Ghost Walk (14 page)

She
hadn’t been raped, though.  Overkilling like this could often be a sign of a
sexual predator, but Grace didn’t get a feeling of impersonal evil from this
scene.  This killing was all about rage and punishment.  Someone had
hated
Lucinda.  Someone who knew her.  The camera picked up distinctive smears in the
blood, evidence of the killer’s frantic movements.

Grace
crouched down to examine them closer.  Bare feet?  Had the killer been naked to
avoid getting blood on his clothes?  That wasn’t unheard of, but it hinted at a
high level of criminal sophistication.  Who in this town had the smarts to…?

Something
under the bed caught her eye.  A book hidden was behind the mattress,
impossible to see unless you were at floor level.  Maybe it was something the
killer touched.  Maybe she could get fingerprints.  Grace leaned over to grab it,
trying to make out the title in the dim light.  A diary maybe?  It was all hand
written.

As
she flipped through the pages, her thumb brushed against an unseen drop of
blood that had spattered on the leather cover.

Instantly,
the disorientating sensation of the world shifting around her struck again.

Just
as quickly as she’d left, Grace was back in the twenty-first century.

It
was as if nothing had happened, at all.  She was kneeling on the floor of Lucinda’s
former bedroom, surrounded by modern odds-and-ends, and Ghost-Jamie was staring
at her.  Only something
had
happened.  Something that left her scared
and shaken and forever
un
normal.

Her
gaze went up to Jamie’s taunt face.  “I saw her.”  She whispered.  There was no
denying it.  Lucinda’s book was still in her hand.  “When I touched the blood,
I went back to 1789.”  And the drop that sent her forward again was still wet on
her skin.  “I saw Lucinda dead.  I really
saw
her, Jaimie.”

Peaceful
green cornfields.

Peaceful
green cornfields.

Peaceful
green cornfields.

“Jesus,
Mary, and Joseph.”  He knelt down beside her, looking as traumatized as she
felt.  “Are you alright, Grace?”

She
let out a wheezing laugh.  “I have no idea.”  She suddenly wasn’t sure of
anything.  Nothing at all.  She stared into Jamie’s concerned eyes and
swallowed hard.  …Well, maybe
one
thing.  “But, I’m going to prove that you
didn’t kill those girls.”

June
23, 1789-  HC was quite agitated at our meeting today.  Apparently, he’s heard
rumors in town that connect my name to a “mystery man” and he’s worried his
wife will discover that it’s really him.  As if I would ever allow my
reputation to suffer like that!  The fool probably started the rumors himself,
with all his bragging.

I
calmed him down, of course.  HC can never resist me.  …But then, no man can.

From
the Journal of Miss Lucinda Wentworth

“You’re
going to have to talk about it sooner or later.”  Jamie called through the
bedroom door.  “You said you needed time to ‘process?’  Well, I’ve given you
all afternoon.  Now it’s time we have a bloody conversation.”

Grace
had no desire to discuss what happened.  It seemed like a one way ticket back
to the crazy house.  Far better to seal herself away in her favorite fuzzy
bathrobe until she could make some sense of what happened.

Her
striped sundress was in a heap on floor, all ready to be bleached and burned. 
Her sandals were already in the garbage.  She’d scrubbed her skin clean.  But
it would still take a long time for her to feel clean again.

There
had been so much blood.

Grace
pressed her lips together.  Once the adrenaline had faded, her old fears and
insecurities had come flooding back.  Along with all their new friends.  Holy
cow, she’d really been standing over Lucinda Wentworth’s dead body.  How was
this happening? 
Why
was it happening?  She was nothing special.  Why
was
she
the one traveling through time?  Why not someone braver or
smarter?  Had she done something right or wrong or was it all just random? 
Regardless, what the hell was she going to do about it?

Jamie
wasn’t giving up.  “You can’t just go back to ignoring me.”

Grace
sank farther into the heap of pillows on her bed.  Oh yes, she could.  At least
until she figured out her next step, which was going to take a heck of a lot
longer than one afternoon.  She’d done her part.  She’d calculated the smeared
footprint photos and, as far as she could tell, the killer was between 5’ and
5’5’’.  Which eliminated basically no one in Revolutionary War era America,
where people tended to be smaller than their modern counterparts.  …Except for
a certain tall, Scottish pirate, anyway.

She’d
also skimmed through the diary, which was mainly just Lucinda complaining about
her dull life of privilege, rating her lovers, ridiculing her sister and
parents and friends, and using gratuitous exclamation points.  Unfortunately,
Lucinda had described most of her boyfriends with initials, so the mystery man
was still nameless.  (The JMR entries got skipped entirely, because it made
Grace nauseous to read about Jamie and Lucinda together, but the others
revealed nothing useful.)  In short, Grace had done all she could, with the
evidence she’d gathered.

Now
she was going lie in bed and be crazy for a while.

“Damn
it, we need to talk, Grace!”

“Go
away!”  Her voice broke on the last word.  “I’m having a nervous breakdown and
I need some frigging space!”

There
was a long pause and then Jamie won the argument by simply walking through the
wall.  For a guy who’d been alive when they signed the Declaration of
Independence, he sure didn’t care much about protecting a person’s right to privacy. 
He stalked into the bedroom and crossed his arms over his wide chest.

“Are
you crying?”  He demanded, his brows compressed in concern.  “What’s wrong? 
Are you hurt?”

Grace
gave a squeak of alarm.  “Geez, it freaks me out when you do that!”

Jaimie
ignored that.  “Why are you crying?”  He persisted with a worried look in his
face.

Was
he kidding?  “Maybe because my afternoon has spanned several centuries!”

“Jesus,
Mary, and Joseph…”  He rolled his eyes looking both exasperated and relieved. 
“Is
that
all?  I thought you were in some kind of trouble.”

Grace
made an aggravated sound.  She’d never liked people in her bedroom.  It was her
sanctuary.  She’d collected the mishmash of knickknacks and yard sale paintings
and secondhand furniture, guided by nothing except what caught her fancy.  For
instance, mermaids had always held a special fascination for her, so, on her
dresser, there was a collection of mermaid figurines.  Everything in the space
was Grace’s, but most of it had once belonged to someone else.  She’d always
been attracted to vintage things.  It made her happy to give them a second
life.  It seemed too revealing to allow others inside such a personal space,
though.  Like they might see too much of what was going on inside of her.

Still,
she wasn’t nearly as outraged as she should have been by Jamie’s invasion.  For
whatever reason, he kind of looked
right
standing amid the yellow and
green color scheme.  Like he belonged there.  The word “Partner” whispered in
her head.

“I
had the door
closed,
you know.”  She informed him without any real heat.

“Which
means little to a specter.”  Establishing that she wasn’t in mortal danger, he
switched gears and smiled winningly.  Like every other hour of the day, he
clearly thought this was the perfect opportunity for some flirting.  “Since I’m
in here anyway, we might as well have that talk, right?  It won’t take a
moment.”  His eyes skimmed over her form, obviously enjoying the sight of her
cuddled up in her bed.  “You just keep doing what you’re doing.  Donea mind
me.”

“Jamie,
I swear to God, I will have you exorcised.”

“Alright. 
Alright.”  He didn’t get out of the room, but he did get to the point.  “No
need to get testy.”

“Too
late.”

“I
remember you.”  He announced, as if that was breaking news.  “
That’s
what I need ta tell ya.  I
remember
you, Grace.”

“Of
course you remember me!  I’m sitting right here…”  She broke off and blinked. 
“Wait, you
remember
me?  From --like-- back in 1789?”

“Aye.” 
His gaze drifted back down to antique coverlet, as if he was picturing her body
beneath all the intricate crochet-work.  “Are you naked under that robe?”

Grace
made a sound of total frustration.  “You
knew
I was back there and
you’re just mentioning it
now!
”  If he was tangible, she would have
throttled him.  “Jackass.”

“I
could only remember it
after
you went back.  Before that, you hadn’t
done it, yet.”

“That
makes no sense!  If we changed history, then you should only remember the
new
version.”

“How
the bloody hell should I know how it works?”  He ran a hand over his face. 
“I’m telling you, there’s two memories atop each other now.  I recall what
really
happened that night.  Or what
originally
happened, anyway.  And I
remember what happened
after
you started mucking about with the past.”

“After
we
started mucking about with the past.”  She corrected.  “You’re a part
of this mess, too.  Maybe that’s why you’re getting both versions.”

“Whatever
the reason, I remember meeting you outside The Raven, wearing that very same
ridiculous dress.”  He pointed to the rumpled fabric on the ground.  “You
appeared out of nowhere and you were the most beautiful creature I ever saw. 
And I knew…”  He trailed off and shook his head, like he was trying to get it
all straight in his mind.  “I knew you were mine.”

Grace
blinked up at him, unsure what to say to that.  “You thought I was a lunatic
and/or drunk.  Also I think you proposed.”

“I
thought you were fay.”  The corner of his mouth curved.  “Maybe I was right.”

“Maybe
you’re an idiot.  The rest of my family are the mystics and palm readers. 
I’m
the normal one.”

“It
didn’t seem that way half an hour ago.”  Jamie sat down on the edge of the
bed.  “…Or two hundred years ago.  Depending on how ya want to look at it.”

“Oh
shut up.”  Grace glowered over at him.  “Whatever’s happening, it sure as heck
isn’t normal and I have no clue how to deal with it.  Which means I’m going to
have to ask my aunt for some kind of help and that seriously pisses me off.” 
She paused.  “And, not for nothing, but you
really
should have gotten
out of town when I told you to.”

“T’was
grand advice, in retrospect.”

She
snorted.  “Since you’re still here haunting my bedroom, I’m guessing you didn’t
catch the killer coming out of the Wentworth house that night?”

“By
the time I gave up trying to follow you up that wee trellis and got around
front, he was long gone.  I barely escaped being arrested myself.  All the
commotion you made woke the family.  They found Lucinda’s body and summoned the
Watch.  I searched the neighborhood, but I never saw anyone suspicious lurking
about.”  He paused.  “I searched for you, too.  T’was halfway convinced I
dreamed you.  Thought for a bit I was losing my mind.”

“Join
the club.”  She blew out a tired breath.  “Lucinda wrote down her lovers’
names, but she only used initials.  Do you think you could figure out who some
of them are?  Maybe her mystery man?”

“It’s
been two hundred years, lass.  It would be guess, at best.  Do any of them
stand out to you?”

“Well,
that HC guy sounds kinky as hell.  Her diary entries about him read like
Fifty
Shades of Grey
.”

Jamie
made a thoughtful face.  “At least Lucinda had fun before she passed.  She
enjoyed her short life.  That’s something, I suppose.”  He searched his memory
for a beat.  “Hell if I know anybody with the initials HC, though.  Well, Old
Howard Carlyle, perhaps, but he was eighty if he was a day.  Doubt Lucinda
would fancy him.”

“Well,
it had to be
someone
.  Just give me a couple hours to recover from my
panic attack and I’ll figure it out.”

Jamie
hesitated.  “Yeah, about that…”  He began warily, but Grace cut him off.

“I
can already tell you the killer will be in his twenties.  Liked to set fires
and hurt animals as a kid.  Lives in town.  Kind of a loner, but not in a way
that stands out.  He’s friendly enough, but no one really knows him.  He has
secret rooms, secret drawers, all the important parts of him locked away.  He
doesn’t need to show off and display the body.  He gets off on knowing secrets. 
That’s why he took her from her room.  He wanted the control of being the only
one who knows where she is.”

“Except,
you changed that.”  Jamie reminded her, looking concerned.  “Now Lucinda’s body
was found right where he left it.”

“Exactly!” 
She agreed enthusiastically.  “He’s meticulous and we just capsized all his
hard work.”

“Must
you sound so excited about making a killer unhappy?  T’is not a
good
thing.”

“Right
before Lucinda’s murder something happened.”  Grace continued.  “Something
triggered him to attack her in a personal way.  Either she refused to have sex
with him or
something
, but he snapped.  It’s impulsive, but still not
disorganized.  He’s imagined it before.  He’s shocked, maybe scared, that he
actually killed her, but he’s also elated by the violence.  He leaves… But then
he goes
back
.  Risky, but not desperate.  The behavior of someone who’s
still in control.”

Jamie
looked fascinated.  “How do you know all this?”

“I
took some profiling courses.”  She said distractedly.  “Focus:  He went
back
to the scene.  He wanted to clean it all up.  Make sure he’s covered.  Make
sure it can’t be traced to him.  And, mostly, just to revel in what he’s done. 
To enjoy all the destruction.  He takes off his clothes so they won’t get
bloody and starts the cleaning in his bare feet.”

“Fucking
hell.”

Her
eyes narrowed, barely hearing him.  “He’s
smart
, Jamie.  How did he get
out of the house without you seeing him?  Lucinda must have been sneaking him
in some other way and he used it to escape.  He’s
thinking
, even in his
panic.  He’s hiding right in plain sight.  I just can’t figure out the
timeline.  How long was he there?  Why didn’t anyone hear him…?”  She broke
off, rubbing her forehead in frustration.  “If I was still on my game, I’d be
better at this.”

“You’ve
done more than anyone else possibly could.”  Jamie shook his head.  “That’s
enough for today, Grace.  Rest, before you burn yourself up again.”

“It’s
burn
out
.”

He
ignored the correction, his eyes on her face.  “You can’t save the whole world,
all at once.  It’s alright to take some time to breathe.”

“For
a pirate, you say some very self-help-y stuff.”

“Before
Haunted High
, my favorite show was
Oprah
.  Its cancelation was
the greatest trauma since my death, let me tell you.”

Grace
gave a reluctant smile.  “So you think I should lay here by myself and quietly
meditate or something?”

“I
didn’t say ‘
by yourself
.’”  Jamie leaned sideways, so he was lying on
the bed.  “Technically, I can’t feel this mattress, but I can sense it’s
smashingly
comfortable.”  He eased his way up so he was leaning on the pillows beside her,
his gaze locked on her face.  “And it has quite a smashing view, as well.”  He
smoothed an elegant hand over her hair, that amazing electricity tingling
through them both.  “Granted I can’t
breathe
, but no reason I can’t just
meditate here beside you.”