ALONE IN THE DARK MEDICINAL HERB SHOP, ROSE TRIED to concentrate on the task at hand, but her mind drifted into worry. She wanted to be everywhere at once. Most especially, she wished she could be with Andrew and Gennie. She knew her presence wouldn’t keep them from harm, but not being there left her to imagine all the worst possibilities. She prayed for their safety and for a peaceful end to this fearsome night.
For the fifth time, she circled inside the building, peering out each window into the moon-bathed night. She paid particular attention to the west windows, which gave her a view of the Herb House. Gennie had told the story Rose had concocted, and she promised she’d talked about Sister Sarina spending lots of time in the Herb House. Had it been too subtle, that hint? The Herb House had three distinct advantages—it was a building the ghost hadn’t yet visited, according to Mairin; it was located at the northeast corner of the village, away from the buildings occupied at night; and Rose knew it very, very well. On the other hand, it was a large building, and Rose was only one person. She fervently hoped Andrew would arrive soon, with Grady and his officers.
She checked the windows a sixth time. A light snapped on in the Infirmary. Her stomach cramped for a moment, as doubt hit. What if her quarry hadn’t gotten the hint about the Herb House—or had chosen to ignore it for some reason? Was the story too obviously a fabrication? If so, might Josie be in danger? Nay, it was more likely someone was ill, and Josie was just doing her job.
Rose returned to the west window, overlooking the experimental herb garden. This time she saw what she’d been waiting for—the faint, wavery sliver cast by a flashlight. The light appeared and disappeared through the uncurtained ground-floor windows of the Herb House. The wielder of the flashlight was searching a large room where the herb presses and other equipment were kept. The room had lots of corners and storage cupboards, so it should keep the searcher busy for some time. Rose was sure by now that the dancing in the windows only occurred when the so-called ghost saw people outside watching. The performance was intended to explain the presence of someone in the building—and to discourage folks from coming inside and confronting the intruder face-to-face.
The grounds around the Herb House were blessedly free of ghost watchers. Rose slipped out the back door of the Medicinal Herb Shop. She wore a dark blue work dress, hoping to meld into the night. She’d purposely left behind her cloak. The last thing she needed was to be mistaken for the ghost and chased around the village. Keeping as far north as possible, without trampling the herb fields, she wove around to the Herb House’s small back door.
Rose eased open the door just enough for her to slip through and into a small foyer used mainly during herb harvesting. The brothers would come in from the herb fields and change into clean shoes, leaving their muddy boots lined up along the wall. She could make out the line of boots in the darkness, cleaned up and ready for the next season. She removed her own shoes and arranged them in line, as if they’d been waiting all winter for someone to claim them. She’d move more quietly in stocking feet.
She couldn’t stay here. Eventually the cloaked figure would work through the entire ground floor before going upstairs to the drying room. And the drying room was where Rose hoped to end the charade. She knew the room so well; she could easily navigate it in the dark, if she had to. If she could stay undetected until the intruder entered the drying room, she would close the door and wedge it shut, trapping the culprit inside. The windows were so high above ground that only a self-destructive fool would jump from one of them.
Unfortunately, the building had only one staircase, and it was in full view of anyone in the herb pressing room. She’d have to hide until the intruder moved toward the back of the building. Then she’d have a chance of slipping up the staircase unseen. Rose tiptoed up the few steps leading from the back landing to a short hallway. Two small rooms along the hallway were used for storing seasonal items, such as tools, extra tins, labels, hooks for hanging herbs to dry, and so forth. Rose took one step, stopped to listen, then took another step. The flooring was solid. She wasn’t afraid of creaks so much as tripping in the dark. She passed the first room, had almost reached the second. A clatter sounded very near her.
Rose held her breath, hoping for a cry or even a curse to tell her where the intruder was—and whether she had guessed the identity correctly. All she heard was a scraping sound followed by a thud, as if an object had been dragged along the floor until it hit a wall. It sounded very, very close, perhaps just around the corner at the end of the hall. She needed to get inside the room just a few yards from where the intruder must now be. She was afraid she’d been too slow. The intruder had already worked through the pressing room and would enter the hallway at any moment.
It was now or never. She took three quick steps and reached the door of the second room. Just before dark, she had visited the Herb House to think out her plan. Luckily, she had thought to leave the door of the small storage room slightly ajar, so she wouldn’t have to click the latch. She was able to squeeze inside without moving the door. Once inside, she stopped and listened. The scraping and clattering were fainter, but she knew the intruder was close. She had perhaps one or two minutes at most.
The room she’d entered looked smaller than it actually was. It backed up against an open storage area under the stairway. The Herb House was constructed for utility, but with neatness in mind. So only a portion of the area under the staircase had been left open for items that would be needed on a constant basis. The rest of the space had been enclosed in this room and turned into an odd-shaped closet. The closet door blended almost seamlessly into the pine wall; in the dark, even the narrow vertical handle looked like part of the wood grain.
Faint moonlight outlined obstacles in the room, so Rose had no difficulty reaching the closet door without making a sound. Again, she’d earlier left the door open. She slipped inside. She shared the closet with spare and broken parts from the herb presses, machine oil, rags, and various repair tools, but she’d carved out an area large enough for her to stand in. She settled inside and reached for the door. In her earlier haste, she’d forgotten. There was no knob on the inside of the door. A rush of anger and fear paralyzed her. For precious seconds, she fought to recover, to think clearly again.
She pushed the closet door open enough to let some moonlight penetrate. She looked around her. All this junk; there had to be something . . . A narrow shelf next to her held several wooden boxes, each full of small objects. One of them held screws. As quietly as possible, she picked out a large screw with a sharp point. With her left hand, she reached around outside the door to hold it firm. With all the strength that years of daily physical labor had given her, she imbedded the screw tip in the soft pine and turned it with her bare hand. She felt the screw head scrape her fingers. She didn’t mind the pain, but if she cut her hand, she would be a weaker opponent. She grabbed a nearby rag and used it to pad her fingers. The screw wound into the door with maddening slowness. When it felt firmly imbedded, she pulled it toward her, and the door followed, melding into the wall. It had been fitted so perfectly that its creator, Brother Hugo, had decided not to mar the door with any sort of latch, so Rose knew she would not be locked inside. She whisked a blessing heavenward to Brother Hugo, with the promise of many more to come.
The sound of scraping wood against wood told her the intruder was now in the room with her. Her stomach did a flip-flop. Perhaps eating a full dinner had not been such a good idea. She forced herself to breathe as she listened to the sounds of methodical searching coming closer and closer. If she stayed still, she should be safe—as long as the intruder didn’t turn on the light. That was the part she couldn’t predict. If ghost watchers showed up while the intruder was in this room, the light would go on and the dancing would begin—and the intruder might notice the door in the wall. To make matters more frightening, locked away in her closet, Rose wouldn’t know if the lights had been turned on until the door suddenly opened. She reached out her fingers and felt along a narrow shelf until she touched what felt like a wooden handle. She explored further and identified a hammer. For a moment, her fingers closed around the handle. She felt safer, stronger. She forced herself to let go. Holding the hammer as a weapon would be an enticement to violence.
The movements now sounded as if they were just outside her closet door. She heard a momentary silence that filled her with doubt. Had she been overconfident of Brother Hugo’s skill? Had she underestimated the intruder? But the noise picked up again, softer this time. In another few minutes, Rose heard the door of the room creak as it opened more widely. Rose counted to one hundred, listening as she waited. The powerful smell of old machine oil was making her dizzy. She had to get out.
She pushed the closet door forward a fraction of an inch, then another. Finally, moonlight cracked through. No one leaped at the door and dragged her out. She could hear movement in the next room. She was safe. But only for a while. Any hesitation and she might be the next victim.
Rose slid out and closed the closet door behind her, so the intruder wouldn’t peek in the room again, notice the open door, and become suspicious. She wove through the small room with care—the searcher had left items out of place. She stepped down right on a sharp-edged herb tin lid tossed on a patch of floor hidden from the moon. It had pressed hard into her foot, slicing through her stocking. She bit her lip, stifled a cry. She steadied herself on a nearby chest of drawers and lifted her foot, careful not to clatter the tin. She stood balanced on one foot for several seconds, as waves of pain radiated through the ball of her foot. The worst subsided. She put some weight on her foot. Hurt, but usable.
Time was passing. Rose’s biggest concern now was that the intruder would finish in the room next door and catch her in the hallway. Fear propelled her to the door. It had been left open. She peeked out. The hallway was clear. A few steps would take her into the herb pressing room and out of sight from the hall. She took a deep breath and walked as fast as she could. Tiptoeing on her injured foot was impossible.
Rows of windows allowed plenty of moonlight into the large herb pressing room. To avoid another mishap, Rose watched the floor as she hurried across the room to the wide staircase. With any luck, the intruder would now be searching the back foyer, far away from Rose. She took a risk. She lifted the skirt of her long work dress and took the steps at a half-run, flinching as the old wood and her hurt foot complained at the assault.
Rose reached the second-floor landing and glanced back down the stairs. No one appeared below. Now for the final phase of her plan. She prayed it would work smoothly, that she herself would not be the trigger for further violence.
The drying room door stood wide open, inviting. Moonlight flooded the room itself, beckoning the curious to enter and explore. On the other side of the landing, across from the drying room entrance, a small room provided additional storage space. She’d cleared an area in the room so she could hide and wait. Next to the door, in shadow, a sturdy wooden chair stood against the wall, as if waiting for a tired Believer to take a break. Rose had placed it there.
She settled in the storage room, with the door closed. There was always the risk the intruder would resist the lure of the herb drying room and decide to search the storage room first. So Rose knelt in a corner behind a stack of boxes and baskets used during the herb harvest. After a long winter of rest, they still smelled faintly of the earth. They hid her like protective friends, and for a moment she felt safe.
The moment ended as Rose heard the distant creak of stairs. She had to strain to make it out. Long spaces between the sounds hinted at a leisurely pace. That seemed odd, but perhaps the intruder had tired. The squeaking grew louder, then stopped. A full minute passed in silence. The intruder must already be in the drying room. Try as she might, Rose couldn’t hear any sounds from the room next to her; the thick walls muffled so much. It was time. She shifted her weight off her aching knees and prepared to stand.
She heard the soft click of a door latch. Her door latch. The door swished faintly as it opened. Noiselessly, Rose slid back to a kneeling stance and willed her muscles to be still. She had guessed wrong. The intruder had opted for the smaller room first. So much for her plan. This time, no handy hammer lay nearby. If she was discovered, she had few choices. She might be able to run. Or she might have to fight for her life.
The storage room had no windows. From her hiding place, Rose saw spots of light flick around, hitting the floor and the walls. A flashlight. The throbbing in her foot made her catch her breath. She willed the pain out of her mind. She had to be ready for anything.
The bouncing light stopped, and the door clicked shut. Rose didn’t dare move, didn’t dare allow herself to feel safe. She seriously considered staying where she was, then making a run for it while the intruder searched the drying room. They’d be no worse off than before. But this chance would never come again. Wilhelm’s life depended on her choice.
With painful slowness, she stretched until she could see around her barrier of boxes and baskets. She was alone in the room. She pushed to her feet, shook the kinks out of her knees, and tried her weight on her sore foot. It was worse. Taking off her shoes had been a foolish idea. They wouldn’t have made that much noise. Well, it was done, and she’d just have to accept the pain. She limped to the door, walking on the heel of her injured foot. With luck and heavenly help, she wouldn’t need whole feet to accomplish her task.
She listened at her door and heard nothing. The intruder must be well into the drying room. That was good. She eased open her door. Still quiet. She opened the door enough to look out into the landing. It was empty. Dark spots on the normally clean floor marked where the intruder had tracked in mud. Rose felt a surge of resentment. She slid out the door. The wooden chair was right next to her. She lifted it and limped to the drying room entrance.
It was too early in the season for bunches of herbs to be hanging from every possible hook and rack, so much of the room was visible. Rose paused, put the chair down for a moment as she scanned the room from just outside the doorway. She didn’t hear any sounds of searching, no furniture scraping or drawers sliding open and shut. What if the intruder had decided to stop searching and had already escaped? Well, then it wouldn’t hurt to barricade the door anyway. She stretched out her arms toward the chair.
Like the strike of a poisonous snake, an arm shot out from just inside the doorway. A strong hand grabbed Rose’s outstretched arm and yanked her into the drying room. She flew forward and sprawled on the floor. The door slammed shut behind her. As she tried to sit, she caught sight of her feet. Too late she realized what those dark spots on the landing had really been. The bottom of her left stocking was bloodstained. She must have left a trail of fresh blood all the way up the stairs and toward the closet.
She wasn’t much use for the chase anymore. Besides, the intruder had turned her plan against her and trapped her inside the drying room. At least the room had its own phone. She could alert the village to be on the lookout for a very dangerous cloaked figure. She dragged herself to her feet and limped toward the phone. Before she could reach it, the sound of running feet reached her. Someone was flying up the stairs, someone who didn’t care about being quiet. Her whole body wilted with relief. Grady had finally arrived.
As the door opened, she spun toward it. Her words of gratitude died before they reached the air. Someone in a long Shaker cloak, the hood pulled far forward, rushed through the door and closed it softly. One hand held a flashlight aimed at Rose’s eyes.
“I’d hoped to be long gone,” came a muffled voice from deep inside the hood of the cloak, “but there are far too many people outside. So you are going to help me.”
Rose swerved to avoid the glare of the flashlight. She saw another hand appear from under the cloak. It held something long, thin, and sharp. Rose had seen it before, most recently in her own Ministry House workroom—it was a pair of tailor’s shears.
Gennie stood on the top step, just outside the Trustees’ Office, and frantically scanned the village. She’d been too late. Mairin, clad only in her nightgown, had disappeared. Gennie’s worst fear was that the thieving so-called ghost had swooped up the little girl, probably to keep her quiet—at worst, to use her as a hostage. Standing around wouldn’t do any good. Gennie thought about ringing the old fire bell next to the Meetinghouse to arouse the village. That might backfire, though. If the ghost felt threatened, Mairin would be in even worse danger.
Gennie ran down the Trustees’ Office steps and into the road. She craned her neck to see if anything was coming from the west, like a nice, dusty, brown Buick, driven by Grady. She didn’t see so much as a farm wagon full of ghost seekers. There was no point in trying to find Andrew; he had his hands full. She hopped back onto the grass north of the unpaved central road. She’d be less visible. She’d last seen both the cloaked figure and Mairin walking toward the path. Now she saw neither, so they must have crossed to the north side of the village. Her best bet was to see if Rose might still be in the Medicinal Herb Shop. Together they could comb the area. She ran the rest of the way to the shop and burst in the door.
“Rose? Are you here?” She didn’t dare turn on the light. She didn’t need to. The building was small and decidedly empty. She’d just have to think of some other way.
Gennie hurried back into the night. If the cloaked figure was holding Mairin somewhere, it was probably in one of three nearby buildings—the Laundry, the barn, or the Herb House. The Laundry was closest. As soon as she slipped inside, Gennie sensed the building was empty. She wasn’t willing to trust her senses with Mairin’s life at stake, so she methodically searched the first floor. She inspected the huge washing machines, only one of which was used anymore; they could easily hold a body. Both were empty. She peeked inside the gigantic basket attached to a pulley that lifted it, filled with clean, wet clothing, up to the second-floor ironing room. The basket could accommodate at least two people. It gave off a faint lavender fragrance but held nothing. Finally she did a quick and fruitless search of the upstairs ironing room, which had fewer places to hide.
Discouraged, Gennie checked the ironing room windows. The village had come alive. Several folks, dressed in clothes of the world, had gathered on the Meetinghouse lawn, and a wagon holding more visitors trotted down the central path toward them. Now what? Gennie checked the barn and the Herb House through the east and west windows. Nothing suspicious going on in the barn, as far as she could see. But the Herb House . . . She thought she had seen a sliver of faint light waving around the ground floor. It disappeared almost instantly. She waited nearly a minute, but it didn’t reappear. Yet she was certain someone was there. It made sense. Rose had told her to be sure to mention the Herb House in her story about Sarina. She must have wanted the ghost to go there. Which meant Rose was probably in there, too. She might have no idea that Mairin was in any danger.
With a half-formed plan in her mind, Gennie left the Laundry and ran toward the strangers now clustered on the Meetinghouse lawn. She recognized one of the women as the intrepid Betty. The others must be her husband and their friends. She might have known a little damp and mud wouldn’t keep these folks away from their favorite entertainment.
“Hey there, ain’t seen you in a while,” Betty called as Gennie approached. “Anything worth seein’ around here?”
“Nothing at this end,” Gennie said. “She must be on the other side of the village. I thought I saw something in the Carpenters’ Shop. You go ahead, I’ll be along when I catch my breath.” The Carpenters’ Shop was far enough away. It should keep them out from under foot for a while.
Betty waved her group toward the southwest, and they took off eagerly. Gennie waited until they’d begun to fade into the darkness, then she made straight for the Infirmary. The light she’d seen earlier must mean Sister Josie was up and about, probably seeing to a patient. There was a time to call in backup, as Grady always said, and this was it.
Sister Josie sat at her desk measuring powders together when Gennie burst in the front door. Josie stood at once and bustled toward her cloak, hanging on a wall peg. “Is someone ill at the hostel?” she asked. “Tell me quickly so I’ll know what to bring. It isn’t another murder, is it?”
“No, Josie, no one is ill. Yet, anyway. But I need your help, and I don’t have time to explain. Grady and his officers might be in the village, maybe on the west side of the holy hill. Andrew, too. Or they might be on their way back to Languor. I want you to call both the Sheriff’s Office and the brethren. Somehow we’ve got to find Grady and send him to the Herb House. Thanks. Gotta go.” She knew Josie would try to keep her safe indoors, but she had no intention of missing the action.
“You might as well keep still. I can see now that I never gave you enough credit. However, I know you’re hurt, and I suspect you’re alone. The faster you help me, the sooner we part company.” The voice was low and gruff. Rose sensed a lie when she heard one. Her death would be necessary. She now knew the ghost’s identity. Her only hope was to stretch out the search until Andrew finished and came looking for her.
“What do you want from me?” she asked.
“You are familiar with this building. Where are the secret hiding places? I want those jewels.”
“We Shakers have no need for secret hiding places.”
“Nonsense. Everyone has secrets. Shakers are no better than anyone else. You just want those jewels for yourself. Now, I can see this is the room where Sister Sarina would have worked, so this must be where she hid her fortune. If you don’t help me, I’ll simply kill you now and look for myself.”
“The cupboards in the walls,” Rose said, stalling for time. “She might have pulled out a loose board in one of them.”
“Go try it. Go on.” The flashlight waved Rose toward a cupboard. She limped over to it, opened the door and peered around inside. Anything to delay the process.
“Try the boards.”
Rose clawed at the insides of the cupboard, but of course nothing loosened. Shaker buildings were solid and strong. “There’s nothing,” she said. “I’ll have to try the others.”
“Fast.”
The room held two other cupboards and some built-in drawers. Rose examined them all, as slowly as possible. Not a single board had even the slightest crack.
“It’s got to be here. I’ve looked everywhere.” The voice was sounding desperate, angry. “You’re no help. I might as well get rid of you now.”
“You’ve been duped.” Rose spoke quickly. Now her only hope was distraction.
“What do you mean?”
“There is no fortune. Those stories were just fantasy. There was no Sister Sarina, no tragic death.”
“You’re lying. You just want me to go away so you can find it.” The voice was a shade less gruff.
“Nay, we have no wish to profit from anyone’s death. The stories are false. They were planted by someone who wanted to embarrass us. Someone you have lived in the same house with, eaten meals with for many days.”
Keeping close enough to stop Rose from bolting, the cloaked figure crossed the room and glanced out the large south-facing window. “You know who I am, don’t you?” This time, the voice no longer strained to sound foggy. It was clearer and tougher than Rose remembered it sounding during her evening meals at the Shaker Hostel, but it was the same.
“Is your real name Clarissa Carruthers, or is that just a stage name, like Daisy Prescott?”
The cloaked figure rested her flashlight on the worktable in front of the window. With her free hand, she reached up and pulled back her hood. Her face and head were covered with a knit mask, leaving only her blue-green eyes showing. “It really is Clarissa,” she said. “I’ve had many others in the past few years, but I’ve always been partial to Clarissa.” She peeled off her mask. Her hair had been pulled back in a tight bun; now fine tendrils, pulled free by the removal of her mask, framed her face.
Clarissa retrieved her flashlight but didn’t bother to shine it in Rose’s eyes. “I should have guessed those stories weren’t true,” she said. “Horace had something to do with them, didn’t he? It was right in front of me; I should have known.” There was no hint of anger in her voice, as if all she’d done was make a minor mistake in arithmetic, and she’d know better next time.
“How long have you known?” she asked.
“I suspected ever since I learned you were an actress—that you’d been engaged to a wealthy man and had disappeared from the stage shortly after your fiancé broke your engagement. I suspected Saul Halvardson, too, of course. You two were the only ones with the physical agility to carry off the hoax.”
“Saul?” Clarissa laughed, one short bark. “He hasn’t the brains to accomplish something like this. I caught on to him fast. I got suspicious when he kept plying us all with liquor, but he never seemed to drink much himself. I figured he wanted us to sleep soundly. He’s a petty thief, no more.”
“And you are a highly successful jewel thief,” Rose said. In part, she was pandering to Clarissa’s obvious pride, a ploy to keep her talking. She didn’t admit that she hadn’t been completely sure until she’d heard Clarissa’s voice. Saul was no actor. He wouldn’t even have tried to alter his voice. He was a copycat, using the appearance of the ghost to steal items from the Shaker buildings. He was the “pregnant” ghost. With all the curious folks around, he simply stole from buildings farthest away from wherever the ghost was appearing that night, then hid his booty under a cape. Where he’d found the cape didn’t matter. He might easily have unearthed it in an attic during one of his nighttime adventures. He probably kept it in the woods somewhere and only used it when he was transporting stolen items. Rose suddenly remembered the tattered cloak she’d seen hanging in the South Family Dwelling House kitchen. Clarissa was wearing such a cloak right now. Hiding in plain sight—such bold cleverness was more Clarissa’s style than Saul’s.
Clarissa glanced out the south window again. A small smile played around her lips. Rose took it as a warning that she was busy developing a new plan—one that Rose was not intended to survive.
“Wealth is very important to you, isn’t it?” Rose asked.
Clarissa shrugged. “Wealth, of course, and respect. I’m no different from anyone else.” Her eyes slid up and down Rose’s body. “I suspect that, underneath that costume, you’re just the same as me.”
Rose refused the bait. “So the failure of your engagement must have hurt.”
“It made me angry,” Clarissa said. She lifted her chin. “The first house I ever burglarized belonged to his father, the one who ruined my engagement. It was easy, and so much more lucrative than acting. In fact, I used all my talents more fully than ever before. This is the perfect job for me.”
“You met the real Daisy Prescott at that house, didn’t you?”
“Of course,” said Clarissa. “It was rather bright of you to find out about that. I thought using a real person would be much safer than making everything up, and Daisy is such a frump, she was practically invisible. I’d run into her shortly before deciding to come here; I knew she’d been called home suddenly to care for her ill mother. It was ideal.”
Knowing she was taking a risk, Rose asked the question that burned in her heart. “Why did you have to kill Mina Dunmore and Brother Linus? Even if they’d discovered what you were doing, couldn’t you simply have left? There are so many other opportunities in the world—other houses, other jewels. Why kill?” She couldn’t ask the question without anguish coloring her voice.
“I had to,” Clarissa said, with a casual shrug, as if it had been merely a practical decision. “Mina Dunmore was nothing more than a lying blackmailer. Getting away from her would have been far more difficult than it sounds. That woman lied so much you all thought she was just making up stories when she talked about her wealthy husband, going to balls, and so on. She was stretching the truth, but it wasn’t all lies. Her husband’s cousin was the one with money.
“You see, I’ve found it wonderfully easy and exciting to wangle invitations to balls in rich houses all over the country. These people think they are so much better than I am. I adore fooling them, mingling among them and then relieving them of their trinkets. I went to one party in Louisville at the cousin’s house. It was early in my career, and I hadn’t honed my skills. I had a close call. The theft was discovered while we were all still there, and the police were called. Luckily, I’d found a clever hiding place for the jewelry. I wasn’t caught. However, I did use a different name than Daisy Prescott, and I had a lovely Southern drawl.”
“So Mrs. Dunmore recognized you at the hostel and—”
“Put two and two together, yes. You’d hardly have thought it of her, but she wasn’t actually stupid. Except in her dealings with me, of course. She’d tasted wealth before, and she wanted it again. Her idea was that I would do the work and give her half, in exchange for which she wouldn’t tell the police my identity. So you can see why I had to kill her. Luckily, she was foolish enough to brag about tracking down her father—your elder—thinking it made her sound more dangerous, I suppose. She tapped her bosom as she told me. That’s where I found her birth certificate.”
“And Brother Linus?”
“Foolish man. He had appointed himself the village guardian. He was going to catch the ghost and get things back to normal, or so I assume. One night he actually had the nerve to come into the building I was searching and try to corner me. I wasn’t worried, I’d always been too quick for him, so he hadn’t seen my face. Unfortunately, he found me just as I’d finished taking care of the Dunmore woman. I grabbed some yarn and got away fast, but he chased me into the basement of that big empty building, where I surprised him. It was easy. I was hoping he’d get blamed for a longer time, but that irritating little girl found him.”
“That little girl thinks you are her guardian angel.”
Clarissa let out a belly laugh. Her eyes closed momentarily, and Rose leaped toward the closed door. She’d grabbed the handle when a slender but surprisingly strong arm encircled her waist and pulled her back into the room.
“This has been fun,” Clarissa said. “It isn’t often I get to talk about my work.” She said no more, but Rose knew what came next. Clarissa spun her around and held the point of the tailor’s shears against her stomach.
Rose heard what sounded like a faint shout—outside, she thought.
“The time should be right,” Clarissa said. She flipped on the lights. “Come along.” She grabbed Rose’s arm and dragged her toward the south window. Still holding tight, she leaned over the side of the worktable and looked out at the grounds below.
“Perfect,” she said. “Take off your clothes.”
“Why you clever little thing, you.” Betty’s voice came from somewhere in back of Gennie. “You wanted the ghost all to yourself, didn’t you? Well, we found you out. Come on Arlin, over here,” she called. “Y’all come on this way.” A group of nine or ten materialized from the darkness and sprinted toward the Herb House.
“So,” Betty said, “she’s up there, is she? Was you gonna go in there, try and see her up close?”
“Well, I—”
“That’s right dangerous, my girl. You stay here. Arlin, make sure this girl don’t go off on her own. Look! There she is, up on the second floor.”
Betty pointed toward the south-facing window of the herb drying room. A bobbing light appeared, but that was all. The newcomers stared upward. Gennie spun around at a slight rustling in the grass behind her; more folks were approaching, at least ten of them. At this rate, she’d never manage to get into the Herb House. As the new group approached, she realized they were not of the world. They were Shaker sisters. She recognized Sister Isabel leading the group, her small figure plunging through the grass with fierce determination. Another group appeared just behind the sisters—the brethren had come, as well. Gennie looked in vain for Andrew or Grady, but surely the rest of the village had arrived. They spread out across the south lawn and seemed to be waiting for instructions.
A racket started up behind them, and Gennie saw a lovely sight—a big dark car destroying the grass as it bounced toward them. Grady was at the wheel, with Bar beside him. Scrunched in the backseat were two more figures, probably Hank and Brother Andrew.
“Stay back,” Grady yelled. “Let us through.” Grady and his officers pushed through to the front of the crowd just as the light flashed on in the drying room above them. All eyes watched the empty window. The Shakers, who believed their eldress was trapped inside with a killer, began to pray out loud. Catching their fear, the visitors from the world joined in.
“Now get up on the table,” Clarissa ordered Rose. “Go ahead, do it.”
Rose lifted herself onto the large worktable and waited. Movement was awkward in the long Shaker cloak. Beneath the cloak, she wore only her plain white cotton petticoat and underthings. Her hair hung loose inside the hood. Clarissa had slipped into Rose’s work dress and covered her hair with the white indoor cap. She’d be able to get away easily. In the dark, no one would think twice about a Shaker sister walking across the village.
“Stand up,” Clarissa ordered. “Good. Now face the window.”
Rose looked down on the south lawn, where a large crowd had gathered. She couldn’t see the faces clearly, but they all seemed to be staring up at her. Three figures stood in front, pointing their arms up toward her. Something glinted in the moonlight, something in the hand of one of the figures in front. Even without seeing it clearly, Rose knew what it was. A gun. Three guns pointed straight at her. And she was dressed exactly like Clarissa—the killer ghost that Andrew would have told them about by now.
“Dance,” Clarissa said.
Rose didn’t move. She felt the cold, sharp point of the shears poke into her ankle, just below the cloak.
“You see, it’s like this,” Clarissa said. Her voice was calm, reasonable, as if she were simply explaining a dilemma to a friend. Rose’s skin chilled despite the heavy cloak. The woman had no conscience. She couldn’t be ruffled. Any setback was merely a problem to be solved. “I’ve killed two people,” she said. “I have nothing to lose by killing you, too.” With her weapon against Rose’s skin, Clarissa craned her neck to look out the window. “Good, everyone is in place. This will work perfectly. One of those nice policemen will shoot you, thinking he is saving an innocent Shaker. Then they’ll come up here and find you. All those people will assume that you were this ghost all along. Won’t that be lovely? It’s the perfect solution. Now, dance.”
“Why should I, if you are going to kill me anyway?”
This time the point pierced the skin of Rose’s ankle. She tensed against the pain but didn’t move.
“Because if you don’t dance, I’ll still kill you, make it look like a suicide, and then I’ll make time to find out where that cute but interfering young friend of yours lives when she isn’t at your hostel. Do you understand?”
Rose stepped forward, away from the point of the shears. She bowed toward the window. She bowed to the side.
“That’s right,” Clarissa said. “Good girl.”
Rose began to twirl around, slowly at first, then faster. As she spun she caught sight of Clarissa watching her with a smug smile. Her injured foot screamed at this new insult, but she steeled herself to ignore the pain. It was about to get worse. She hadn’t been shot yet, and she was less convinced than Clarissa that Grady and his men really would shoot at her, but she knew there wasn’t much time. If no one shot her, Clarissa would simply stab her and make it look like suicide. She spun faster.
She stopped spinning with a suddenness that clearly startled Clarissa. Before she got jabbed with the shears again, Rose stiffened her entire body and jumped up and down, rattling the strong table. Clarissa held her arm straight out and pointed the shears at Rose, ready for an attack. Still jumping, Rose turned back to the window. She barked like a dog. She didn’t dare sweep back her hood to show her long, thick curls. Instead, she stretched her stiff arms straight out and waved them up and down, as if she were doing a jumping jack. The cloak swung wide open. She glanced down at the crowd and saw something that gave her hope. Now only two men held weapons aloft. The third was conferring with a tiny individual who had to be Gennie.
Rose’s foot wasn’t going to take much more. She lowered her arms, pulled the cloak close again, and jumped around a half circle, so that she faced Clarissa.
“Okay, that’s enough, get down now.” Clarissa said. “If those silly policemen won’t do their part, I’ll have to take care of you myself.”
Rose barked louder and began to spring up and down.
“I said get down.” For the first time, Clarissa’s voice showed irritation.
Rose barked louder still.
Clarissa lunged for her. With all her strength, Rose leaped sideways, cleared the table, and smacked down on the floor. Shock waves pulsed up her legs. Her injured foot felt as if she’d landed on a razor. She crumpled into a ball on the floor and rolled under the worktable. She kept rolling, aware that Clarissa had dropped to her knees and was reaching for her under the table. She missed. Rose rolled out the other end and struggled to her feet. Clarissa was caught in an awkward position, half under the table. While she was righting herself, Rose ran for the door and flung it open. With a hasty but heartfelt prayer of gratitude, Rose jumped aside as Grady burst into the room, followed by officers Hank and Bar.
Rose hadn’t the strength or the heart to watch as the officers handcuffed Clarissa. She limped downstairs to find Gennie standing at the open front door, her arms outstretched. Josie was right behind her. Each took an arm and kept her from crumpling in the grass.
“Come along now, Sister,” Josie said. “That’s quite enough for one night.”