The Sense of Reckoning Page 10

  Ann started to respond, but then realized that Garrick was talking to Scott.

  “Really?” He picked it up from the book stand. “It looks quite old. Is it valuable? I’d be nervous borrowing it if it’s very valuable.”

  Garrick waved his hand. “Not terribly old. 1823.”

  “Why thank you, that’s very generous of you.”

  At the front door, Ann turned to Garrick. “So how did Alderson solve the problems of the people who were seeing spirits?”

  “Bleeding, leeches, and purgatives,” said Garrick briskly.

  “Great,” said Ann, turning to leave.

  Scott followed Ann to the car, then stepped ahead of her to open the door. When he had gotten in she said, “My, aren’t the two of you chummy. What would Mike think?”

  “I won’t tell if you won’t,” said Scott with a grin. “Where to now?”

  “I need you to drop me off somewhere, I’ll give you directions.”

  “What are we going to do?” said Scott, starting the car.

  “You are going to drop me off and I’m going to go for a walk.”

  “Not with me?”

  “Nope.”

  “Hmm, very mysterious,” said Scott agreeably.

  Chapter 17

  A short while later, Scott dropped Ann off at the beginning of Lynam’s Point Road.

  “Where are you going?” he asked, peering around. There were no buildings visible—just stands of pines all around before the road curved out of sight in front of and behind them. A small sign for Lynam’s Point Hotel was so faded that it blended into its wooded background.

  “Top secret. If I told you I’d have to kill you,” said Ann.

  “You’re no fun. When and where do you want me to pick you up?”

  “Let’s say back here in an hour.”

  “Right-o. Here, take a bottle of water.” Ann got out of the car. Scott, after consulting his map, drove off to the south.

  The air, especially under the shade of the trees, was chilly, and Ann got her new hat from her knapsack and pulled it on. She followed Lynam’s Point Road for a short distance before it crossed the tiny spit of land that made the peninsula not quite an island. On her map, she saw that the peninsula ran north to south, paralleling the main island of Mount Desert and separated from it by a narrow inlet on the east. To her right, at the north end of the peninsula and only a few hundred yards away, Ann could see the roof of what she assumed was the hotel. Perhaps she needn’t have told Scott to stay away so long; it appeared she would reach the hotel in only a few minutes.

  Once across the spit of land, however, the road turned left onto the short extension of the peninsula that lay to the south. Following the road, she soon left the pine woods and came out next to the water and saw that the road followed the shore of Lynam Narrows. The builder of the hotel, and the road, must have found the picturesque view to the west across the Narrows and on to the open water of the Western Bay to be a more appealing route than one following the inlet to the east. She considered backtracking and taking a shortcut along the eastern shore of the peninsula, but it would have meant scrambling across the rocks that lined the shore. In addition, although the area looked deserted, if she encountered anyone, her presence there would be harder to explain than if she stuck to the road. She put on her sunglasses—they not only provided protection from the glare of the sun on the water but also gave her a sense of traveling incognito (although she still doubted that anyone on Mount Desert Island would have followed the coverage of the Firth case closely enough to recognize her).

  She walked briskly. The sun, when it was not hidden by the building clouds, sparkled on the water. Small waves stirred by the chilly breeze slapped onto the narrow, stony beach that bordered the road. Yellow seaweed lay like hair across the rocks. Across the Narrows she could see a few small, widely spaced buildings dotting the opposite shore, their wooden sides polished to that silver-gray of oceanside structures. A black bird bobbed on the water, only its head and neck protruding like a periscope. It periodically disappeared under the waves and once emerged with a fish in its beak, which it juggled about until it could gulp it down head-first.

  Eventually, the road turned away from the shore and back into the pine woods. Here evenly spaced, mature trees were surrounded by crowds of bright green, knee-high seedlings crowding at their bases like chicks around a hen. Shortly after she entered the woods, she passed between a pair of stone pillars with a sign reading “Lynam’s Point Hotel” affixed to one. A chain between the pillars blocked the entrance. The chain wasn’t locked, just looped over a hook on the back of the pillar—more a discouragement than a deterrent. She stepped over it.

  A short distance beyond the pillars, Ann passed a cemetery on her left. She picked up her pace as she usually did when passing cemeteries, not wanting to be distracted by a spirit. Then the road left the pine woods again and opened out into a cleared area at the tip of the peninsula. In front of Ann was the hotel that Garrick had drawn. He had captured it quite accurately, although he had obviously had its in-season incarnation in mind. Now, in October, the shutters on the second- and third-story windows were closed, and the small parking area was empty. Ann could also see evidence of the financial difficulties Garrick had described—the paint was peeling, the landscaping was threadbare, and one of the posts on the veranda had been knocked loose and leaned outward, a slight dip noticeable in the roof above it. She was glad she was seeing it in the daylight since there were a number of obstacles that could have tripped her up—literally and figuratively—if she had arrived at night under the no-flashlight rule.

  There was no sign of life, so Ann decided to make a circuit of the hotel. She followed the drive to the right, bringing into view a glorious vista across what her map told her was the Western Bay. Behind the hotel was a boathouse, as buttoned up as the hotel. Between the hotel and the boathouse, the lawn was oddly terraced—when she got to the back of the hotel, she saw that the ground had been leveled to accommodate a playing area of some kind. She guessed it had been a croquet court.

  All the while, she kept her senses open to any spirit. What if she was able to return to Garrick from her scouting trip and tell him how to get in touch with the lady? It would be a satisfying rejoinder to his “apprenticeship” comment. However, she couldn’t perceive anything beyond what would be apparent to any visitor: a hotel in need of some TLC and a vista that would likely be hard to top anywhere on Mount Desert Island.

  The west side of the hotel was obviously the service area, with a small loading dock and utilitarian doors that she guessed led to the hotel’s kitchen. An old Jeep was parked near the back entrance—so Ellen Lynam was likely inside after all.

  Completing her circuit, she wondered how close she could safely get to the hotel’s veranda, where Garrick thought she might meet Loring Lynam, without attracting the attention of whoever was inside. Just then, the front door opened and a woman emerged, rummaging through a large purse. Ann glanced around quickly, searching for cover, but the woman was going to look up any moment and would certainly be suspicious if she saw someone scuttling away.

  “Hello!” Ann called and, when the woman looked up, waved.

  “Hello,” the woman called back as Ann crossed the lawn to where she stood on the veranda. “Can I help you? The hotel is closed for the season.”

  “Yes, I know, I hope you don’t mind me coming out here—so pretty!” She sounded unnaturally perky to her own ears, and toned it down a bit. “Beautiful view,” she said, nodding toward the water.

  The woman stepped off the veranda and turned in the direction Ann was looking. “Yes, it is,” she said, sounding wistful. “That’s one of the most lovely views on MDI. You should come back when we’re open, you could sit on the veranda and enjoy it when it’s a bit warmer.”

  “When do you open for the season?”

  After a pause, the woman said, “May.”

  “I’m sure it’s lovely. My brother would love hosting a summer par
ty on a veranda like that.” A thought popped into her head. “Actually, my fiancé and I are looking for a place for our reception. Do you do receptions?”

  “Oh yes, we’ve done lots of receptions. When are you getting married?”

  “Uh ... July.”

  “It’s a busy time around here, best book early. I don’t quite know what our schedule is for July, but I can take your name and number and give you a call when we’re a little more settled on plans for next year.”

  Ann was beginning to regret what had seemed like a clever cover story.

  “I don’t want to put you to any trouble ...”

  “No trouble.” The woman stuck out her hand. “Ellen Lynam. I own the hotel.”

  Ann shook her hand. “Kay Near.” It was the name she used for the paintings she sold in the Adirondacks and in West Chester.

  “Nice to meet you, Miss Near. Let’s go inside and I can get your information.”

  Ann followed Ellen into the lobby, where Ellen went behind the antique registration desk and began shuffling through some drawers. “Everything gets all out of kilter in off-season ...”

  Ann took the opportunity to glance around the lobby, opening her senses to what might be there, but the room seemed clean of spirits. However, her vision was somewhat impaired by the sunglasses she had kept on—incognito seemed like an especially good idea now that she was actually speaking with Garrick’s client.

  “Ah, here we are,” said Ellen, producing the stub of a pencil and a pad of paper with the hotel’s name on it in an old-fashioned script. She removed her glasses and hooked them into the neck of her shirt. With the glasses off, her face took on the innocent prettiness of a younger woman. “K-a-y?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the last name?”

  “N-e-a-r.”

  “And your fiancé’s name?”

  “Scott Pate.”

  “P-a-t-e?”

  “Yes.”

  “And your phone number?”

  Damn. Ann gave Ellen her cellphone number.

  Ellen tore the paper off the pad and thumbtacked it to a bulletin board behind the desk that contained a jumble of other slips and scraps of paper. “I should know pretty soon what our plans are for July and I can give you a call then. Big reception?”

  “Oh no, probably quite small.”

  “Oh,” said Ellen, sounding disappointed, then perked up. “You could have the guests stay at the hotel. If you book early enough, of course. I could show you some of the places where we could host a reception. Or even the ceremony.”

  “Oh no, I don’t want to put you out. Plus I’d like for Scott to be here to see it.”

  “Are you local?”

  “No, but we get up here pretty frequently.”

  “How long have you been coming to MDI?”

  “Oh, for years.” Ann was busily trying to keep all the details of her story straight.

  Ellen looked like she was going to pursue it further, but then evidently decided to give up trying to pry details out of her reticent visitor. She rejoined Ann in the lobby. “Well, I need to run some errands and I’ll have to lock up the hotel, but feel free to look around the grounds if you’d like. It looks much nicer in season, of course.”

  “Thank you, I will look around a little bit.”

  Ann followed Ellen out onto the veranda. Ellen pulled a large wallet out of her purse and extracted a somewhat frayed business card. “Just give me a call if you have any questions.” Ann took the card. They shook hands and Ellen disappeared around the corner of the hotel and in a minute an old Jeep trundled by, Ellen giving a wave as she passed. Ann heard the Jeep grumble down the road, with pauses as Ellen removed the chain, drove through, and replaced it. Then the engine noise receded into silence.

  Ann glanced at her watch. She still had some time before she had to meet Scott at the main road. She hoped he hadn’t gotten back early, otherwise Ellen’s suspicions might be aroused by the sight of a man sitting patiently in a car on an otherwise-deserted road.

  Garrick had said the spirit might come into the hotel from the lobby entrance; no harm in spending a few minutes seeing what there was to be seen—or sensed.

  Ann sat down on the top step and leaned back on her elbows. The day was chilly, and the warmth generated by her walk was wearing off. The entrance of the hotel faced south, away from the Narrows, and the veranda caught the watery October sun. She had a brief hope of catching some warmth from it, but it was low in the sky and weak. She sat forward and tucked her hands into the opposite sleeves of her parka. Then turned to look at the door.

  Had Ellen actually locked it?

  *****

  From across the hotel lawn, the spirit watched the two women on the veranda. One of them, Ellen, he had known in life, but the other was new to him. Those still alive were usually faint, flitting forms, but this one was clear. It seemed obvious that this woman was not a spirit herself, but rather a living person with an unusual connection to the spirit world. Not as strong a connection as the man in black, but still strong. And she was pretty—slender, with reddish-blonde hair and delicate features.

  Ellen left, but the other woman stayed. The woman watched Ellen’s Willys disappear down the road, then moved to the edge of the veranda.

  Behind where she had stood was a man—tall, dark-haired, pale-skinned.

  The spirit pushed himself away from the tree, a buzz of concern starting in the back of his neck. There hadn’t been anyone on the veranda a moment ago, he was sure of it.

  The woman sat down on the top step and leaned back on her elbows, gazing around the hotel grounds. The man stepped up behind her. She seemed unaware of his presence. Then the man squatted down behind her in a catcher’s stance. From where the spirit watched, he almost expected the man to put his hands over the woman’s eyes and say, “Guess who!”

  But the man made no attempt to alert the woman to his presence, and the way he watched her—like a snake in the grass watching a mouse unconcernedly nibbling a seed—escalated the buzz to a burr of worry.

  The woman’s hands dangled over the edge of the veranda, near her hips, and the man began reaching his hand toward hers. But before he reached his target, the woman sat forward and tucked her hands into the opposite sleeves of her parka. The man leaned back, annoyed. He was beginning to move toward her again when she turned and looked behind her. The man slid slightly to one side, out of her line of sight, but it appeared in any case that she was looking not at him but at the door. After a moment, she stood and crossed the veranda. The man moved to stay behind her, following her.

  She reached for the doorknob and the man’s arm shot out. He clamped his hand over hers.

  She let out a cry and snatched her hand back. She turned away, cradling her hand, and stumbled away from the door.

  The man smirked with satisfaction and took a step toward her.

  “Hey—hey! Leave her alone!”

  The man’s head jerked toward the spirit’s voice. The spirit broke into a run as the man’s face hardened into anger while at the same time his body began to take on a wavering translucence. The spirit reached the veranda and stepped between the man and the woman.

  “What are you doing? Get away from her!”

  “Who are you—the hotel handyman?” the man asked impatiently. “Get away from here, this doesn’t concern you.”

  He stepped forward. “It certainly does concern me—this is my hotel, and I won’t have a thug like you bothering this lady. I want you out of here!”

  The dark-haired man raised an eyebrow, although the eyebrow, and in fact his entire form, was becoming increasingly amorphous. “I’m guessing it’s not really your hotel anymore,” he sneered, but his voice, along with his form, was beginning to fade.

  “It was mine—it’s my family’s—and you’re not welcome here.”

  He took another step forward. but the last remnants of the man’s form were gone and all that was left was a yellowish light which then swirled off into nothingne
ss on a puff of wind coming off the water.

  *****

  The pain shot from Ann’s hand up her arm and curled her fingers into claws. As she pulled back with a cry, she thought she caught a glimpse of a tendril of yellow light retreating from her stricken hand, accompanied by an acrid tang like the smell of an electrical short circuit. She stumbled away from the door, swearing under her breath, tears of pain and fear springing to her eyes.

  When she had put some distance between herself and the door, she turned to face her tormentor, but there was nothing discernible there except an area of grayish haze in the middle of the veranda, rimmed by a flicker of yellow. The haze disappeared as she blinked the tears out of her eyes, then reappeared briefly in a weak ray of sunlight breaking through the clouds. The yellow and gray vied with each other for a moment, and then the yellow was gone and she could see for just a moment the gray, solidified into a human form.

  It was a man of some indeterminate middle age, with a lean, muscular build. He had tousled brown hair and thin lips touched with the hint of a smile, but most striking were his gray eyes lined with crow’s feet—light eyes that were more striking in the dark tan of his sun- and wind-weathered face. He was saying something, but the words faded away as she lost sight of his form, although she sensed that he was still there.

  Was this the manifestation of the light she had seen near her hand when the pain struck? She thought not—this spirit, emerging out of the gray light, seemed unthreatening, even concerned. Maybe there had only ever been this one spirit, and the yellowish light she thought she had seen was just a trick of the sun. Maybe this was the man Garrick had hoped she would find.

  “Loring?”

  She caught a brief glimpse of him again, his smile widening, but then it was gone.

  “Loring? Are you there?”

  Now she had lost all sense of a presence. She was torn between two impulses. On one hand, she wanted to get away from the hotel—the general sense of creepiness that resulted from being alone in a usually public place was heightened by the shock of the pain in her hand. On the other hand, she wanted to continue trying to engage the spirit she had seen, especially if it meant she might be able to save herself a return trip to the hotel that night. For a little while, the second impulse won out.