Chapter 3
Sitting Room... several days later...
Sprawled on the chintz covered couch, Nick nodded over Rachel's report on the Ocean Beach apparition. It was deadly dull, as Rachel's writing usually was, and on this grey, foggy afternoon, the warmth of the fireplace was pulling him towards sleep.
The report confirmed two other incidents... both recent... within the past two or three months. There was as yet no clue to what had prompted them. Ghostly phenomena rarely appeared in a previously inactive area... unless there had been some event to serve as a trigger... a recent death... a change in the environment... the presence of a psychically potent individual. They had done a preliminary search in an attempt to isolate recent events at Ocean Beach... but had turned up nothing. The problem was that they really didn't have the wherewithal to undertake a thorough, real life, time consuming investigation, in which paper trails were chased and real people were spoken with face to face.
"Excuse me, sir...," said Dominick, as he glided into the room.
"Hey, Dom...." The younger man looked up and arched his back, glad of a diversion.
"There's a representative from the museum here to see you," the old man announced, while stifling an ill-concealed smile at the panic that flitted across Nick's face.
"Dammit!... Willem... Mr. van der Linden... promised me they'd get their money... so they could go 'play marbles'."
"So I understood you to say." Dominick nodded sagely.
Nick groaned, set his papers aside, then rose to tuck in his shirt tail. Had there been a foul up, he wondered. He was in no mood for a crusty curator's lecture on a missed opportunity that was unlikely to arise again for years... if ever. "I don't suppose it's Miranda Blake?" he asked hopefully.
"No, sir.... I believe Miss Blake is now working in Rome."
"OK, Dom.... Let's get it over with." Nick squared his shoulders... naval fashion... ready to receive boarders. "Show him in."
"Hey!... Nick!... How you doin'?" a young voice rang out.
Nick stared open-mouthed. The young woman before him was dressed in a tailored, grey business suit, with the shortest skirt, displaying the longest legs and the highest heels, he had ever seen.
"Uhhhh...." He gulped. "Uhhhh...."
"It's me... Nadine Bronski... from LA.... Remember?" She smiled, loving the "deer in the headlights" look on the man's face.
"Nadine...." Now he remembered... one of Derek's "she devils" from the hostel... their visit last Christmas.... He realized he was not ready for the worst after all.... Bring back the crusty curator!
"Yeah... Derek set me up for an internship at the Winston Rayne Hall of Antiquities.... When I was ready, it was waiting.... I'm working there now... for real."
"That's good...." He grew more confident.... She was alone. One kid... how bad could that be?... She was the young, quiet, "inexperienced" one... not Red, the real "she-devil".... Thank God!
"So... you gonna invite me to sit down?" she asked, as she pulled the clip from her dark hair and let the tresses fall to her shoulders.
"Sure...," he agreed, glancing over at Dominick, who was maneuvering a large suitcase into the room. "You want a Coke or something? How're things down south?"
"Everybody... Christy... Red... Janey... they're all doin' OK... so's Maggie and Ingrid... and we got us three new recruits.... Girls that were whorin' for some Trey-eights bastard that got his brains splattered in Rollin' Sixties territory.... They really needed us," Nadine proudly explained, then turned to face the butler. "Coffee would be good, Dominick... a pot with two cups?"
"Certainly... Miss...," the majordomo replied, giving the luggage a sly, quizzical glance. "...And perhaps some of my shortbreads.... I remember you found them agreeable."
"Great!..." She grinned as she saw Nick return to the couch.... Rather than take the nearest chair, she sat beside him... as closely as possible.
"So... what can I do for you?" Nick asked, edging away.
"That grant... for the museum to buy the Roman thing... it included the money for my internship. I've been working on-and-off at the museum for a couple of weeks... on probation. Hah!" she laughed. "I'm like refried beans... on probation twice over.... Judge Maggie fixed it and got me some new clothes too.... Anyway... 'NewBe' was funding me... now I'm permanent.... I got me a regular job.... And the rest of the grant went on the marbles.... So, Dr. Gerber's got his Roman frieze... and the Winston Rayne Hall of Antiquities has got a new employee.... I love saying that's where I work. It's got real class... like I'm somebody."
She paused to draw breath. "The Doc was going to write you... to thank you for arranging the grant so quickly, but I told him you'd appreciate the personal touch... and that we're old friends.... So, here I am...." She leaned closer. "...To thank you, personally."
Edging further away, Nick sighed in relief. Willem had been as good as his word. "I'm glad it worked out OK." His eye was drawn once more to the large suitcase. Butterflies flittered in his stomach at the implications of its presence.
"So... you've moved out the hostel now?... Or is your internship a closed ended deal?"
"Nope... I'm here for as long as the museum and me want each other... and I couldn't hardly commute, could I?" She smiled as Dominick returned with the coffee. "And I knew you guys had this great, big house... lots of room... so, here I am."
The two men exchanged panic-stricken looks as Dominick set the tray down on the table in front of the sofa and poured the coffee.
"Nadine... I... well... uhhh," Nick sputtered. "This isn't really the place for you."
"Indeed... Miss...." Dominick racked his brain for plausible excuses as he handed the young woman a cup and saucer. "The travel back and forth to the city can be... difficult... bad weather... thunder... lightning.... One gets seasick.... The ferry breaks down all the time."
"That's right...." Nick seized on Dom's lead. "We're always getting stuck out here.... It's an island... and there's nothing for a kid like you to do."
"Oh... I wouldn't say that," she pouted, crossing her legs, allowing her skirt to slide still higher. "As you can see I'm not exactly a kid... and... well... getting stuck out here... with you...." Her brown eyes smiled suggestively over the rim of her cup as she took a sip of the hot liquid. "...Might be fun!"
Dominick was quicker to gather his wits than his young colleague. Sr. Ingrid... Judge Hamilton... they would hardly send a young girl to live in a Legacy House, where secrets abounded and ghosts and other "nasties" were frequent visitors. He began to suspect that his rather refined leg was being firmly pulled. "Miss Bronski... did Sr. Ingrid suggest you come here?" he asked.
"Sure did," Nadine agreed, then saw disbelief cross both men's faces.
"Busted.... Right?..." she grinned.
"Indeed... Miss," Dominick agreed, wondering how many of the female contingent had been involved in this little "tease". Judge Maggie?... Probably.... Ingrid?... Maybe, but less likely... Alex and Rachel?... Certainly.
"Ingrid fixed it for me to stay with Rachel for a while," Nadine confessed. "Then NewBe's gonna help me find my own place.... In the meantime, I'm gonna take classes and get my GED, then keep on going... to a Ph.D. in something... from Oxford.... 'God willing'... like Ingrid says."
Nick was also putting two and two together... but more slowly.... Rachel... Maggie... Ingrid... Alex.... How could Rachel have kept Nadine a secret for two weeks?...Vengeance would be his... one way or another... and payback would be a bitch.... No... bad word choice, he reconsidered. Payback would be "interesting".
"So... you enjoying the job?" he asked, searching for safe conversation.
"Truly awesome," she responded as her made-up face took on a genuine, childlike animation. "All that history... just sitting there... waiting to be touched... learned.... Something some guy carved two thousand years ago.... It's like I can 'feel' him. Dr. Gerber says I got a real flair for research... books... Internet... archives... anything.... If it's there I'll find it.... It's like I 'smell' it."
"No kiddin'?..." Nick smiled. A latent psychic, he wondered, as he leaned forward. Suddenly he was a man on a mission... a researcher ready, willing, and able to do leg-work or a paper chase... just what they needed. "Tell me all about it...," he said warmly.
< < + > >
Ocean Beach...
Ernestine Collins stood on the beach, breathing in the salty, ocean air... for the first time ever in her seventy-three years. In an odd way, it reminded her of her home in the Ozark Mountains, where, once upon a time, she could stand on a bluff and look out over an unending sea of green. There, June would be humid, and hot. Mists would rise from the dense foliage. Here the mists were cold. Though the thermometer would deny it, the dampness chilled her bones like a freezing, winter wind.
"Hey!... Nana!... Look at me!.... Look at me!" The shrill voice of her grandson, Kyle, interrupted her contemplation.
She turned to see the child jump from one rock to another with ferocious energy. Her daughter, Gwen, hurried towards him. "Kyle!... Get back over here... this instant!... Those waves are dangerous.... You'll slip.... Come on!... We'll look for shells."
"Don't wanna look for shells," the eight-year-old whined. "Wanna see seals."
Ernestine closed her mind to the everyday drama and looked around her. She was enjoying her visit... and didn't want to seem ungrateful... but lately she had felt so tired. The size of the city... the numbers of people and cars... were claustrophobic. Folks were too busy... too rushed... too golldarned noisy. The cold dampness was lying heavy in her bones... stiffening her joints. She told herself that her heart was aching to return to the Missouri mountains... to home.
The fog was returning, rolling in from the sea, stretching its chilled tendrils towards shore. She chuckled at her fellow Missourian's statement about San Francisco. Mark Twain had once written that the coldest winter he had ever spent was a summer in San Francisco. Suddenly very cold, she shuddered and pulled her cardigan close about her.
Her gaze rested on a figure... an elderly man shambling along the weathered seawall. The fog almost seemed drawn to him. Something about his shabby clothes reminded her of her father. Was it his tweed cap or his suspenders and collarless shirt? She watched as he again and again reached down to turn over stones, to scrabble in the sand.
"Poor, old soul," she murmured. "He's lost something, or he's beach combing... looking for cans or bottles to recycle for a few dollars." The one thing she didn't need was money. Her son-in-law, Kyle Sr., was more than generous. She had to allow him that, but he was a cold fish... always in the office... never spending time with Gwen or his son. He thought money could buy him anything, even happiness. Gwen seemed content, however. She had settled for her nice house, her new car, twice a year vacations with Kyle.
Kyle, Sr. was the exact opposite of Ernestine's husband, David.... God rest his soul. She smiled in recollection. He had passed on to the Lord over fifteen years ago... and still she missed him. They had been po' mountain folk... but happy... he would have said... and there was much truth in that. Again her mind drifted home, to the quiet graveyard tucked away behind its whitewashed church. There she would join Davy... and their folks, their cousins, aunts, uncles, their grandparents, and great-grandparents, and great-great-grandparents... all as it should be... and on Wednesdays and Sundays they could listen to the "Amens and hallelujahs" and those good, old, gospel hymns.
As the old man drew close, she called to him. "Can I help you, mister? Have you lost something?"
The figure turned.... Seeing her for the first time, he rushed at her. Ernestine Collins struggled to comprehend. It was carried on the wind, like a vapor.... It was a merciless wind that meant her harm. His face was decayed flesh, hanging loosely from the bones.... The eyes... dear God!... the eyes... sunken pits of blackness.
Her mouth opened.... Unable to draw breath... unable to call for help, she gasped in horror. She covered her face with her hands... to shut out the apparition.
"Why!... Why!..." howled the fleshless mouth. As its breath buffeted her, the stench of rot and death enveloped her. Clutching her chest, she sank to her knees. The time had come. The entity swept by and another took its place... Davy!... stretching his arms towards her.... "Ernie... sweet tater... it's been so long."
From across the beach, Gwen heard the unearthly cry. She looked back and saw the stout, old woman drop to her knees in the sand. She seemed to be swathed in a green, swirling mist.... Something about it gave Gwen the impression of a male figure. Then it vanished... no mist... no man... only an old woman in a flowered dress, lying very still.
"Mom!" she cried, scrambling through the deep sand, knowing in her heart that
help would be too late.
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