Finding the Way Back (11 page)

We worked our way through the stacks and
found a desk that had been buried. When we pulled away the last of
the boxes hiding it, I was pleased to see it was a beautiful piece
of furniture that I could use later in my design. It was made of
heavy walnut with a center top drawer and three drawers stacked on
each side. The top was covered in tawny-colored leather embossed
with gold around the edges. There was an old library lamp sitting
on it but he must have moved his other personal possessions
elsewhere to make room for more boxes.

By the end of the afternoon we had gone
through most of the boxes in the study. We filled both our mother’s
cars nearly to overflowing, and put to the side only eight boxes of
books to figure out later. I made a list of the books we had to
value by some internet research. Probably most of them wouldn’t
have much worth but I hoped to find an unexpected treasure. They
were a mixture of thrillers, old westerns, historical novels,
biographies and everything in between.

“Well, Darling, I think I’ve had as much of
this as I can stand for today. I need to go home and have a shower.
I feel filthy,” my mother said, coming into the study and wiping
dust from her hands. She glanced around at the room. “I haven’t
seen this room up close like this since I was a child, and even
then my father didn’t want me in here. It was always his private
space.”

The dark oak floor boards in the room were
scratched and dented and full of dust and little bits of debris,
but you could still see the old grandeur of the room. I was happy
to see the nineteen seventies updating hadn’t reached this room,
probably because it had already been so filled with boxes.

“When my parents were first married, they
didn’t have much money but they furnished this house a little at a
time,” Mom continued. “As my father became more successful they
added all the woodwork and other touches. I was always surprised
they didn’t move to a grander house as they could afford it. My
father loved to show off his wealth when he was younger with snazzy
clothes and new cars. Since my mother died here maybe he just
couldn’t leave the place.”

I turned at the wistful note in my mother’s
voice. Aunt Shelly leaned on the door frame looking into the room.
Connie came in to sit on one of the window seats, a wisp of dust
rose as she thumped down.

“I always forget she died in the house. How
old were you when it happened?” I asked, stretching my aching back.
I had never been very interested in our family history, but now it
felt like some of the history was coming to life for me. My mom and
her sister told their stories occasionally but they rarely
mentioned other family members. It had to be really difficult for
them, growing up without a mother. But they never dwelt on it. I
was always so worried about my own problems, I never thought what
that must have been like for them.

“I was about twelve, Shelly was ten. It was a
difficult age to lose your mother. Not that there is ever a good
age for it but that’s a particularly difficult period in a girl’s
life. What do they say? Just on the cusp of womanhood. Then, our
father was so shut down. Cold, unemotional. He always seemed like
such a bastard. I don’t know if it was because he no longer had
anything to give or if it was because he was just a bastard,” she
finished with a sad sort of laugh.

“He was just a bastard,” Aunt Shelly joined
in, laughing with my mother. I could tell this was a subject they
had shared before, albeit privately. They weren’t the type of women
to let their experiences cloud the opinions of others. They largely
kept their thoughts to themselves and let others form their own
views. “He was always harder on you than me. I always felt guilty
because of that.”

Connie broke in, “Do you think it might be
Grandma haunting here? She might have unresolved issues. After all,
she died young, leaving her children to fend for themselves.”

“No,” my mother answered assuredly. “Oddly
enough, the haunting started right when they moved in. Our mother
had a few stories even from before I was born. Items not being left
where the person had put them down, light knocking, doors opening
on their own, that sort of thing.”

“It was haunted when they first moved in?” I
felt like an idiot but asked the question anyway. “Don’t tell
me—was it built on ancient burial grounds?”

My mom laughed, walking to the window to look
out. “I don’t think so, at least I never heard of anything like
that around this area. There are some mounds over in Wisconsin on
the banks of the river, but I never heard of any here in town. But
who knows, there might have been something else built on the land
before this house.”

“It sure has been a long time since I’ve been
here,” Aunt Shelly said. Then she perked up and exclaimed
excitedly, “Hey, I’d forgotten all about this feature.” She reached
her fingers in the door jamb where she was leaning and pulled. A
hidden door glided out from inside the wall. “I loved this pocket
door.”

I moved over to take a look. “This is what I
love about older homes. They have such character. You don’t get
that in the new homes anymore unless you spend tons of money.”

“Well, enough of all this talk and
remembrances,” my mom said. “We’re leaving now. Call and tell us
all about your ghost hunting.” We all walked out on the front porch
and hugged. We never used to hug so much before. Surprisingly, I
found that I really liked that.

“Now, make sure someone helps you with those
boxes. I don’t want to hear you and Aunt Shelly lugged them all
into the store by yourselves.”

“Would you stop worrying?”

“Worrying is what I do,” I answered.

Chapter
Twelve

As evening neared, I found myself constantly
watching the clock. Emmett and his friends weren’t coming until
after dark, and I couldn’t seem to settle down. I paced through the
rooms, picking up an item from one room and depositing it in
another, yet not accomplishing anything. Probably we should just
call the whole thing off. What were they going to find anyway? My
mother had said the house had always been haunted, they just lived
with it. Well, we could too.

Trying to get my mind focused on something
else, I swept the floor in the study, removing the debris and dust.
I felt a sense of satisfaction that we had one room fairly cleaned
up. Next to the far wall was one row of boxes containing the books
we were going to look up to find their value. It was a shame to
store more piles of boxes in here after we’d gone to the trouble of
cleaning it out, but it couldn’t be helped. We had to sort
somewhere. In my mind I could see the room finished and
redecorated. Beautiful blue silk curtains, new coordinating
cushions on the window seats with matching pillows, the floors
sanded and refinished. I would keep the desk and some of the older
books, then add family heirlooms when we found them. Wishing and
dreaming about decorating, I jumped when I heard a sudden
knock.

I walked out to the living room to find
Connie letting Emmett and his crew in. They were all carrying
plastic, suitcase-type boxes and bundles of extension cords neatly
rolled on spools. As an afterthought, I realized I hadn’t taken a
shower after working in the study all day. Again, Emmett was going
to see me in less than stellar condition. Why did it even bother
me? What was I thinking? I wasn’t even fully divorced yet. Men
shouldn’t be anywhere on my radar. Of course, I wasn’t dead yet so
I couldn’t help noticing how blue his eyes looked with that navy
polo he was wearing, or how his entire face lit up when he smiled.
Laney, you’re an idiot,
I thought to myself.

Shaking my head, I turned back to the issue
at hand. “Hi, Sim—Emmett! What would you like to do first?” If
there was a rock nearby I would have crawled underneath it. I
couldn’t believe I’d almost called him Simon. What would he think?
Then I chastised myself even more—what did I care what he thought?
More likely, he probably didn’t care at all.

“Laney, these are my allies in the ghost
hunting business, Glen Alexander and Dean Adams.” Glen put his hand
out to shake mine. His grip was warm and comforting, his gentle
brown eyes friendly and intelligent. I don’t know what I expected
other ghost hunters to look like, but he was just a normal guy.

“Nice to meet you, Laney.”

“Dean Adams,” I said to the other cohort.
“You, I already know.” Dean had been in my class in high school. He
smiled as he stepped forward, tall, blond and muscular, he was
handsome if you like that Thor sort of look. Every girl in high
school had been crazy about him—I would bet most women still were.
At first I wasn’t sure who was more embarrassed as we gave each
other sheepish grins. He’d been the all-around jock—football,
basketball, baseball—and he’d been good at all of them. He still
managed to be humble, sweet and smart. There weren’t that many guys
like him. And now here he was a ‘helper’ to the local ghost hunter
I had asked to come investigate my house. Fortunately, after a
brief awkward moment, we both seemed to get over it and it was like
the years melted away.

“Laney, long time no see,” he said as he
enveloped me in a bear hug. “Still as pretty as always.” I blushed
and couldn’t come up with an appropriate response. I hadn’t been
popular in high school and no one ever thought I was pretty,
especially someone like Dean. On top of everything else he was just
plain gorgeous. If anything, the years made him even more handsome.
Obviously, he was still working out. I could picture him doing one
of those workouts on TV that made people really buff. He wore his
hair shorter now than in high school but it was still thick. Then
there were those big blue eyes.

“Yeah, right. Thanks, Dean,” I mumbled. Was I
totally incapable of not looking like an idiot every time I was
around an attractive man?

“I ordered pizza and it should be here any
minute,” Connie rescued me from further humiliation. “Should we
start with a beer?”

“Beer is always a good place to start,” Dean
replied as he put his arm across Connie’s shoulder. I remembered
Dean as that warm and gracious guy who always made everyone laugh
and included even us outsiders in things. I saw him smile at Connie
and I was intrigued when I detected a slight blush in my
cousin.

We filed into the kitchen as Dean told a
funny story from when we were in high school. “And that was the
last time I put milk in my locker!” he finished as we all laughed.
He had a way of bringing the party with him wherever he went.

Connie passed out the beer while I found some
disposable plates and paper towels. “Sorry, all we’ve got is paper
towels, we didn’t remember napkins,” I told them.

“I’m not sure I can eat here with these low
standards,” Dean kidded as the pizza guy knocked on the front door.
“It’s a good thing you splurged for the expensive beer,” he said,
holding up a bottle of Lift Bridge, a microbrew sold locally. I
smacked him on the stomach playfully and noticed Emmett watching
us.

Connie left the room to answer the door and
returned with several steaming boxes that she set on the table. “We
got pepperoni and sausage or supreme with everything. I hope you
guys aren’t too picky.”

“If it has meat, it’s good,” Glen replied. We
all dug into the pizza. “You bought the good pizza too,” he added.
“Not that cheap chain fare. I think I’m in love.”

“Nothing but the best for the professionals,”
Connie chimed in.

As I opened a beer and grabbed a slice of
pizza, I was starting to relax while we laughed and kidded. I
couldn’t remember having this much fun with Simon. It’s not that he
was more serious, he just wasn’t fun. I could get used to being on
my own, with a new life and new friends. Or old ones, I thought,
looking at Dean as he found a spoon to hang off the end of his
nose. Was it wrong to fantasize about two separate men when I
wasn’t even divorced yet?

“So, Laney,” Emmett began after the feeding
frenzy had subsided. “We’ll set up the cameras probably in the
upstairs hall, kitchen, living room and master bedroom if that’s
all right with you. Then, really, we just wait until after
midnight.”

“Can I ask you something? I’ve always
wondered this. Why do you wait until dark and then investigate with
all the power off? There have been a few things that happened
during the day. Not many, but still, can’t you catch something
during the day?” I asked.

“We get that question a lot, actually. I
can’t speak for the guys you see on TV, but for us it’s a sensory
thing. Think about it, at night we turn off the electricity, and
then you don’t have all those odd sounds like the air conditioner,
furnace and who knows what else running. It makes it easier to hear
natural things. You’d be surprised how sound carries and can
confuse an investigation. It could be anything, a TV from a
neighbor’s house, someone talking in their backyard, a car radio
two streets over, you name it. By waiting until after midnight
those extraneous distractions are minimized,” Emmett explained
seriously, opening another beer.

I thought back to the music I heard the other
night and felt foolish. Did I just hear something from outside?

“There is also a theory that ghosts are
cautious and shy and come out more in the night when things are
quieter and nobody will bother them,” Emmett continued.

“That actually makes sense,” I agreed.

“I was just kidding about the last part.”
Emmett laughed.

“Oh, right.” I kind of smiled, feeling
foolish for falling for his gag. Then, seeing that he was just
trying to keep the coming experience from getting too serious, I
laughed and rolled my eyes at him. “Funny.”

I grabbed a plastic bag from the pantry and
hung it on a drawer pull. “You can put your recyclables here and
the garbage is under the sink.”