The Sense of Reckoning Page 9

  Ellen was admiring the pendant. “I’m going to put it on a piece of black ribbon. Don’t you think that will look nice? And it’s so special that it belonged to your mother!”

  Garrick made his way to the front door trailed by Ellen, who continued to wax enthusiastic about the gift.

  “I’ve never gotten such a nice present,” she said when she caught up with him at the door.

  “Jade is believed to promote wisdom, balance, and peace.”

  Ellen laughed cheerfully. “Well, we’ll see what it can do for me.”

  “Indeed.” He gave a little bow and let himself out. He was pleased that she had seemed to enjoy the gift. He was pleased with himself for having thought of it.

  He shook himself back to the present. Ellen obviously badly wanted to know the location of this lady whom she believed could help save the hotel. Perhaps, like getting her the present despite her protestations that she didn’t want a birthday celebration, it was time he deviated slightly from Ellen’s professed reluctance to involve another senser. Perhaps it was time to take matters into his own hands.

  Chapter 16

  Scott drove Ann back to Garrick’s at ten the next morning. The temperature had dipped again—when they left the inn, Ann could see her breath.

  When they got to Garrick’s house, Scott said, “I’ll just wait here, it seems like he doesn’t take very long.”

  “Well, don’t wait in the car, at least wait inside. It’s freezing,” said Ann.

  “Do you think that would be okay?” asked Scott enthusiastically.

  “Sure,” said Ann, hoping Garrick wouldn’t be unpleasant about it.

  Ann and Scott climbed the stairs to the front door. Ann knocked and in a moment Garrick opened it. He glowered at Scott. “And who might this be?”

  Scott stuck his hand out. “Scott Pate, Miss Kinnear’s chauffeur.”

  Garrick raised his eyebrows at Ann, who smiled gamely and shrugged.

  “Very well, come in,” said Garrick and stood aside. Scott put his hand down and he and Ann stepped into the hallway.

  Scott gestured toward the bench in the hallway. “I’ll just wait here.”

  Garrick closed the front door. “You may wait in the sitting room,” he said magnanimously. He opened the door on the left side of the hallway to a room that was the mirror image of his office, including the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. This room was much more sparsely furnished, with two Windsor armchairs pulled up in front of the fireplace where a fire had been laid but not lit. Garrick stepped aside to let Scott enter.

  “Ah, much nicer, thank you!” said Scott.

  “You may light the fire if you wish,” said Garrick.

  “Oh, I don’t believe that will be necessary,” said Scott, although the room was quite cold. He settled himself into one of the chairs.

  “As you wish,” said Garrick, and closed the door.

  Ann and Garrick crossed the hall to Garrick’s office, where a fire popped cheerfully in the fireplace, and took their accustomed seats. Garrick looked speculatively at Ann. “So.”

  “Yes?” She awaited his assessment.

  “You have a chauffeur?”

  “Well, not normally. But we thought that under the circumstances it would be better for me not to be driving.”

  “Ah, a temporary arrangement.” Garrick seemed somewhat mollified.

  “Yes.” She thought that, considering the instant dislike Garrick and Mike had taken to each other, the less said about Scott’s identity the better. “So? The spirit?”

  Garrick stood and did a quick circuit of her chair and then resumed his seat behind the desk. “It’s not there anymore.”

  “The ... whatever-it-was?”

  “Yes, the ‘whatever-it-was’ is gone.”

  “But ... where?”

  “I don’t know where. I don’t even know what it was,” he said peevishly.

  “Well ... what now?”

  Garrick swiveled his chair toward the fireplace and regarded it owlishly. After a minute, he turned his chair back toward Ann. “This may take longer than I had anticipated. I thought the challenge would be determining how to rid yourself of Biden Firth’s spirit, not determining whose spirit it is—if in fact it’s a spirit at all. I may need to do some research. And I need you close at hand in case ‘whatever-it-is’ manifests itself again.”

  Ann nodded, unsure where Garrick was heading.

  “We didn’t discuss the fee,” said Garrick.

  Ann nodded again, steeling herself.

  “I would consider performing this engagement pro bono publico,” said Garrick.

  “Really?” asked Ann. “Why?”

  Garrick drew his eyebrows together. “Well, perhaps less pro bono and more as an exchange of services. I believe you may be of assistance to me with my other engagement.”

  “Really?” asked Ann. She had not anticipated this.

  Garrick took a sip from a steaming mug on his desk and looked, if possible, even more irritated. “I should not, strictly speaking, be sharing information about my engagement with you. My client has asked for complete confidentiality. However, I trust you to be discreet.” He raised a questioning eyebrow.

  “Of course,” said Ann, curious.

  “This discretion extends not only to not revealing your involvement to others. Such as your brother.” Garrick scowled at Ann and she nodded. “Or your chauffeur.” Ann nodded again. “But also not to the client herself. I am making this highly unusual exception because the client is anxious to obtain an answer to a question she is posing to her dead brother. The answer to this question will evidently avert an undesirable outcome and must be obtained before the arrival of an externally imposed deadline—in fact, within the next three days. And I have reason to believe that her brother may be more willing to share this information with someone other than me. Also,” he added, “the fee is significant if I can provide the information she is looking for.”

  Ann suppressed a smile.

  “For you, assisting me not only provides what I believe to be a valuable exchange for my services, but also offers the opportunity to expand your skills. An apprenticeship, you might say.”

  “Gee, thanks,” said Ann, a little miffed.

  “Don’t mention it,” Garrick replied and raised his eyebrows questioningly.

  Ann shifted in her seat. “I’m thinking of giving up the sensing business.”

  “Why?” he asked sharply.

  “Because it’s not helping anyone, and it’s getting me in trouble.”

  “Ah. Well, you should have no concerns in this case. Should this engagement be brought to a successful conclusion, it will prove beneficial to my client. And no one will know you’re involved, so it would hardly get you in trouble.”

  “What if the sensings are what’s giving me the pain in my hands?”

  “It seems highly unlikely.”

  “Why’s that?” asked Ann, bristling.

  “It would be indicative of a psychological fragility that doesn’t seem in keeping with your overall demeanor.”

  “Uh ... thanks. I think. Still ...”

  Garrick waited for several moments, then prompted impatiently, “‘Still’ what?”

  Despite what seemed to Ann like her perfectly legitimate concerns, Garrick’s proposal did hold some attractions. For one, Garrick had traveled to the Adirondacks to ensure her cabin was clean of spirits and although, as far as she knew, Mike had paid Garrick for that engagement, it felt like a favor nonetheless. Here was a simple way to repay that debt. For another, spending the additional time needed with Garrick for this other engagement might hasten his assessment of her situation—would enable her to find out more quickly whether she was really being stalked by Biden Firth, was suffering from some sort of physical condition, or was merely succumbing to “psychological fragility” characterized by some psychosomatic reaction to sensings. Finally, assisting Garrick with his engagement seemed like less of a commitment than taking on one of her own—it could
be a trial run for the possibility of continuing her own consulting business.

  She sighed. “Nothing. Go on. What is the engagement?”

  Garrick settled back in his chair. “The client, Ellen Lynam, is a member of one of the established families of the area. Originally, the family owned an entire peninsula off the west coast of the island and built the Lynam Point Hotel in the 1880s, at the northern tip of the peninsula. Unfortunately, the family faced some difficulties in their business ventures—the difficulties were sometimes brought on by ineptitude and sometimes by circumstances beyond their control, but it appears they faced financial difficulties from the beginning. As you might imagine, the circumstances were especially challenging during the Depression, and in the early 1930s they sold most of the peninsula to a philanthropist who donated it to the National Park Service as part of Acadia. The family retained only the property around the hotel.

  “The hotel did enjoy periods of relative prosperity during the last century, but the difficulties worsened again in recent years and the Lynams have now fallen so far behind in their taxes that the IRS is in the process of seizing the property. It is going up for auction and the two leading bidders are Ms. Lynam, who is the last living member of the Lynam family, and a gentleman of some means who has let it be known that he intends to tear down the hotel so that he can build a private home on the site. I understand the hotel has some structural issues which make it unappealing to maintain as an historical site. In order to save the hotel, Ms. Lynam must raise a considerable amount of cash within the next three days.

  “In support of that goal, she has hired me to discover from the spirit of her brother, Loring Lynam, the location of ‘the lady.’ The question is quite straightforward—‘Where is the lady?’—but the brother’s spirit is obfuscating. He has a great deal of information he wishes to share, but none of it is what the sister wants. It’s all very tedious.”

  “Who’s the lady she’s asking about?”

  “I have no idea. I assume it is someone—perhaps a distant relative—who might be in a position to assist financially.”

  “Why does my involvement have to be a secret?”

  Garrick scowled at her.

  Ann shrugged. “Just curious.”

  Garrick sighed. “It’s completely illogical. I have asked her about involving another senser. Her brother and I are not on cordial terms, and he might be more likely to give this information to someone else. But she is adamant that no one else be involved.”

  “So why are you involving someone else?”

  The scowl turned into a glare.

  “I think I have a right to know if I’m going to be involved,” said Ann.

  Garrick drummed his fingers on the desk. Finally he said, “I believe that in the end, her desire to save the hotel will outweigh her desire to keep the involvement of this lady secret. And what if the lady herself chooses not to keep her involvement a secret? Ms. Lynam is not always completely levelheaded about matters concerning the hotel.”

  “It sounds like you know her pretty well.” Ann said.

  “Hardly,” said Garrick sternly.

  “Is she a friend of yours?”

  “She is a longstanding acquaintance.”

  Ann sighed. “So what do you want me to do?”

  “You merely need to accompany me, secretly, to the engagement, position yourself where it is likely you will encounter the brother, pose the question to him, and listen for his answer.”

  “What makes you think he’ll tell me?”

  “Because you’re not me. Plus your gender may be to your advantage.”

  “I feel like you’re setting me up on a blind date.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Your interaction with him should be very brief. I can’t imagine you would want to spend any more time with him than is absolutely necessary. He’s quite—” Garrick stopped himself, took a drink from his mug, and tapped his fingers together. “Can you drive yourself?”

  “Well, I suppose I could but I would prefer not to ...”

  “Understandable,” said Garrick briskly. “Not an insurmountable issue. We will meet here at eleven o’clock tonight and I will drop you off before we reach the hotel. You can follow me on foot. The moon is nearly full, so you should have sufficient light.”

  “Okay. I’ll bring a flashlight just in case.”

  “No flashlight.”

  “Garrick, how am I supposed to find my way around?”

  “I will draw you a diagram.” He removed a sheet of paper and a fountain pen from the top drawer. “The sensings are in the family’s hotel. When the spirit appears, he always comes to the lounge, where we wait for him, from the direction of the lobby. I suspect that since he is traveling in a somewhat lifelike fashion, you could intercept him outside near the entrance to the lobby.”

  “I’ve never actually had any kind of extended conversation with a spirit, you know.”

  “Yes, I realize the chances are slim that you will be able to provide the information. But as I said, it may be that it won’t require an extended interaction. It might be enough for you to ask, ‘Where is the lady?’ and for you to be able to perceive his response to that specific question.” Garrick turned back to his pen and paper, but rather than sketching a stylized aerial view—rectangles for buildings and squiggly lines for roads—he began rendering a quite detailed depiction of an unadorned rectangular building with three main stories, a cramped fourth story suggested by dormer windows in the roof, and a wide veranda extending across the front and around the right-hand side of the building. Light horizontal lines suggested clapboard siding, quick strokes indicated a background of trees and water. Garrick added a circular drive bordered by tiny lights in front.

  “These lights will likely not be illuminated. I can’t imagine that the few cents she saves on electricity is worth the danger of a fall in the dark,” he muttered. He drew an X on the veranda. “I recommend waiting for him here.” He handed the drawing to Ann.

  “This is very good, Garrick,” she said, admiring it with an artist’s eye. “I didn’t know you drew.”

  “I don’t draw. I’m providing you with directions.”

  “Well, it certainly shows where you want me to meet up with the spirit when I get to the hotel, but I don’t know if it’s going to help me get there in the dark after you drop me off.”

  “You just need to follow the road.”

  “I know, but I would feel better if I could see it in the daylight first. Could I drive out there and take a look?”

  “I thought you weren’t driving yourself.”

  “Damn,” muttered Ann. “You could drop me off at the beginning of the road and I could walk the rest of the way.”

  “No. She might see me.”

  “Scott could drop me off, I could tell him I wanted to take a hike there.”

  “That seems like a flimsy excuse.”

  “Well, he might know something was up, but he wouldn’t know what it was.”

  Garrick drew his eyebrows together and glared at her.

  “If I see her, I’ll just tell her I’m a lost tourist. She won’t have any way of knowing who I am.”

  “Your picture was in the news after the Firth incident.”

  “I doubt very much that it showed up in Maine,” she said. Then, after a pause, she added, “Did it?”

  “I wouldn’t know about that,” said Garrick brusquely. He considered for a moment, his eyebrows unknitting a bit. “I suppose it would be acceptable.” He sighed. “Very well. Do you have a map?”

  She went to her knapsack and removed a map of Mount Desert Island she had picked up in Bar Harbor, and took it to Garrick’s desk.

  “The hotel is here,” he said, making a neat X on the map on a finger of land on the west coast of the island. He traced a careful line on the map from Somesville, following Oak Hill Road and Indian Point Road to where one would leave the main road to follow the smaller road to the X. “You should have your driver drop you off here.” He drew a s
mall arrow at the intersection. “You should leave soon, it gets dark early at this time of year.”

  Garrick stood. Ann gathered up her parka and knapsack and they crossed the hall to the waiting room. When Garrick opened the door, Scott turned, his hands clasped behind his back, from where he was peering at a small book on a book stand. Its pages were held open with a weighted strip of leather.

  “You have very interesting reading material in your waiting room, Mr. Masser. Much better than old copies of National Geographic.”

  “Quite.” Garrick crossed to the book stand.

  “And very appropriate for your business,” said Scott, gesturing to the page to which the book was open.

  “‘I think a person who is terrified with the imagination of ghosts and spectres,’” quoted Garrick, looking out the window, “‘much more reasonable than one, who, contrary to the reports of all historians, sacred and profane, ancient and modern, and to the traditions of all nations, thinks the appearance of ghosts fabulous and groundless.’”

  “Wow,” said Scott, raising his eyebrows. “Very impressive.”

  Ann joined them. “You want me to help out with a sensing, tell me there’s no reason for me not to, and then you have a book in your waiting room talking about someone who is terrified by ghosts?”

  “Steel your heart, Ms. Kinnear,” said Garrick tartly. He removed the strip of leather and flipped the book closed, revealing a gaudily marbled cover. “The author—a physician named John Alderson—is quoting Joseph Addison, but the purpose of the book is to refute that position. Alderson argued that the belief in apparitions arose from secondary physical causes.”

  “Ah HA!” said Ann.

  Garrick raised his eyebrows at her. “Ah ha?”

  “Sounds like an explanation for a physical reaction to sensings.”

  “You misunderstand the author’s intent, my dear. He believed the perception of apparitions to be the result of physical causes—injuries to the head, excessive alcohol consumption, chronic medical conditions—whereas you are arguing that the physical condition is the result of the appearance of the apparition.” He waved to the other books. “For any position you may care to take on the subject, I can provide a carefully researched position defending or debunking it.” He closed the book and placed it on the book stand. “You may borrow it if you wish to read further.”