Do I have anything to report? Even though Tom’s been searchingthe foothills and talking to people in town, he hasn’t discovered anything new.Cornishwomen with red hair abound in Stonehenge apparently, but none have beenreported missing or dead. At least Tom has made an effort to move theinvestigation forward, in addition to meeting me at midnight. I, on the otherhand, have been caught up with sign language and alphabet stencils and my illmother, leaving little time or opportunity to sleuth. All I’ve got are those damnedinitals DTP.
I force myself to meet Death’s blue, blue eyes. We’re stillinvestigating, Sir. I’m confident we’ll find the killer soon.
Let us hope so. It’s unfair to make the dead suffer longerthan necessary. It makes me upset just thinking about this poor woman’s plight.
Oh dear. Upset is a step away from angry. No one wishes to meetthe Reaper in high dudgeon. Especially me. I enjoy living, thank you very much.
As I nod my head in agreement with Death, Freckles smiles atHim warmly. Why did she wink like that? Is the ghost infatuated with Death? Theidea makes me shudder.
Her fair skin is growing translucent, looking more wraith-likethan human. This happens when ghosts fail to cross over. Ripped from life in anuntimely fashion, murdered souls are often hazy about their own mortality and death.The memory of dying violently traumatizes them and they subdue it. Yet ghosts arevery clear about their desire to continue on to the spirit world. This cannothappen until the truth is revealed—about them and their killers. Onlythen will they move forward to the Judgment, where all of creation makes anaccounting and justice and mercy await.
If the ghosts were good people in life then they are gentle andeasy to work with. The bad ones are an entirely different matter. Despite myearlier sympathy with Freckles, I sense she is from the latter category. Thefriendly show she’s putting on for Sir Death seems artificial.
But the Reaper appears to welcome the attention. He gazes at mein disappointment and fades away. I force myself back to the world of theliving, back to Tom. It will become more and more difficult to separate myselffrom Freckles. The longer she stays here, the greater the risk her darkernature will take over. Visionaries have gone mad from such spirits.
We need to find our killer, Tom. Sir Death is upset. Hewants justice now.
Tom puts his hand on my back, rubs gently. What about thatold chapel on Settler’s Ridge? I haven’t checked there.
Our Lady of Sorrows? No. It’s in ruins after the fire.
He slides his arm around my shivering body. But the buildingwas whitewashed, Hettie. It might look like a snowy mound from a distance, andthere’s a fairly deep ravine thereabouts. I think it’s worth a try.
When?
Tomorrow morning? We’re lucky it’s so windy up there. Thesnow doesn’t stick for long, even after a storm. Maybe we’ll find something.
Let’s pray we do, Tom. Our ghost is trouble. She’s trying tobeguile the Reaper.
That’s just wrong.
She winked and smiled at Him. Flirted even.
Tom’s happy laughter makes my heart light. The Shade and thespecter? Now there’s a love story to give you nightmares.
I punch him on the arm. Be serious. It’s not love, it’smanipulation waiting to happen. Let’s help her move on, whatever it takes.
Out of habit, he switches into speech, forgetting the rules ofclairvoyance yet again. “Fiat justitia ruat caelum.”
“‘Let justice be done though the heavens fall’?” Kelly asks,making both of us jump.
Wrapped up in our telepathic discussion, we forgot the doctorwas still here. “Strange,” he says. “I’ve been watching you two. It’s as if youcan talk to each other without saying a word.”
“Such a wild imagination,” Tom replies. “I wouldn’t haveexpected it in a man of science.”
“Most scientists agree there’s much beyond our understanding.” ThenKelly’s pragmatic nature takes over, and he changes the subject. “Tell me aboutthe knives, Craddock. Why is Hester learning to use them?”
“For self-protection. The horse was intentionally spooked onthe day you saved her life.”
Liquid sloshes inside a container. Is it the flask Kellymentioned before? “Do you know who’s responsible?” he asks, twisting a metalcap.
Don’t mention the magic, Tom. Kelly will never believe it.Say I overheard the killer talking to himself. The doctor could help us searchfor evidence.
We’ve managed without him this far.
And we will again, but it wouldn’t hurt to have someone withhis training on our side.
I don’t trust the man, Hettie.
Well I do, and we could use an extra person on Settler’sRidge.
Tom hesitates but still concedes to my wishes. “Miss Graysonoverheard a stranger incriminating himself in the murder of a young woman. Wethink he is most likely the one trying to harm her.”
Thanks, Tom. I’ll make it up to you later.
“Is this true, Hester?” Kelly puts the flask in my hand. “Youdidn’t recognize the voice of the killer?”
Shaking my head, I smell the beverage in the flask. Strong,alcoholic fumes singe my nostrils. I drink and liquid fire slides down my throat.It makes me cough and wheeze. I hastily return the flask to the doctor, but hepushes it back. “One more sip.”
I do as he suggests and my insides are hot as hellfire. Iremove my scarf and decline Kelly’s blanket although he insists I take it withme on the journey home. My very innards feel flammable. Like the parlor maidMartha, I could combust.
Kelly passes the flask to Tom, who isn’t shy about taking adrink. He has several before handing it over to the doctor. “The crime may havehappened at a ravine nearby,” he says. “We plan to go there tomorrow and searchfor clues.”
“What kind of clues?” Kelly asks. “And why haven’t you toldthe police about this?”
Taking Tom’s hand, I give it a comforting squeeze. Be ashonest as possible. I won’t hold it against you.
He’s angry inside—that he has to spell out my situation to thedoctor, that the circumstances exist in the first place. “Hester can’t speakfor herself, and the people
