Part 14 (1/2)

”Where?” I asked.

”The local paper. I'm pretty sure they would have covered the tragedy of Kincaid falling to his death-it made national headlines back in the States, after all.”

I brightened at the suggestion. ”You're right! And if they covered the story, they likely got everyone's name.”

”We can check there in the morning,” John said.

”Not if the electricity doesn't get turned back on,” Gilley grumbled.

I sighed. He could be such a pill sometimes. ”We'll keep our fingers crossed that it comes back on by then.”

I should have crossed my toes too, because in the morning the electricity was still out all across town, and steady gusts of fifty- to sixty-knot winds with sheeting rain weren't helping the situation.

”This sucks,” said Gilley, still pouting at the breakfast table.

I had to hand it to Anya: She'd managed to make us all breakfast of fruit, leftover rolls, oatmeal with raisins, and hot tea in spite of having no electricity. ”I've a kettle that fits right over the fire,” she said smartly. ”Comes in quite handy during weather like this.”

I smiled and thanked her for her efforts, while subtly elbowing Gilley in the ribs. ”Be nice,” I hissed when Anya wasn't looking.

He scowled and hunched farther into the blanket wrapped round his shoulders, nibbling away at his third breakfast roll like a hungry squirrel with his last nut.

The room was quite chilly, even though I had on long underwear and two sweaters. Heath joined us, rubbing his hands together and blowing on his fingers. ”Brrrrr,” he said, sitting down and reaching for a cup of steaming tea.

The temperature had dropped significantly, and as I looked out the front window, I wondered if Gopher was suffering from hypothermia. I tried to remember what he'd been wearing. ...

”You thinking about Gopher?” Heath asked, reading my mind.

”Yeah. I'm worried about him in this weather.”

Heath followed my gaze out the window. ”That castle was cold.”

”And damp.”

”Great ghost-hunting conditions, though,” Gilley remarked. ”If that phantom weren't there, I wonder who we'd be able to make contact with. I mean, you could probably talk to Kincaid or that French guy, no problem.”

And just like that, an idea bloomed in my mind. ”Gilley,” I said admiringly, ”I do believe you're a bit of a genius.”

He lowered his lids and said, ”Well, duh!”

That made me laugh.

”What's the plan?” Heath asked.

I focused on him. ”Maybe Dunnyvale had it wrong,” I said. ”Maybe we don't start with this Alexandra chick. Maybe we start with the first sign of trouble.”

Heath nodded. ”The Frenchman.”

”Exactly.”

”You'll never get across the causeway today, though,” Gilley remarked. ”I checked the weather on John's phone-thank G.o.d he had a chance to charge his before the electricity blew. The winds aren't going to die down until tonight, which means the storm surge will be covering the causeway all morning.”

That unsettled me, because I felt we might be running out of time. ”What time is low tide tonight?”

Gilley bent down to retrieve a notebook from his backpack. ”Should be around seven thirty, and you'll have until about nine thirty to get back if the surge isn't high.”

Heath and I exchanged glances. ”I'm in,” he said softly.

Gilley looked sharply at us. ”Hold on,” he said. ”You're not thinking about going back to that castle in the dark in the dark, are you?”

”What choice do we have?” I asked him.

”To stay here today and go tomorrow morning!”

”Gilley,” I said, using my best ”Please remain calm” voice. ”We can't let an entire day go by without doing something for Gopher. My gut says he's running out of time.”

”It's too dangerous!” Gil insisted. ”M. J., look at what happened just before dusk the last time we went to the castle! You almost died!”

I inhaled and exhaled slowly. ”Honey,” I said softly. ”I'm not going to go up to the castle. The Frenchman, the coast guard officer, and Kincaid all died at the base of those cliffs. It stands to reason that I might be able to reach at least one of them there on the safety of the sh.o.r.e and talk to them without encountering the phantom.”

”You don't know that it won't come down the stairs after you!” Gilley insisted, his eyes wide and frightened. ”M. J., be reasonable! Now that we know how deadly that thing is, I'm not up for you going there at all, much less at night. You know know spooks get stronger at night. And we've already made that spooks get stronger at night. And we've already made that thing thing angry. We don't know what it's really capable of. It could come down those stairs, and in the dark you'd never know it until it was on top of you. At least in the daylight you might see it coming.” angry. We don't know what it's really capable of. It could come down those stairs, and in the dark you'd never know it until it was on top of you. At least in the daylight you might see it coming.”

I turned back to Heath to see if he'd been swayed by Gilley's argument. ”I'm still in if you want to go,” he said.

Gilley glared furiously at him.

”We're going,” I told Gil. ”Sorry, buddy, but we have to do this.”

Gilley's face turned downright mean, and he shoved his chair back and stomped out of the room. ”I'm not going with you!” he called from the stairway. He then stopped abruptly, returned to the table, and grabbed three more rolls before turning away in a huff again.

[image]

Heath and I found our way to the local paper, which was located in a rather small building in the center of town. The door was locked tight, and the interior was dark, as were most of the businesses along the narrow street.

I huddled inside my coat, s.h.i.+vering in the chill rain and damp air. ”I hope we catch a break from this weather tonight when we cross the causeway,” I said.

”It would be the first time we caught a break on this bust,” Heath grumbled.

And then I had another idea. ”Hey, you know, if Kincaid stayed at the Dunlee Inn, maybe the French guy did too.”

”Worth checking out. Did John tell you where it was?”

I saw a small cafe down the street with lights on and the sound of a generator's motor humming on the otherwise quiet street. ”No. But someone in there is bound to know.”

After getting directions from the cafe owner, we made our way to the Dunlee Inn. It was a sweet-looking structure with dark brown s.h.i.+ngles and a thatched roof. Moving inside, we inquired about the owner, and a portly gentleman with thick white hair and a ready smile greeted us. ”Top oh the mornin' to ya,” he sang. ”I'm Sean Tierney. How can I help you?”