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  Dinner that night was heavenly. We had Italian. The meal began with fresh baked bread glazed with olive oil and herbs and served with a cheese spread that was out of this world. I had the gnocchi in pesto sauce. Alex had the seafood fettuccini. We shared a bottle of wine during the meal and finished it off with tiramisu.

  Even more fun was snuggling on the sofa in my pajamas and watching movies that we rented at the local video store.

  I fell asleep in Alex’s arms. He carried me to bed that night and I didn’t wake until morning.

  Chapter 3

  The morning air was crisp and clean. The drive through the coastal redwoods to the sea was uneventful and pleasurable. It felt odd to be without Blue, but I knew she was having more fun staying at home with Alex than she would have had driving with me. Besides, I hadn’t gotten a chance to ask my client how he felt about dogs during our brief telephone conversation.

  I used my new GPS system mounted prominently on my dashboard to guide me to my destination address in Thorny Springs. The town was small, consisting of only a few stores dotting the highway and homes in the surrounding hills. The air was heady with the smell of the pines, yet beneath it you could also sense that the sea was near.

  I parked at the curb in front of the Cartwright residence and spared a few moments to have a look around. The home was old and of modest size for a mansion. Built of brick and stucco, it hi behind ivy and other well established greenery. The lawn and gardens around it were elaborate, but it was obvious that they had been ill-tended in recent months. The house was set well back from the street and the neighboring houses didn’t crowd it. The place was really quite charming in an old-fashioned way.

  I exited my vehicle and walked the winding path to the front steps. There I straightened my court suit, banged the knocker, and waited to meet my first professional client.

  The door opened and an unhappy looking woman dressed in a white uniform stood glaring at me. She looked as if she was expecting me to announce that I was selling Girl Scout Cookies. After due consideration, she made the following pronouncement.

  “Ms. Boston, I presume. I’m Miss Hailey, Kate’s nurse. Won’t you come in?”

  Her request was more a demand than a polite question. I stepped into the foyer of the gorgeous home. I tried not to let my eyes stray too far about the place but still could see that the residence was tastefully furnished in a traditional, if dated, fashion. The nurse began to walk away.

  “Wait here while I get Miss Cartwright,” she ordered, turning her back on me rudely.

  So, I waited. I didn’t have long to wait before a rather dashing, elderly gentleman stepped from the shadows in the corner of the room. I figured that I must have missed his presence when I’d first entered, but on second consideration I wondered how I could possibly have missed him at all. He was wearing a well cut, wool, double-breasted suit, a striped shirt with white collar, and a bright red ascot. In any case, he stepped from out of the shadows and walked toward the door to more properly greet me.

  “Hello, Ms. Boston. I’m Tom Cartwright, Kate’s brother. I’d like to welcome you to the family home.”

  Rather than offer a hand, Mr. Cartwright bowed low. His manners were impeccable, his smile charming but I felt uncomfortable in his presence. “Hello, Mr. Cartwright,” I said, bowing as well. “My name is Chloe, which I wish you would call me.”

  “I’m an old-fashioned gentleman, Ms. Boston. I find it hard to overcome old habits, and one of those old habits is showing due courtesy to ladies. So, I wonder if you’d forgive me if I did not acquiesce to your request and instead continued to refer to you by your surname.”

  “I must admit that I’d have a hard time thinking of you as Tom,” I replied, not missing a beat. Maybe the whole first name thing just wasn’t my thing. No one seemed very comfortable with it. “Perhaps we should both stick to the older, tried and true ways.”

  “Well put, Ms. Boston. Now, please, would you accompany me into the parlor to meet my sister, Kate?”

  Wishing instead to sit with Mr. Cartwright and hear about his case, I none-the-less allowed him to show me into the parlor to meet his sister. “It is actually my sister and not me who is your prospective employer.”

  “Oh.”

  Mr. Cartwright led me into the empty parlor which was quite sunny and pleasant. It didn’t take long before the nurse wheeled Miss Cartwright into the room.

  “Oh, you’re already here,” the nurse said in an irritated tone. “I suppose I’ll leave you then.”

  I couldn’t help but notice that the nurse didn’t acknowledged Mr. Cartwright at all. There must be some deep-seated animosity there, I thought. Regardless, I was pleased and the air seemed to weigh less when Nurse Hailey left the room.

  “I see you’ve met Thomas. I’m so glad.”

  In Ms. Cartwright I found a withered, elderly woman confined to a wheelchair. She looked possibly older than her years, as if something tenacious was eating away at her. Though her body was spent, her eyes were bright with intelligence.

  “Forgive me, Ms. Boston, for not rising to greet you. My brother and I believe strongly in formality, but alas I’m no longer able to perform my responsibilities as a hostess.”

  “Please, don’t concern yourself, Ms. Cartwright. It makes no difference to me whether I greet you sitting or standing. Besides, at my height we can still see eye-to-eye.”

  “Oh, but it makes a great difference to me. You see, I was only just recently confined to this chair. Before that, I led a quite active life; while now, I find that I am dying.” She sounded more annoyed than bitter.

  I flicked a glance to Mr. Cartwright. He was listening quite intently with an amused interest. I, for one, liked this lady a great deal.

  “Please, have a seat, Ms. Boston. For I have a story to tell you and I’m afraid it might be quite long.”

  I sat on a sofa near the foot of the wheelchair. I noticed that Mr. Cartwright had taken a seat in the corner of the room to listen as well. He looked to have succeeded in dissolving back into the shadows. For some reason, this made me uneasy. I set my feelings on the matter aside.

  I next laid my briefcase, one that I’d borrowed from Alex, on the coffee table and opened it. From inside, I pulled a pad of paper, a pen, and a micro-recorder, also borrowed from Alex.

  “Do you mind if I record the conversation?”

  “Actually, I would prefer that you didn’t,” the elderly woman said. “Don’t worry. Although my story is long, all stories grow longer with age, I think you’ll find that a few well chosen notes will satisfy your purposes.”

  I put the micro-recorder back in the briefcase, closed it, and set the case aside on the floor. Crossing my legs, I put pen to paper and made a note of the event, time, and date. Then I looked up and waited for the story to begin.

  I didn’t rise until two hours later.

  “I don’t know if you recognize my name, Ms. Boston. But I am a Cartwright, one of a long line of Cartwrights, all from this area. We were once quite wealthy, though the majority of that wealth was gone before my story begins. In fact, it was with our financial woes that this story begins since it was these woes that forced our return to this, our ancestral home.

  “Ms. Boston, have you ever been in love?”

  “Of course. I’m married to a wonderful man.”

  “Well, I first fell in love the year of my eighth birthday. That was the year that we moved into this grand old house, the same year the young man first appeared to me…”

  * * *

  Unpacking my things was such a terrible burden, especially for an eight year old, and especially in my circumstances. First, my nanny had been let go which meant that I had to perform the task alone. Second, my new bedroom was much smaller than my previous rooms in the mansion back home in Seattle. I soon came to the inevitable conclusion that all my things simply would not fit in the limited space afforded by a single room.

  Though I’d complained to Daddy, vociferously, he could, or would, pr
ovide no reasonable explanation for why we had been forced to leave our lavish dwelling in Seattle to live in the relative squalor of the pine belt. Of course, at the tender age of eight, I’d led a relatively pampered and sheltered life, knowing nothing of the financial troubles that were squeezing the life out of my family at the time. And Daddy managed, quite successfully, to hide such unpleasantries from me until there was no longer an alternative. But that came much later and isn’t pertinent to the story.

  It was while unpacking, while I sat on my bed, crying my heart out, that it first began. It started with a gentle rattling of the closet door. At first I didn’t much notice the sound but it became much more prominent. By then I was afraid that some woodland creature might have become trapped in my closet. Drying my tears, I crept to the door and opened it, just a crack. There was nothing inside, except the few clothes I’d managed to cram into the limited space.

  I closed the closet door and sat back down on my bed. The rattling began again the moment the crinolines beneath my dress were crushed against the comforter. I sat and watched as the door rattled off-and-on. I considered opening it again, but before I got a chance, it slowly crept open by itself.

  “Hello, is there somebody out there?” a male voice called.

  It was dark in the closet, but from my bed, I could barely discern the shadowy outline of a boy peeking around my room.

  “Hello, is there somebody in there?” I returned.

  I’m a naturally brave person, so the idea of finding a boy, about my age, hiding in my closet was of no great concern. In fact, I found the encounter to be quite amusing and it became even more so when the boy stepped fully into view. It was then I saw that he was in full costume, as if for a play.

  “Oh my,” I exclaimed. “And what are you doing in my closet?”

  “Why, I live here, of course.” he explained.

  Why, of course. This was a new game but I was willing to play.

  And that was how it all began. What commenced was one of the most fascinating conversations of my life. The boy, who turned out to be quite pleasing to look at, was shy at first, but when he latched on to a topic that interested him, he spoke with passion.

  “You know why Nelson won at Trafalgar?” he demanded at one point in the conversation.

  “Who’s Nelson?” I replied.

  “Fortitude. Shear fortitude,” he insisted, ignoring my question.

  We talked for hours about nothing and everything. When we were through, which we both instinctively knew at the same time, the boy excused himself and returned to his closet. I closed the door after him out of courtesy, wondering if there was a secret tunnel and where it might lead.

  When I told Daddy of the boy living in my bedroom closet, he was not as amused as I had been. In fact, he was quite upset. I followed him stomping up the stairs to my room where he threw open the closet door prepared to berate the strange little boy. But there was nothing inside, nothing but my closely packed clothes.

  “That was not funny, Catherine,” he announced. “I suggest you keep your imaginary friends to yourself from now on.”

  So I did. As time went on, the boy became my best friend. In fact, he became my only friend. I soon began spending all my free time with the boy. He remained at home while I was forced to go to school. For some odd reason, he was unwilling to stray too far from our home. Regardless, we played in the yard and I took to pretending he was my brother.

  Our relationship became more complicated as we grew older. Whereas it was a treat to have a playmate living in one’s closet as a child, it could have been a source of embarrassment as I grew into a young woman. My friend, now a young man himself, made things easier by staying to his closet except when I called him.

  Things became even more awkward the day I realized that I loved the young man living in my closet with every bit of my heart, and that he loved me. I came to this realization during one of our many long conversations during which I brought up the topic of love, about which he had a little to offer in the way of advice.

  “Tell me, have you ever been in love?” I asked him.

  “Love? Bah. What need have we of love?” was his response.

  “You love me, don’t you?” I asked tentatively.

  “Until the end of time.”

  “I love you too.”

  “Well, that’s that then.”

  Still, our relationship never became physical. As always, the young man was careful not only to never touch me in a loving way, but to never touch me at all.

  As we grew older, our love for one another became deeper. After my father died, various family members came and went until it was just me in the house being watched over by my brother, Thomas. Then, just recently, I received some bad news.

  During a recent medical examination for a persistent cough, I was told that I have cancer. I was also told that there’s nothing that can be done for me, other than to ease my pain. I fear that I am dying, and soon.

  Now, before I die, I want to give my love the release he so richly deserves. I want him to be free to pass on with me.

  You see, the one part of the story that I have yet to tell, the part that I’ve been withholding for fear you won’t believe me, is that my gentleman friend is a ghost, Ms. Boston. A ghost who is bound to this home and must be released before I die.

  * * *

  “A ghost?” I queried, my heart sinking.

  “Yes, Ms. Boston. A ghost,” Miss Cartwright replied.

  I looked hard into the face of the old woman hoping to see some sign that this was all a joke. But other than weariness from the telling of her tale, she showed nothing but stalwart determination.

  “What exactly are you asking me to do for you, Miss Cartwright?”

  “I’m asking you to pour through our family records and find the identity of our ghost. I’ve asked him of his background, but thus far he seems to not even know his original name or how he came to be here. I’m also asking you to find why this ghost is bound to this house so that he can be set free.”

  “I see,” I answered, noncommittally.

  “You sound disappointed, Ms. Boston.”

  “To tell you the truth, I am.”

  “Please, take this case seriously since it is of the utmost importance to me that I do not pass on and leave my best friend behind.”

  And with that, the old woman began to cough. She placed a handkerchief to her face to mute the convulsions that wracked her dried up lungs. When she pulled the kerchief away, I could see the dabs of bright red blood on its fine material that the coughing spell had left behind.

  “I’ve worked out all the details with your husband. I’ve arranged to pay what I think is a fair price for the research to be done. I beg you, Ms. Boston, even if you don’t believe in the supernatural, I beg you to set an old woman’s mind at ease.

  “Now, I’m afraid I’ve said all I can and must leave you. It’s time for my medicine.”

  Miss Cartwright used her remaining strength to lift a small silver bell and give it a shake. Nurse Hailey was in the room in a flash. Upon entering, she unlocked the wheels of the chair and rolled the woman from the room, all without a single word or sign of acknowledgement.

  “I was told that this was to be a simple missing persons case.” I directed the statement to Thomas Cartwright, who had stepped from the corner back into the room.

  “Ms. Boston, I know that my sister’s request sounds crazy. I myself think that it will amount to nothing. But it’s important to her. I do hope you’ll accept the case, if for no other reason then to set a dying woman’s mind at ease.”

  That said, Nurse Hailey was back in the room to guide me to the door. Unable to think of anything else to ask, I said my goodbyes and left. Once in my car I swore and banged my hands on the steering wheel.

  After all, what was Alex going to say when he found out that I planned to take the case?

  Chapter 4

  “Well, I read your preliminary report from yesterday,” Alex said breezin
g into the kitchen after his morning cup of coffee. “Sounds like we’ve hooked ourselves a loon. So, have you turned down the case yet?”

  Uh-oh, here it comes already, I thought. How was I going to go about explaining to Alex that I fully intended to work on this case to its completion? Let’s try the direct route.

  “It’s nothing of the sort. In fact, I fully intend to work on this case to its completion.”

  “What?” Alex said, stopping in mid-sip.

  “I plan on accepting the case, Alex,” I reiterated.

  “You can’t be serious. Chloe, if we accept this case we’ll have every whack-nut in a thousand mile radius contracting with us for paranormal investigations. We’ll become a laughing stock.”

  “We will not. You’re over reacting.”

  “Look, Chloe,” Alex said, having a seat and taking that tone with me. I hate it when he takes that tone with me. “This is my company. You work for me now. I decide which cases we take and which ones we turn down. And this case I am turning down.”

  “Then I’ll work on it on my own.”

  “What? Do you realize what you’re saying? Are you really prepared to strike out on your own and go into competition with your own husband?”

  I hadn’t thought of it that way.

  “I’m willing to do what it takes to see this case through to its completion.”

  “Look, honey. Why are you doing this to me?”

  “I’m not doing anything to you. I’m accepting the case for an old woman. An old woman who’s dying. So, I’ll do a little investigation, hand over my findings, and that will be that. The end result being that we’ll put a dying woman’s mind to rest.”

  “Chloe, you realize you’ll be accused of using this woman. We’ll probably get sued.”