Ghouls, Ghouls, Ghouls (28 page)

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Authors: Victoria Laurie

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Ranald held up his hand as if he was taking a vow. “I’d swear to it,” he assured me.

I sighed. “I don’t understand why you won’t just tell me where to find him, then.”

“Because it’s all connected, lass. Don’t you see?”

I shook my head. “I don’t, Lord Dunnyvale. Please enlighten me.”

Ranald’s infectious smile returned. “The phantom is connected to where my dearest heart resides, and that is connected to Bouvet’s untimely death, which is also connected to Kincaid’s, and Alex holds the key to all that and the way to finding your friend. These pieces you’ve got spinning all round you, lass. The only way to put them together is to bring her back. Bring Alexandra back to Dunlow and slide it all in place.”

“You make about as much sense to me as a theoretical physicist explaining quantum physics.”

Dunnyvale laughed and got up. Before he left me, he said, “You’ve a bright mind, M. J. Holliday. You’ll get to the root of it. Of that, I’ve no doubt.”

I woke up the moment Dunnyvale stepped out from under the tree. Frustrated, I got up and dug around for a pen and paper to jot down the dream. A glance at the clock told me it was a little after five a.m. Knowing I’d probably not get back to sleep, I then went downstairs to check on Heath and found him attempting to get a fire going. “Hey,” I whispered as I hurried into the room. “Let me do that.”

Heath shivered and wrapped his blanket around his shoulders. “It’s freezing in here.”

I got the fire lit, and we both huddled together on the couch, waiting for its warmth to heat the room. “What’s that?” he asked, noticing the paper I’d written my dream on, which I’d placed on the coffee table while I worked on the fire.

I told him all about my dream and how Dunnyvale had been checking in on me periodically.

“What’s interesting to me,” said Heath, “is that he’s essentially telling you that someone
took
Gopher.”

“You know, that is a good point,” I said, remembering Ranald mentioning that Gopher had been taken somewhere safe. “And it’s just like we suspected in that note that was left for us, that sort of hinted that Gopher had been kidnapped.”

“What’s your gut say?”

I sat with that for a minute. “It says that the letter wasn’t some prank by the local kids, and someone really
did
kidnap Gopher.”

“But why would anyone take
him
of all people?” Heath wondered. “I mean, yeah, he’s got connections to big money at the network, but we know the kidnapper hasn’t tried to use them because the network brass doesn’t believe that Gopher’s missing and they fired us. So what’s the objective?”

And then it started to click in my head. “It’s exactly like it said in that letter. The kidnapper wants us to deal with the phantom!”

“But why?” Heath pressed. “The phantom is tied to the rock. As far as we know, it can’t even move beyond it to the coast, so why force us to deal with it?”

“Because something valuable is on the rock, and you can’t get to it without dealing with the phantom,” I said, thinking out loud.

“You mean the gold?”

I nodded.

“But Bertie already told us that the treasure’s probably just a myth.”

“Not everyone believes that, though,” I reasoned. “I mean, look at who’s already attempted to find it: Bouvet, Kincaid ... us.”

Heath considered that for a bit. “Shit,” he said at last. “This could be worse than I thought. I mean, we have no idea how to deal with the phantom. We’ve barely managed to escape with our lives and our sanity whenever we’ve gotten up close and personal with it.”

I stared into the orange glow of the fire and realized Dunnyvale was probably pushing me to connect these specific dots. “Alex has to be the key,” I said. “She has to know how to deal with the phantom.”

“Then why didn’t she four years ago before her fiancé was killed?”

I shrugged. “That’s the sixty-five-thousand-dollar question, my friend. And one we really need to have answered.”

A bit later we heard footsteps on the stairs, followed by shuffling around the corner out in the hallway. I cocked my head to listen, knowing it must be Gilley, and wasn’t surprised when I heard the icebox open and dishes being rattled. I winked at Heath and got up quietly from the couch to tiptoe into the kitchen, where I found Gilley with his head in the fridge, rummaging around for something to eat. “Anya should be up soon to start breakfast,” I said.

“Ahhhhhhhhh!”
Gilley squealed, before bumping his head on the top of the icebox.

I laughed hilariously as he backed up and stared at me with wide eyes, clutching a Tupperware container and a plate of custard-filled doughnuts.

“Don’t ...
do
... that!” he said in between deep breaths.

“That’ll teach you to raid the fridge at all hours,” I told him, still chuckling at the scene.

“I was hungry, okay?” he snapped, setting the Tupperware container down but holding fiercely to the pastries.

“Sweetie,” I said gently. “You know how you get when you’re on this kind of a food kick. We ride the carbo wave for a while until you can’t fit into your pants. Then you starve yourself and make everyone around you miserable because your blood sugar is low.”

Gilley glowered at me and pulled back the wrap covering the doughnuts. “I can’t help it!” he yelled. “I’m stressed-out!”

“Gil,” I warned as he reached for a pastry. “Hand it over.”

“No!”

“Gilley,” I said more firmly. “I’m serious. Step away from the doughnuts.”

But Gil defiantly shoved his hand underneath the wrap and pulled out a doughnut to stuff into his mouth, just to taunt me.

“You stubborn son of a—” I growled, darting forward to grab the dish.

Gilley whirled away from me, stuffing his mouth with more pastry as I chased him around the kitchen. “Mwaaaaah!” he yelled as crumbs flew out of his mouth.

“Gilley Morehouse Gillespie!” I shouted when I tried to grab his shirt and missed. “Gimme that plate!”

But Gil was having none of it. Instead he whirled in a tight circle and sprinted for the door to the hallway. I grabbed for him again and managed to hook my fingers into the waistband of his sweats and pulled hard, but he was carrying way too much momentum; he jerked me forward but tripped in the process and I crashed into him.

Gilley went down with arms flailing, which was unfortunate because he caught all the porcelain containers along the counter holding flour, sugar, dry pasta, and oatmeal flakes. The containers went crashing to the floor, where they broke and their contents exploded. Gilley and I also went down, and I squeezed my eyes shut just before I hit, knowing it was going to hurt.

With a jolt I hit the floor and heard the crashing of plates, containers, and foodstuff as everything in and on them launched like tiny missiles and gunpowder into the air, landing everywhere ... and I do mean
every
where.

I felt small splats of doughnut, custard filling, pasta, and clumps of sugar hit the top of my hair, shoulders, and back while I sucked in a lungful of flour. Coughing and sputtering, I rolled off Gilley and sat up, blinking furiously as the dust began to settle and I realized just how bad a mess we’d made.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!”
wailed a familiar voice.

I cringed and slowly lifted my gaze to see Anya standing in the doorway of the back door with the most horrified look on her face, her robe splattered with bits of custard and flour.

I immediately pointed to Gilley, who was already pointing at me.

“He did it!”

“She did it!”

Anya opened and closed her mouth, unable to speak more than what she’d already exclaimed.

“Holy ...,” I heard Heath say, and I turned my head to see that he’d come in from the sitting room to see what hell had broken loose.

I wiped my hands together and attempted to stand, but the floor was really slippery and it was a struggle. “We’ll clean it up,” I told our host quickly. “And we’ll replace everything we broke.”

Anya’s lower lip trembled, and she pointed to the broken pieces of the pastry plate. “That was me mum’s!” she yelled. “You’ve broken a family heirloom!”

Aw, crap.

Gilley stood too and I saw out the corner of my eye that he removed a bit of custard off his shirt to pop into his mouth. “Sorry,” he muttered, and looked down at the ground. “We’re really, really sorry, Anya.”

Anya’s look of horror turned angry then. “Out!” she ordered, pointing to the hall.

I hung my head in shame. “I’m
so
sorry,” I tried, really looking at the mess, which extended to all four corners of the floor, to every wall, and even up to the ceiling. I knew it would take hours to clean. “We’ll change and then be back down to mop it all up, Anya. And we’ll replace your heirloom with anything you’d like. Something from Harrods dot com or something else really lovely. Whatever the cost, we’ll pay it.”

“Save your money,” she spat. “And pack your things. I won’t be hosting the likes of you in my establishment one moment longer!”

I gasped and stared at her. She was kicking us out?

“You’re kicking us out?” Gilley whined.

“Aye,” she said, her hands finding her hips and her brow set angrily.

“But who’s going to cook for—”

“Of course we’ll go,” I said quickly, grabbing Gilley around the shoulders and placing my hand over his mouth while my eyes told him to shut up. “And we’ll replace everything we’ve broken. And if you’d like us to stay and help to clean this up before we leave, we certainly will.”

Anya crossed her arms and sighed. “No,” she said. “I think it best if you lot take your leave and never come back.”

I nodded and continued to grip Gilley around the shoulders, tugging him down the hall, where we dripped flour and sugar all over the floor.

“Hey,” Heath said gently, moving in behind us. “Maybe you two better strip down before you go upstairs.”

“I’m not wearing underwear,” Gil said.

I turned away and made a face. “Aw, jeez, Gil! Did you have to share that?”

“Well, I could have kept it to myself, M. J., and just allowed my junk to fall out when I disrobed, but I thought you might like a little warning!”

I eyed Heath, who was still huddled in his blanket. “Can I have that, please?”

He gave it to me and I held it up as a screen for Gilley while he took off his clothes; then I handed it to him so that he could wear it toga-style. “I’ll be up in a minute,” I told him, before gathering up his clothes and moving out to the lawn, where I gave them a good shake. I also took off my own sweatshirt and beat what I could off it, and wiped down my jeans.

As I was going back inside, I noticed a letter taped to the door. It was addressed to “the Americans” again, and I peeled it off the door and hurried inside.

Heath had a broom and a dustpan and was sweeping up the mess we’d tracked into the hallway. Every time he moved the broom, I saw him wince. “Hey!” I said, stuffing the envelope in my back pocket and hurrying forward to grab the broom from him. “Let me do that.”

Heath gave up the broom without argument. “I should go upstairs and pack my things.”

I held my arm out to block him from moving in the direction of the stairs. “Uh-uh,” I said firmly. “You’re going back to the sitting room, and hanging out by the fire until Gil and I get everyone packed, loaded, and in the van.” Heath looked like he was about to argue with me, so I added, “And that’s an order, buddy.”

He frowned but turned and shuffled back to the sitting room.

After I’d swept up the mess, I dashed upstairs, where I found Gilley fresh from the shower. “You took a shower?” I asked, amazed that after what he’d done and how angry he’d made Anya, he would have the nerve to take the time to bathe.

“I was covered in sugar,” he complained, rubbing a towel over his wet hair.

I resisted the urge to smack him across the head ... but just barely ... and suggested he get busy helping me pack.

It took us twenty minutes, but eventually Gil and I had our things ready to go, plus Heath’s and Gopher’s. Once the van was loaded and warming up, I came in to get Heath and pay our tab.

“You ready?” I asked him.

He nodded and got up stiffly. “By the way,” I asked, “how’s your back?”

“Hurts,” he admitted.

“Take a pain pill, then,” I suggested.

“I can’t take it on an empty stomach. I was going to take one at breakfast, but we got sidetracked.”

I turned around to glare at Gilley, who finally decided to look guilty. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Can you help Heath to the van? I have to settle our bill,” I said.

“No you don’t,” said Heath. “I’ve already signed for it.”

Now it was my turn to feel guilty. “We’ll settle up our share at the next place we stay,” I promised him.