away.
The apparition, for it was most definitely something from beyond our world, lifted a hand that held a white cloth. She put it to her mouth and coughed, a racking sound that ended in a choking noise. When she finished, she lowered the cloth toward me in a pleading fashion. “Help.”
The word seemed to waver in the air, moving like an echo rather than speech.
Whatever this ghoul was, she bore no resemblance to my lovely Dahlia House haint. Jitty was sexy and beautiful, voluptuous and groomed to perfection. If this was Carlita Marquez in her last days, I could only say that Federico was right to keep the children away from her. No child should have to see a parent dying in such a manner. Carlita was a skeleton barely covered by skin, her suffering etched into every plane and angle. The beautiful woman in the portrait hanging in my bedroom had evaporated, leaving only the dregs of who she’d once been.
Tinkie moaned softly. She was coming around. Her full weight was pressed against my shins and I had to brace myself to stand steady. Even if I could get away, I couldn’t take Tinkie. We were jammed like sardines in the secret hallway.
“What do you want?” I asked. My voice quavered, and I wished with all my might that Jitty would appear to intervene for me. I could handle a family member’s ghost, but not this pathetic creature that looked to be in agony. Even though she hadn’t spoken again, I could feel her pain like waves rolling over me.
“Help,” she said in that strange voice that was like air molecules colliding together and moving to me.
“How?” I dreaded her answer.
“Help me,” she said again. She seemed to move closer, but she wasn’t walking.
Tinkie moaned and shifted. “Tinkie, wake up.” I needed her to see this. “Tinkie, wake up.”
“Help me,” the ghost said again. “Too late.”
I had her pinned in the beam of the flashlight, and I could tell she was starting to fade.
“What can I do?” I asked.
“Save…” But she didn’t finish. Just as Tinkie sat up, the figure disappeared.
I knelt down beside my friend, using the flashlight to reveal the lump swelling on her forehead. She’d had a rough time with her noggin these past few days. While she’d taken a fairly good lick, the swelling was coming out, which Aunt Loulane always said was a good sign.
“Damn, I nearly knocked my brains out,” she said.
I took it as a favorable omen that she knew what had happened. “You saw her, didn’t you?”
“Saw who?”
“The ghost.”
She grabbed my knee and used it as a brace to push herself up. “I can’t believe you’re trying to scare me after I just slammed my head into a board.”
“But I’m not. She was there. She asked us to help her. She said we were to save… someone or something.” The more I talked, the more I realized Tinkie was having no part of this. She’d been unconscious, lying on the floor, while I’d spoken with the ‘Ghost of Marquez Manor,’ and now she’d never believe it.
“This is
“Carlita Marquez’s spirit is here, in this house, and she wants us to save someone or something. I don’t think she’s evil.”
Tinkie bit her bottom lip. “I wish I’d seen her, too. I want to believe you. It’s just that why would she appear right at the moment I get knocked out?”
That wasn’t a question I wanted to ponder while still crammed into a crawlspace without good ventilation or a speedy path of retreat. “We should go back to the study,” I said. I would come back later to look for evidence.
Even if Tinkie didn’t believe me, I knew I’d seen Carlita Marquez, and she’d asked me to save someone. Federico? Estelle? Both were safe. Then who? Maybe save her spirit from her father? It was very complex.
“You know, you and Jovan are the only people who’ve seen the ghost.” Tinkie was inching her way out, following my lead. She was wobbly but doing okay. If I didn’t get her on a plane and back to Zinnia, she might damage her brain for good. She couldn’t take a lot more bumping and whacking.
“There are stories in town,” I pointed out. “So kids have seen her standing on the balcony.”
“Or they just like telling the story. Good date material. Gives the girl an excuse to cuddle close.”
“For a woman who healed her own breast lump with the help of a faith healer in New Orleans, I find it strange you’re so determined not to believe this house is haunted.”
“I just find the timing interesting. And a little convenient. Maybe you want to see a ghost.”
Now that was the regular Tinkie-a zinger lurking behind every multiglitzed curl. “Thanks.”
“Why do you think the ghost presents to you?”
We were almost back to the study. “Because I’m willing to see her?” I didn’t add that it might be because I had my own ghost and had learned to listen.
Thinking of Jitty brought back the remarks that she’d made earlier in the kitchen while acting out
Jitty had said a picture was worth a thousand words. “Tinkie, we can’t be sure Estelle is in Maine.”
“Daniel said he had a photo sent from her phone. He was torn up because he figured some new guy had taken it. Do you think he’s lying?”
“No, but a photo doesn’t prove anything.”
She swung her light so that it was directly in my eyes, blinding me. I pushed it away as she spoke.
“You’re right. What if-”
“What if Estelle is who we’re supposed to save? What if the ghost of Carlita was talking about her daughter?”
Tinkie aimed the light down the passageway we’d just sweated down. “We’re going to find out.”
“You should go to the kitchen and check the dogs. I can do this.”
She ignored me and reversed down the tunnellike path. We’d gone only fifteen or so yards when we both stopped dead in our tracks.
Soft sobbing wafted to us, and this time it was closer. It sounded like a woman, exhausted and ready to give up.
“Estelle!” I called. “Estelle, can you hear us?”
The answer that came chilled me to my bones. “Please. So… much… blood.”
After stumbling and banging our way down the torturous passage and climbing the narrowest stairs I’d ever seen, we finally found Estelle in the back of a cupboard in one of the rooms on the third-floor east wing. In my searches of the house and questioning of the staff, I’d been told the room was a linen closet. I’d even searched it once before.
There were stacks of sheets and towels, but there was also a false front that concealed a space large enough for Estelle’s body. Her hands and feet were tied so tightly, I wondered if the lack of circulation would necessitate amputation. She’d also been gagged, but she’d managed to work that loose. She was bleeding from a head wound and a severe cut to her thigh. Blood, dried and oozing fresh, had puddled around her.
The exterior door of the closet was locked, but using our shoulders, Tinkie and I managed to split the wood at the hinges and crash it open. While Tinkie called an ambulance, I untied Estelle and dragged her out into the hallway.
Estelle had slipped into a thrashing sleep, and I could tell by the heat coming from her body that she had a high fever. She was also dehydrated, but I was afraid to try to rouse her to drink. I wasn’t sure what to do, so I sat on the floor and cradled her head and talked to her, even though she was so delirious she couldn’t possibly understand my words.
I didn’t want to think how long she’d been in that cubbyhole, unable to move and without water or food, bleeding from two serious wounds. I could only hope that her condition wasn’t fatal.
Tinkie came running back upstairs. “The ambulance is on the way, and I put in a call to the Petaluma authorities and Daniel.” She saw the look on my face. “I think he was duped, Sarah Booth. I talked to him when he thought Estelle had broken up with him. He was devastated. I don’t think he had anything to do with this.”
Tinkie had good gut instincts, but I wasn’t as trusting in the area of love as she was. She’d married once and
