access papers. That anyone who goes up those stairs is assuming the risk of great bodily harm or death, and they can’t be responsible for someone who gets lost up there or doesn’t come back from Dunlow Castle.”

  “Myrf gddig!” said Gilley, crumbs dribbling onto his sweatshirt.

  “No, he’s not kidding,” I told Gil, before focusing back on John. “So the most they’ll do is, what? Walk around the base of the cliffs looking for Gopher’s dead body?”

  John sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair. “They won’t even do that, M. J. They said that they would only be willing to send a boat, take a few circles around the rock at high tide, and see if they spotted anything. If they saw a dead body, then they’d consider landing onshore. Otherwise, we’re on our own.”

  “That is unbelievable!” I nearly shouted. “I mean, I know Gopher agreed to the no-rescue terms, but how can they justify not helping us?”

  “They’ve lost a member of their own crew, miss,” said Anya.

  I realized suddenly that she was still in the room, and listening to our conversation. “I’m sorry,” I said to her. “What did you say?”

  Anya came over to the table and pulled out a chair. Sitting down, she looked at us gravely for a moment before speaking. “Am I to understand you’ve left one of your group back at Dunlow Castle?”

  I nodded. “Our producer, Peter Gophner, became separated from the rest of us and we were unable to locate him.”

  Anya’s face twitched and there was a haunted look in her eyes. Lowering her voice, she asked, “Did you see the phantom?”

  Heath and I exchanged a look, and I knew he was wondering how much to tell her.

  “Mwf,” said Gilley, with a vigorous nod and crumbs dotting his chin.

  “Oh, my,” said Anya, crossing herself before continuing. “That curse has been a bane on this village for some time now. If I’d have known you were off to explore Dunlow, I would have warned you like I did the others who came through here.”

  Anya had my full attention. “Others?” I asked. “What others?”

  Anya shifted uncomfortably. “Many a guest here has asked me about Castle Dunlow and I always warn them not to go there. A few years back there was an incident at the rock, you see. A young man fell to his death, and the coast guard was called to investigate. One of their new recruits made his way to the top of the rock, and was immediately set upon by the phantom. Within moments, he too was tossed over the side to his death.” Anya then made the sign of the cross, clearly disturbed by the local story. “As we’ve lost one of our own, my American friends, I’m afraid our good lads at the coast guard’ll not be so willing to venture up those stairs ever again, even for the sake of your friend. They believe it’s simply too dangerous.”

  “So what do we do?” Heath asked her.

  Anya exhaled, made another sign of the cross, and refused to meet Heath’s eyes. “At this point, you can only pray, lad. Just pray.”

  Chapter 6

  Anya left us alone after that and no one spoke for several minutes. Finally, Heath broke the silence and he said exactly what I was thinking. “We can’t just leave him there.”

  “We have to go back and search for him,” I agreed.

  “But how do we get around the phantom?” asked John. “Guys, I’m all for rescuing Gopher, but that spook is seriously dangerous, and I’m not interested in getting myself killed in the process.”

  “Mwfnts!” said Gilley, halfway through his pancakes. The rest of us had stopped eating, but Gil still managed to soldier on.

  John and Heath looked at me. “What’d he say?” asked Heath.

  “Magnets.”

  “Ahhhh,” they said together with a nod.

  “You know, that’s a good idea. We could all get sweatshirts like Gil’s, and that phantom wouldn’t be able to touch us,” Heath added.

  But I was worried about the time it would take to get us all oversized sweatshirts, find enough magnets to then glue onto the insides, allow the adhesive to dry—it would take most of the day just to create them. “What if we all just went with our spikes out and exposed?” I suggested, telling the boys also about my concerns with the time.

  “I’m worried we won’t have enough spikes,” said Heath. “I mean, you saw that thing, M. J. We had our spikes out the first time we went looking for Gopher and it pretty much ran right over us. I think sweatshirts are the way to go.”

  “Okay,” I relented. “But I think we should leave the girls behind. It’s dangerous enough with just us, and I don’t think it’s fair to ask them to go back to the rock.”

  “Agreed,” said Heath and John in unison again.

  I glanced at Gilley. He was busy fiddling with his belt buckle, trying to loosen it a few notches. “Will you come with us, Gil?”

  He stopped fiddling and focused on me but quick. “Are you serious?”

  I knew I was asking a lot, but I had my reasons. “We can’t all be wrapped in magnetic sweatshirts, Gil,” I explained. “One of us has to be able to communicate with the castle’s ghosts to find Gopher.”

  Heath eyed me sharply. “What are you saying?”

  I took a deep breath. “I’m saying that I can’t go in there wearing one of the sweatshirts. I’ve got to try and communicate with the resident spooks and see if any of them know where Gopher is. Otherwise, we’ll be stuck there searching that enormous castle while the phantom waits to find a weak spot and attack us again.”

  “Aren’t you going to be our weak spot?” said Gil reasonably.

  “Yes. But I may be able to keep the phantom at bay long enough for you guys to get to me.”

  Heath studied me for a long moment. “I should be the one to go in naked.”

  Briefly, my mind went places it shouldn’t have, before I shook my head and focused on the mission again. “I’ll need you to keep your radar open, and alert me to the phantom’s approach. You three are going to have to stay at least a dozen yards away from me at all times.”

  “Unless the phantom approaches, in which case we’ll have to tackle you all at the same time,” said John.

  “Why do you need me, again?” Gilley squeaked. “You’ll have John and Heath with you.”

  “You run the fastest, my friend.”

  Gilley looked like he was ready to cry.

  “It’s up to you, buddy,” I told him gently. “If you can find the courage to come with us, great. I could sure use you on the team. But if you’d rather stay here, then I won’t judge.”

  “I’d rather stay here!”

  My hopes fell and my eyes dropped to the table. Intuitively I knew I’d need Gilley along, but I also understood what I was asking him to do. Still, it was really disappointing.

  “I mean, I’d really, really rather stay here ... but I’ll go anyway, M. J.,” he added after a moment.

  I lifted my chin. “You will?”

  Gilley was pouting fiercely at me. “Yeah, yeah,” he said. “On one condition.”

  “Anything.”

  “We don’t stay longer than an hour. My delicate nerves can’t take hanging out there longer than that.”

  For much of that morning we searched for our supplies. We finally found a shop that sold sweatshirts—although none was
in a size large enough for Heath or John. “How about T-shirts?” I asked, holding up two XLs.

  “We can wear our jackets over the magnets,” said Heath, coming over to grab one of the T-shirts. “‘Kiss me, I’m Irish,’” he read, and before I knew it, he was shrugging into it. He then stood in front of me and pointed to the lettering expectantly.

  I chuckled and pushed him away. “You fool,” I teased. “We don’t have time for that. We need to get some magnets.”

  The four of us spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon scouring the Irish coastline for a shop that sold magnets. We came up with two small refrigerator magnets encased in plastic with the Irish flag on them.

  “I had a feeling this was going to be harder than it sounded,” I grumbled as we purchased those two and moved on.

  Heath looked at his watch. “We need to make a decision,” he said. “If we really want to go back to the castle before it gets dark, then we’ll only have two hours of good daylight and a tide low enough to cross if we leave in the next hour or so.”

  “And there’s no way I’m going back there when it’s dark,” Gilley said firmly.

  I sighed in frustration. “Fine. Let’s head to the B&B and get suited up. We’ll have to go in using only the spikes and Gilley’s sweatshirt, which really should be enough firepower. But keep the spikes fully exposed, guys. Strap them to your tool belts so there’s no way you can drop them.”

  “Done,” said Heath.

  An hour and a half later we’d gone over our plan, changed and loaded up our tool belts with spikes (I carried some spikes too—but all mine were in their canisters), and we were on our way to the causeway.

  John made a quick stop at the coast guard station to check if there had been any progress in the search for Gopher.

  He rejoined us after a few minutes to report that no sign of our producer could be seen from the cursory check of the island.

  Heath drove us down to the water and I wondered why I didn’t see many local fishermen out and about. Certainly they would know the channel well enough to navigate the treacherous waters. “The currents are really strong,” said Gil. “And there are lots of rocks that jut up to right below the surface. Small boats are advised to stay clear of Dunlow and the causeway.”