I banged on Mr. Henderson’s door as loudly as I dared, not wanting to rouse the neighborhood.
I waited a minute or two, but when there was no answer, I knocked again.
This time only seconds passed before the door whipped open. “Brynn, why are you here this time of night?” Mr. Henderson shot his head out and did a quick side to side scan of the street. “Is something after you?”
“No, no, it’s nothing like that. And I’m sorry for calling on you so late, but it is important. Could I come in?”
He hesitated.
“I brought pie.” I lifted the plate.
“Is that peach?”
I nodded.
“Peach is my favorite.” He stepped to the side for me to enter. “Well, hurry up, then. It must be nearly ten. Two hours from midnight.”
I gave him a sideways look.
He leaned toward me, then whispered, “The witching hour.”
“Right. Of course.” I nodded, matching his serious expression.
Once we were inside, he said, “Can I make you a cup of tea?”
“I don’t want to be a bother.”
“No bother. My mother always used to say nothing soothes like a cup of tea on a cold night. I think I’ll have one myself. It will go well with the pie.” He hurried toward the kitchen, calling out behind him, “Make yourself at home. I’ll just be a minute.”
I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. I didn’t want to alarm Mr. Henderson any more than I already had, and I also didn’t want to get too excited, to prevent being disappointed over what I was hoping to find.
I wandered around the living room. There were lots of shelves loaded down with interesting knickknacks. Mr. Henderson had only moved in two years ago, but he had really made the little Arts & Crafts Bungalow his own. I eyed the brass model planes and the 1940s typewriter —before moving on to a row of books. My face dropped once I caught a few of the titles on the shelf. Magical Creatures from Around the World, Haunted Places, Witches Among Us.
“Are you interested in the paranormal?”
I spun around to face Mr. Henderson, who was carrying a sturdy wood tray with tea and pie.
“I, uh, not particularly,” I said, feeling my cheeks burn.
“Well, if the mood ever strikes, you’re welcome to borrow any of my books. Living in a town like Evenfall, I think it’s in your best interest.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” I sat on the sofa and reached for the teacup Mr. Henderson indicated was mine.
“Now, what brings you over this late?”
I took a long sip as I considered how I was going to handle this. As a general rule I didn’t like lying, but given the circumstances, I thought I could forgive myself just this once. “This is a little embarrassing.”
Mr. Henderson perked up with interest.
“The other day, you mentioned something about seeing a ghost?”
“Yes?”
“I think I may have seen one too.”
My neighbor’s teacup rattled in its saucer. He put it down quickly. “I knew I couldn’t be the only one.” His eyes twinkled with excitement.
“I didn’t say anything when you first brought it up because my aunt was with me. She doesn’t believe in those sorts of things.”
“I understand. Izzy is a very sweet lady, but not everyone is gifted with the ability to see what’s right in front of them.”
I choked a little on my tea. “Excuse me.” I was a bad witch. Very bad. “Anyway, the night Constance Graves passed—”
“Terrible tragedy that. The police told me they were looking into the circumstances of her accident. They made copies of some of my security files. Although I don’t see how that will help them figure out how she fell.”
He obviously hadn’t heard all the talk about Constance’s death being suspicious. It would only be a matter of time, but for now, that suited my purposes just fine. “It was that night that I saw . . . what I saw. It’s hard to describe exactly.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. It takes a trained eye, my dear. A trained eye.”
“Could you tell me again what you saw that night?” I asked as sweetly as I could. “It might help me be sure I’m not imagining things.”
“Certainly.” He nodded sagely. “Well, like I said, it was a woman. Of that I’m sure. She was very beautiful, with long dark hair. She also wore a flowing white robe that trailed to the grass. She glided across my lawn to yours. I bet you saw her right after I did. She would have floated right through the bars of your fence.”
“Was any of this caught on your security footage?”
He shot me a look that spoke to how adorable he thought I was in my ignorance. “You should know, my dear, ghosts are far too smart to be caught on any recording devices.”
“Oh, of course.” It was in fact impossible for ghosts to be caught on camera.
“But,” he said, holding up a finger, a sly smile on his face. “One of the cameras did manage to catch the corner of her gown.”
“What?” I set down my cup with a bit of clatter. “Can I see it?”
Mr. Henderson hesitated, studying me.
“It’s just,” I paused, forcing an embarrassed smile, “my aunts think I’m crazy. It would make me feel better to see something concrete.”
“I know what that’s like.” He pushed himself to his feet. “Come with me.”
I followed Mr. Henderson into his study. It was a cozy space. There was a fireplace across from his desk, more bookshelves, and a multitude of little lamps that gave the place a soft glow. My neighbor moved to sit in the leather chair in front of the computer on his desk and jiggled the mouse. He then gestured for me to come in behind him. “I tried to show the officers, but they dismissed it as a sheet from the clothesline next door. So foolish.”
I couldn’t help but agree. Very foolish indeed.
He clicked a few files, and a number of small screens came to life. “I currently only have cameras on the front of the house and the side by the driveway. I’ve been focusing on the doors for obvious reasons. But I intend to install them in the back, I just haven’t got around to it.”
I pointed at the screen. “This is the side of your house?”
“That’s right.”
I studied the live feed. He had the camera positioned on the back edge of the bungalow, facing toward the street, covering his driveway and the side door. None of that mattered though. I was more interested in the tiny sliver of frame that captured the iron fence of our yard where Mr. Henderson had caught sight of his ghost.
“I’ve tagged the exact moment where the ghost comes into view. Just let me queue it up.” He opened another window, then clicked with his mouse to start the recording just before the little mark indicated on the bar at the bottom of the screen.
“What time of night is this exactly?”
He squinted. “It looks like eighteen minutes past nine.”
So approximately, fifteen, twenty minutes after the murder.
“Now, keep your eyes peeled. It only lasts a second.” He hit play. “Ready. Wait for it. There!”
The flash of white happened so fast I didn’t catch anything. “Can you pause it on the exact frame?”
“I can indeed.” Mr. Henderson fiddled some more. “I’ve actually gotten quite good at this,” he said, smiling up at me. “Here. I’ll put it in slow motion.”
He restarted the video. Nothing happened at first, then a frame with a little white flashed on the screen, but it was too blurry to be of use. Another frame clicked into view. Then another. “Pause it!”
I must have startled him because he hit the mouse really hard, and the video stopped precisely where I wanted it to.
I leaned toward the screen.
Chills raced up and down my arms.
It was hard to be one hundred percent sure, but I was willing to bet that was not the corner of a bedsheet I was looking at.
No, I had seen that scalloped edge before. On the nightgown in the gift shop.
It all fit. The woman with the dark hair. The timing. Now this.
And what was it Nixie had said?
I couldn’t remember her exact words, but it was something like, Liz Coleman is one of our best customers.