Seated on the bed in Juniper Crane’s room, Virginia typed away on her laptop. As her fingers stilled, she thought for a moment before lying back to rest her head on the pillow. She crinkled her nose and turned it toward the fabric. “Smells like pot. I’m going to need fresh bedding.” She exited the room and returned moments later with folded sheets, pillowcases and blankets she found in the large supply room on the lower level.
Virginia reached for the nearest pillow to strip it until a curious noise summoned her attention. She heard a low creaking, like a rocking chair in extra slow motion. She tilted her head. “Where’s that coming from?”
The sound continued as Virginia tried honing in on the source. Her eyes scanned the room before fixing on the TV mounted on the wall just beyond the foot of the bed. “It can’t be that. Jeff took the plug.”
Virginia crept in her socked feet past the open bedroom door. She placed her ear an inch from the nearest lavender-tinted wall and listened. She shuffled forward, following the wall and the intensifying sound. “Is it… scratching?”
She felt the hair on her arms starting to stand at attention. “Stop it! You’re not scared! Don’t be an idiot.” She moved forward and returned her attention to the TV. “It’s definitely coming from th—”
Before she could finish her whispered words, the TV emitted a final and stronger creak. It fell from the wall mount and crashed to the floor.
Virginia jumped back into the bed’s footboard and muffled a yelp with her hand. She shook her head and scolded herself for her atypical reaction. “That doesn’t count as a scream. I’m sure there’s a very logical reason for a TV spontaneously falling from a wall. Can’t think of it now, but that’s what tomorrows are for.”
A few minutes later, Virginia was rolling her suitcase down the sconce-lighted hallway on the top floor, clutching the fresh bedding against her torso. The first door on the right led to a dusky room, lit only by the setting sun’s exhausted rays crawling through one massive window. She pushed up the dimmer switch to illuminate an extra-long blue linen sofa, dozens of framed photos on the white narrow-slatted walls and a modern wooden desk the size of a dining room table. “Blair Geister’s office.”
She parked the suitcase beside the sofa and dropped the bedding onto one of its cushions. The pictures on the wall caught her eye, so she strolled by each to learn more about the former mistress of the house. Every picture but one featured Geister either in front of one her buildings or hobnobbing with the famous, including Al Gore, Tim McGraw, Elon Musk and the governor of Tennessee. The one outlier was an older photo of a couple with two children in Gatlinburg. Virginia tapped the girl in the photo with her fingernail. “That looks like Blair Geister.” She moved her finger to the boy. “Does she have a brother?”
When her picture tour ended, she found herself in front of the window, witnessing the day’s twilight. Her new perch overlooked the sloping grounds, the oversized boathouse and the rippling river. “Great view.”
The overhead lights flickered. She turned around to see a hand reaching for her.
Virginia screamed.
While Emory drove back to Geisterhaus, Jeff wondered aloud about the merits of Sheriff Flynn’s fingering of their client as his prime suspect in the two deaths at the property. “I don’t see her killing them and then making up that ridiculous story to cover it up. Although I don’t believe she’s telling us everything.”
“Of course, she isn’t.” Emory lowered his window. “Even if she truly believes what she told us, she hasn’t told us why she thinks Blair Geister would want to kill her.”
“And she teased us about a guy with a disappearing face but didn’t elaborate. What the hell does that even mean?”
Emory pulled up to the gate and punched in the code. “Either she’s a purposeful liar or she has an imaginative way of looking at things.”
“Agreed. We should also face the possibility that we don’t have a case here at all. Blair and Tommy could’ve actually died of heart attacks, and Juniper could be delusional.”
“I know you don’t buy that.” Parking the car, Emory could see glints of light even after his headlights dimmed. Lightning bugs were now emerging from the woods to embrace the gloaming. “Even if you completely negate Ms. Crane’s eyewitness account, we still have evidence of something unusual in their deaths.”
“The anomalies Cathy mentioned.”
“That and the unexplained silhouette on Ms. Geister’s mattress.”
Jeff squinted toward the house. “He’s working late.”
Emory followed Jeff’s gaze to see the gardener exiting the house and covering a cough as he shut the front door. They hurried from the car and intercepted the gardener before he could reach his truck. Emory glanced inside the truck’s bed, which held a scattering of at least a dozen plastic pots filled with dirt and plants that had been cut down to the bulb, having no more than an inch of green remaining. That’s odd.
The burly, black-bearded man with a pronounced widow’s peak looked for a way past Jeff, but the PI mirrored him lockstep.
“Working kind of late, aren’t you, Mr…”
The gardener frowned under confused eyes. “Who are you?”
“Uh-uh. I asked you first.”
Coughing again, the gardener extended his hand. “George Henry.”
Jeff kept his hands at his side. “That’s quite a cough you have there.”
“Hay fever.”
Jeff snickered. “Then you’re in the wrong line of work. Getting in a little night gardening? Is that such a thing?”
“Who are you?” the impatient gardener asked again.
“Jeff Woodard.”
Emory said, “We’re private investigators working to explain the death of your employer.”
“I don’t bother you at your job. Don’t bother me at mine.” George plowed between them and entered his vehicle.
As the truck pulled away, Emory asked, “Why were you giving him such a hard time?”
Jeff headed for the house. “Has your gardener ever come into your house?”
Emory followed his partner. “I’ve never had a gardener.”
“Me neither, technically. He was my parents. As nice as he was, I don’t remember him ever stepping foot inside the house.” Jeff opened the front door. “What was he doing?”
“Good que—”
A scream from inside the house interrupted Emory’s response.
Jeff froze for a split-second. “Virginia!”
Emory and Jeff ran up the front stairs and down the hallway on the top floor, each checking a different room.
“Jeff, here!” Emory signaled his partner before entering Blair Geister’s office, where he saw someone unexpected with Virginia.
Short-statured in spite of her high hair, the woman in the purple polyester pantsuit took a silent step toward Virginia. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I’m Miss—”
Emory interrupted her as Jeff stepped into the room. “Miss Luann?”
“Emory.” Miss Luann came to him with open arms and hugged his torso. “Good to see you’re doing well.”
“You too.” Emory avoided eye contact with his partners as he returned her embrace, if lacking reciprocal intensity. He had never told them about his visit to the clairvoyant after the Crick Witch placed a supposed curse on him, and he had no plans to ever do so.
Jeff rushed to Virginia. “Are you okay?”
“Just startled. Miss Luann? Why does that name sound familiar?”
The older woman broke from Emory and smiled at Virginia. “I’m a clairvoyant. Best in Knoxville.”
“That’s it. I pass by your shop every day on the way to work.”
Jeff wagged a finger between Miss Luann and Emory. “And how do you two know each other?”
As his face reddened, Emory ignored the question and posed one of his own. “Miss Luann, what are you doing here?”
“Juniper Crane hired me to escort the restless spirits from this house. She told me she’d hired some private investigators to appease her daughter, but she didn’t tell me it was you and your team.”
Jeff asked, “Shouldn’t you have known?”
The clairvoyant shot him a scolding glance. “I’m not the Lord. I see more than most, but I don’t see all. Emory, you should not be here. Did you forget my warning? There are woods all around this house.”
Jeff scoffed. “What’s this about the woods?”
Emory brushed off the question, much like he had Miss Luann’s so-called vision of an unseen danger awaiting him in some unnamed woods. “It’s nothing. Miss Luann, are you staying here too?”
The older woman laughed. “Oh no, I’d never get any sleep. I have a cousin who lives in town, so I’ll be staying with her until I’ve done what I came here to do.”
Virginia crossed her arms. “And what is that exactly?”
“Convincing spirits to cross over can be an arduous undertaking. They need to get to know me first and trust me before they’ll listen to me. I just came to introduce myself tonight and get a feel for where they’re at.”
Jeff smirked at her. “Can’t they move around, or are they chained in placed?”
“I meant where they are in their spiritual journey. They’re in three different places.”
Emory corrected her. “Only two people died here.”
Miss Luann grimaced. “Two spirits are here at the moment, but another will come.”
“Wait a minute,” said Virginia. “Are you saying someone else is going to die in this house?”
Miss Luann waved a finger at the question. “I follow a very strict code of ethics. If I can’t influence what I see, I keep it to myself. It’s better that way.” She headed for the door. “Now I’m going to mosey around a little longer, and then I’ll be out of your hair. It was nice meeting y’all.” The clairvoyant left the PIs alone in the office.
“Okay, I’m not staying here.” Virginia grabbed the handle of her suitcase.
Jeff placed a hand on top of hers. “Why? Because of that fortune teller?”
Emory said, “She doesn’t like to be called that.”
“And how do you know?”
“She’s a friend of my mother’s.”
Jeff tapped his own head a couple of times. “Is her zodiac missing a couple of fire signs?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s a yes.” Jeff put his foot in the path of Virginia’s rolling suitcase. “You’re not going to let the Oracle of Knox County dictate your actions.”
Virginia looked down at Jeff’s foot. “No, because that’s your job.”
“Right… No, of course not.” Jeff stopped blocking the suitcase.
She took a step before stopping. “And it’s not just her.”
“Whatever it is, I know you. You were a Marine. You’d never abandon your post.”
Virginia released the handle. “If I see even the slightest haze that could be construed as ghostlike, consider me AWOL.”
“Great!” Jeff gave her a pat on the back.
Emory asked, “Did you find anything interesting in the house?”
Virginia steered her suitcase back to the sofa. “I haven’t had a chance to really look around yet.”
Jeff greeted the news with frowning eyes. “Haven’t had a chance? What have you been doing while we were gone?”
“I’ve been working. Among other things, I spent an hour on the phone with the contractor. He had some questions about the basement.”
“The basement?” asked Jeff. “What about it?”
“If we wanted a door between the basements in our old office and the new space or if we wanted the whole wall torn down. He also asked about buying some of the antique fixtures down there. Don’t worry, I told him we want to keep them.”
Emory noticed the bedding on the sofa. “I thought you were staying in Juniper’s room.”
“I was until the TV came crashing down. And before you ask, I don’t know why.”
“Seriously?” Emory headed for the door. “I need to check that out.” He left the room and descended the back stairs to the lower level. There he found Miss Luann standing in the spot Juniper had identified as Tommy Addison’s place of death.
Rocking with her eyes closed, she appeared to be in a trance. Rather than disturb her, he sidled around her to enter Juniper’s bedroom. There he saw the busted TV face-down and scattered parts on the floor. He tried not to step on anything, but he heard crunching under the thick rubber soles of his size fourteen zip boots as his eyes focused on the wall mount. He didn’t see any plastic from the back of the TV on the mount. Instead, the metal itself had broken. He touched the jagged edges that used to hold the TV, and bits of the heavy-duty aluminum crumbled between his fingers.
What on Earth could have caused that? He turned around to leave and was surprised to find Miss Luann no longer outside the doorway. I didn’t even hear her move. He stepped into the hallway and glanced at the closed door to Tommy Addison’s bedroom. Probably in there.
He turned the doorknob with great purpose to minimize any sound and eased the door open. The room was devoid of clairvoyants. Emory flipped the light switch, which did little to brighten the bleak, windowless space. Identical to Juniper’s room in square footage, about the size of a college dorm room, it held a full-size bed with a brown blanket, a simple oak dresser and a closet door. He frowned at the footboard, realizing he would not be able to stretch out. I’d have to sleep diagonally. He closed the door and headed back to the stairs.
In Blair Geister’s office, Virginia pushed down on the sofa cushion. Good thing I prefer a firm mattress. She moved the stack of bedding to a small wooden file cabinet on casters and grabbed the fitted sheet. As she unfurled it over the sofa, Emory came into the room.
“Where’s Jeff?”
Virginia tucked a sheet over the sofa cushions. “He went to check out the guest room.”
“I’d like to see that too. I want to see what kind of bed it has.”
His comment elicited a grin from her. “I’m sure it’s of sturdy build.”
Emory half-frowned at her. “Not that. The beds downstairs are too short.”
She fluffed the pillow and placed it by the sofa arm near the file cabinet. “From Juniper’s description of Blair, I’d imagine she’d have an impressive room for guests, including a good-sized bed.”
“You’re right. Hopefully, no footboard. I’ll go check.” Before he could take a step toward the door, Jeff entered.
The green-eyed PI smiled at Emory. “Dibs on the guest room.”
Virginia threw the blanket over the sheet. “I figured it’d be impressive.”
Emory tsked. “Small bed?”
“California king.”
“You’re going to keep it for yourself?”
Jeff tilted his head and hardened his face. “I did call dibs.”
“Okay, I’ll go set up in Tommy Addison’s room.”
Virginia ran her hands over the blanket, smoothing any bumps or wrinkles. “Anyone hungry?”
Jeff answered as if he had been waiting for someone to bring it up. “Yes! Starving.”
Emory shrugged. “Sure.”
Virginia took a second to admire her work before facing her partners. “Great. Let’s meet in the kitchen in ten minutes. See what we can scrounge up.”
Emory stepped into the hallway. “You want me to bring your bag up from the atrium?”
“I’ll get it. Thanks though.” Jeff shut the door with Emory on the other side.
Virginia turned her attention to Jeff. “Okay, what’s going on here?”
“What do you mean?”
“You and Emory. You look for any excuse to get with him, and here you have a golden opportunity.”
“Seriously? He’s the one who’s had every opportunity to get with me. I’ve been completely open with him, and he’s surrounded that openness with a wall of indifference, pierced by sporadic windows of passion. I’m weary of it.” Jeff plopped down on the makeshift bed. “I’ve moved on.”
Virginia crossed her arms and squinted at him. “Have you?”
“Look, I’m a catch, and he has too many issues. I’ve moved on.”
She aimed an accusing finger at her partner. “You’re playing hard-to-get, aren’t you?”
“Well, don’t tell him that.”
Emory rolled his suitcase into Tommy Addison’s former room, and his shoulders slumped. Why couldn’t we stay in a hotel? He noticed the pace of his breathing increasing. Something about this room unnerves me. Tommy’s ghost? That’s ridiculous! Emory gasped. I know what it is!
His breaths turned to pants. He sat on the bed, hands on his knees, and tried to relax. Unsuccessful, he pulled a pill box from his pocket and popped an oval, peach-colored pill into his mouth. With his eyes closed, he moved his hands to the edge of the mattress so they could grip something easier to squeeze.
Pull yourself together. It’s not that much like my old room. His mind’s eye strobed between Tommy’s room and the bedroom he had as a kid, before he’d met Sheriff Rome. Both in the basement. Same walls. But that’s it! My room was bigger. More furniture. And it had a window, or I wouldn’t be here.
Emory took a deep breath and exhaled. He opened his eyes. Okay. Step by step. First step, hang up my clothes. He pushed off the bed and rolled his suitcase toward the closet. I hope there’s room.
He opened the closet door and perused the blue-collar shirts and lone buckskin jacket hanging from the wooden pole. The shelf above held a camouflage-patterned suitcase. On the floor he saw four pairs of work boots, a tool box, a rifle leaning against one of the back corners and a stack of bedding. That’ll be step two.
Emory opened his suitcase on the bed, pulled out a twist-tied set of hangers and hung his clothes. He zipped up his suitcase and placed it beside the bed. Step two. He stripped the bed, leaving the dirty sheets and brown blanket in a neat pile under the wall-mounted TV. He took the fitted sheet from the closet and threw it over the mattress, but it drooped over all sides. Huh. It’s too big. Maybe he had a bigger bed before he moved in here. I wonder if he was married.
Emory tucked the fitted sheet under each side of the mattress and finished making the bed. Step three… Oh, it’s been more than ten minutes. I better get up to the kitchen. Emory left the room and headed upstairs.
After dinner, Emory ambled into the locutorium, clinging to a dwindling glass of red wine. Lowering himself onto the gold sofa by the fireplace, he stared at the dimming twilight beyond the French doors, glimpsing the flickers of lightning bugs emerging from the trees. His eyes drifted to the fireplace and the logs within the hearth. Are those real? He placed his wine glass on the tile floor beside the couch and went to check. Fake. How do you turn it on? He dropped to his hands and knees to search for a switch.
Jeff came in with a full glass of wine in one hand and a bottle in the other. “What are you doing?”
“I’m trying to figure out how to turn on the fireplace.” Emory felt a hot whoosh on the side of his face as flames erupted from beneath the logs. He jumped back, falling on his ass.
Jeff laughed. “You found the magic words.”
“I didn’t realize it was voice-activated.”
“There’s a little wine left in this bottle. We should finish it.”
Emory picked himself up. “I think I’ve had enough. Give it to Virginia.”
“She’s gone to bed.” Jeff spotted Emory’s glass on the floor, and he emptied the bottle into it before Emory could stop him.
Emory reclaimed his seat on the sofa. “Aren’t you going to bed?”
“I’m not quite tired enough yet.” Jeff laid down on the sofa, plopping his socked feet onto Emory’s lap. “Tell me a bedtime story.”
“I don’t know any bedtime stories.”
Jeff locked his fingers behind his head and fixed his eyes on the ceiling. “Make something up. Ooh, tell me that ghost story you were talking about. The one about Mapleleaf.”
“Mapleleaf? Do you mean Hugo Hickory?”
“I knew it had something to do with a tree.”
“All right.” Emory began massaging Jeff’s feet. “Well, you know that in the 1830s, the U.S. government began rounding up Indigenous Peoples in the South and forcing them to walk to territories in the West.”
“The Trail of Tears.”
“Yes. Well, in a small Cherokee village in the Smoky Mountains, a mother was weaving in her tiny house when her son ran in with terrible news. ‘Watch your step,’ she said, pointing at the young man’s muddy feet. ‘I don’t want you to dirty this blanket I’m making for you. As I weave it in the four sacred colors I cry on every thread, binding my love within, so the blanket will not only protect you from the cold, but shield you in my strength and that of our ancestors.’
“Her son, whose name was Waya’ha, told her, ‘Soldiers are coming to take us from our home. You have to run and hide. I will stay and fight with the others.’
“His mother continued weaving, saying, ‘This is our home,’ and she refused to leave. Waya’ha tried to convince her, but he was too late. The soldiers arrived, led by the merciless Captain Hugo Hickory.
“The Cherokee fought, but there were just too many soldiers. Hugo Hickory forced all the fighting men, including Waya’ha into the center of the village. He then went to each dwelling to force everyone else outside. When Waya’ha saw Hugo Hickory heading for his house, he escaped from the captured and ran inside to find the captain aiming a pistol at his mother, who was still weaving the blanket. Waya’ha ran between them just as Hugo fired. He died on the dirt floor in his mother’s arms.
“Hugo Hickory started to drag the mother outside when she pleaded with him to let her bury her son. Hugo agreed to allow her and some of the elderly to dig a grave, saying, ‘We don’t want him stinking up the woods after you’re gone, so go ahead.’ He told one of his soldiers, ‘Watch them. I have more stubborn savages to round up.’
“Now the Cherokee had a tradition of burying their dead in the spot where they died, so that’s just what she did. Once he was buried, she could still see her son’s blood on the dirt floor, and she couldn’t bear it, so she took the blanket she had been working on and covered the spot before leaving her house forevermore.
“The soldiers marched the Cherokee from the village, but a few, including Hugo Hickory, remained behind to round up those who had fled into the surrounding woods. That evening, the soldiers who stayed took shelter in the abandoned homes, and Hugo Hickory chose a house with a beautiful rug on the floor, thinking it would make a more comfortable bed than the dirt floor in the other houses. That night, as Hugo slept, a hand thrust up from the ground and into his back. Waya’ha’s ghostly hand clutched Hugo’s heart and pulled it from his body.
“As Hugo lay dying, he heard a voice say, ‘I now hold the heart of your body, the heart of your spirit, and I will hide it along the path you’ve cursed my people to walk. As your spirit leaves your body, I curse you to forever wander this Trail of Tears, for you will never know peace until you find your dark heart. Until then you will bear witness to the suffering you have created, and every pain my people endure will in kind inflict your spirit.’
“Today Hugo Hickory still wanders the Trail, searching for his heart. However, his pain has so blinded him that he can no longer tell which heart is his, so he takes any dark heart he can find.”
“He kills people?”
“He can kill anyone with a dark heart who steps foot on the Trail. And he has.”
Jeff laughed. “Yes, there’s been a rash of people with their hearts ripped out of their bodies all over Tennessee.”
“He doesn’t take their physical heart. He takes their spirit heart.”
“Are you saying they die from unexplained heart attacks – like our two victims?”
“That’s what made me think of the story.”
“Hugo Hickory certainly deserved his fate. Cool story.”
“Ah, but there’s a twist. Waya’ha’s spirit still walks the Trail too, in the form of a red coyote.”
“Why red?”
“The color of the innocent blood that was shed when he was murdered. Now whenever Hugo Hickory gets close to finding his actual heart, Waya’ha takes it and hides it somewhere new, dragging his mother’s blanket behind him to cover his tracks.
“Waya’ha has also become known as a trickster spirit. To keep living people from finding Hugo Hickory’s heart and returning it to him, he scares them off when they get too close.”
“Scares them off how?”
“He rustles the bushes, moves things as campers sleep, growls behind people and disappears before they turn around. Things like that.”
“What constitutes a dark heart?”
“I’m not sure. That’s what made the story scary to me as a kid. One of the Trail’s starting points is right near where I grew up, and I didn’t know if I had a dark heart.”
Jeff whispered, “Me either. And here we are a few feet away from it.” He dropped his arms to his side. “Did you lock up?”
Asleep on the sofa in Blair Geister’s office, Virginia awoke from a dream immersed in the sensation of being watched. She sat upright and felt for her phone, charging on the nearby file cabinet. She turned on the phone’s flashlight, and shuffled around the room, shining it behind every piece of furniture. After searching behind the desk, she relaxed and turned off the light. She was about to return to the couch, when she noticed the lightning bugs outside the window. She watched with a nostalgic smile, remembering how she danced among them when she was a child. One light in particular caught her eye, but it wasn’t flying. It came from the part of the river by the boathouse, beneath the water’s surface. “What is that?” The light continued to shimmer under the water for several minutes before she decided to investigate. After throwing on pants, a jacket and shoes, she opened the office door.
She was about to head down the stairs when she heard a clink behind her. She turned toward the source of the noise and crept down the hall to Blair Geister’s bedroom, where Eden Geister had taken up residence. Virginia walked past the open door with just a glimpse inside in case Eden sat watching from the other side. The lamp from the end table was on, but it was lying on the floor beside the bed. What happened?
Virginia saw a pair of hands emerge from under the bed and grab the side frame. She gasped and covered her mouth, eyes as wide as they could go.
Eden pulled herself from under the bed, her back scooting against the floor.
Virginia hurried down the hall to avoid being seen. What the hell was Eden doing?
Descending the stairs, she made her way to the locutorium. She reached for the knob to one of the French doors, but stopped short of opening it. The light in the river had disappeared. “Huh. I wonder what it was.”