Chapter 4

The vet’s office was the first floor of an old Craftman style house complete with a covered wraparound porch, low pitched roof, and dormer windows. I hit the bell on the counter just inside the door of the vet’s office and called out, “Hello!” I set the carrier on the counter .

Marcy Chesley, DVM, or so the sign on the counter claimed, descended the dark wood stairs from the second floor, and I guessed that she lived up there. The garden was well kept, and the furniture was comfortable. The waiting area looked like a living room complete with a beamed ceiling, two stained glass windows, a TV. It gave new meaning to the phrase “taking your work home with you.”

“You must be Cass.” She smiled and held out a hand. “Is this my patient?”

“This is Thor.”

She moved behind the counter, peered in through the netting of the Sherpa bag, and said to Thor, “Well, hello, Thor. How’re you doing?”

“Thor had a serious run in with a few seagulls. Thor lost.” I looked around. “Are you here alone?”

“My intern Angela’s mom is sick, so I gave her the day off. Here, let’s go into an examining room and have a look at your new friend.” She picked up the carrier and led me to a small, sterile room. She set her bundle on a stainless steel examination table, unzipped it, and lifted Thor out, talking to him. “Nice kitty. Good kitty.” As the case cleared his ruffled black fur, she said, “Well, hello there.”

Thor meowed in protest at her. Even I could hear the complaint in his voice.

“Oh, so you feel mistreated, do you? Let’s have a look.” She set him down gently and started feeling along his sides.

The vet gave him a thorough exam that included taking his temperature and checking his glands. Thor was an angel for her, even licking her fingers at one point.

Marcy appeared to collect animal kitsch. Her examining rooms were loaded with pictures of adorable baby animals of all species. One wall of the waiting room contained a large corkboard full of pictures of her patients.

I caught a glimpse of a large tabby wandering up the stairs. “Do you have cats wandering lose in here?”

“Only two right now: Mister Peepers and Fuzzybutt. And no, I didn’t name them. Peepers belonged to an elderly woman who passed. He’d been a patient of mine for years. He’s an elderly white Persian, probably sleeping somewhere. Fuzzybutt is a younger tabby with diabetes and other health problems. His owner wanted him put down, but there was something about him, so I agreed to keep him. Both are highly socialized. And speaking of lovely cats, Thor’s a real sweetie.”

“I just acquired him. He’s my brother’s cat, but the landlord objected. He’s a big boy.”

“I’m surprised your brother was willing to give him up. You really lucked out.” She cooed and scratched Thor’s ears while he purred.

Then her gaze shifted to me. “I hear you bought the old bootlegger’s cottage?”

“Yes. Yes, I did.” I braced myself.

“You know it’s haunted?”

“So I’ve been told. Repeatedly. Everyone in town seems to know about it, and I can’t get a pizza delivered.”

She laughed. “We have a local pizza place that’ll deliver once you convince them that you’re solid and pay with real money. Clem’s Clam Shack.”

“Clam Shack?”

“Not so much anymore. But he will put anything on pizza, including clams, if you ask.”

My turn to laugh. “I’ll remember that.”

“Seriously, drop by in person. Tell Clem I sent you. He and I used to…to attend parties at your place.”

The séances. “I’ll do that.”

“I’m going to give you some ointment for his right eye and some antibiotics. One of the cuts on his head is quite deep. You’ll need to watch him. He doesn’t appear to have a concussion, but if he has trouble with motor skills or seems unduly sleepy—more than just the usual catnaps, call me immediately. Also, let me know if he vomits anything other than a hairball. If he does throw up hairballs regularly, I’ve got some stuff you can dab on his nose. He’ll lick it off, and it’ll make it easier for him to pass the hair. But you’ll be doing both of you a big favor if you brush him at least once a day. It’ll help you bond.” She smiled.

“Shouldn’t you keep him here? Just in case he does have a concussion?”

She shook her head gently. “I could, but he really needs to be watched. He’d be in a cage down here all by himself in the dark at night. At your place, he’ll be with you, cage-free, and interacting with you. If anything happens, you’ll know right away and can call me.” She wrote a number on her business card and handed it to me. “This is my cell. Also, ask your brother to have his vet send me Thor’s records. My address is on the card.”

I took the card and stuffed it in my jeans pocket. “Thanks.”

She looked away. “I understand you had a bit of excitement near your house yesterday.”

“Yes. There was some sort of accident on the beach. It looked like a drowning. A man.”

“Alan Howland.”

“Did you know him?”

“Oh, yes, I knew him,” she said so quietly I almost didn’t hear her answer. Then she was silent but recovered quickly. “Small town.” She cleared her throat and patted Thor. “You two will get used to each other. It just takes time. He hasn’t adjusted yet, but he will. You have to treat him with kindness and speak gently to him. He’s having his own traumatic experience.”

I must have looked guilty because Marcy said, “You’ve let his attitude get to you. Have you been yelling at him?”

“Sort of,” I said guiltily. “But as I said, there’s been a lot going on lately what with the…the body and all. Things haven’t been exactly normal since he arrived.”

Marcy tried unsuccessfully to suppress a smile. “No kidding, but try commiserating with him. Speak gently and touch him often. Give him treats while he’s adjusting. You’ll have plenty of opportunity to bond with him while you’re caring for him and his wound.”

This wasn’t going to be easy. I had visions of myself crawling around under the furniture to find Thor. That cottage had a million nooks and crannies.

She lifted Thor into the carrier. “We still need to weigh him. He may need to go on a diet.”

“Oh, that’ll be fun. He seems to be motivated by his stomach. So far, it’s the only sure way I’ve found to lure him out of hiding. As far as a diet for Thor, you and I need to talk, anyway. He needs some sort of special food that you can only get from vets.”

“No problem about the food. Just let me know what kind. If I don’t have it, I can order it. But you poor thing! Alan died on your beach? Ghastly.” She looked away. “Have you met his wife?”

“No. The only people on the beach were the police, EMTs, medical examiner, and some cosplayers.”

“Cosplayers. That’s intriguing.” She seemed to mull that over before continuing. “I’m sure you’ll meet his wife Sara at some point. She’s an interesting case, always a bit distracted. I remember the night Sara and I last talked at any length. It started with a knock at the back door that distracted me from making tea. I flipped on the porch light and spotlighted a shivering Sara. You’ll find that it gets cold along the Northern California coast at Christmastime, and she wasn’t dressed for the weather. I invited her in for a cup of tea. She and I sat down at the table in the back.” Marcy pointed toward the back of the house. “I know you haven’t met her, but she has a fragile, china doll look. She’s a slightly built blonde with a round face and large blue eyes. She sipped her tea and said, ‘If I denounce someone as a witch, would they still burn her at the stake?’”

“Seriously?” I said, a little put off and yet fascinated by Marcy’s confidences. “What did you say?”

“Yes, dead serious. You’ll see when you meet her.” Marcy laughed lightly. “I’m used to Sara’s odd comments and went with the flow. I told her that went out a few centuries ago. Turns out that Sara was referring to a group of vampire gamers. I wonder if they were the ones you saw on the beach? She was concerned about one female player in particular.”

“Vampires,” I said. “I was expecting surfers when I moved in.”

“Hey, California is home to the Comic-Con known for cosplay. The cosplayers at Clouston College include a lot of steampunkers, but also others into anime and manga. I have to admit, though, that I sometimes have a bit of trouble telling the vamps from the steampunks—both groups wear a lot of lace and velvet and blood red lipstick and nails. Sometimes the gears give it away. Occasionally, one of the vamps wears his dental appliances, smiles, and startles a shopkeeper with his pointy teeth.”

“Interesting town,” I said, beginning to understand what Ricardo had been talking about.

“Oh, it gets better. Sara asked me if I knew that ‘chit Mia Jamison?’ I said, ‘Chit? Have you been reading Regency romances again?’ Then Sara said, ‘I think she’s having an affair with my husband.’”

That stopped me cold. A cheating husband meant a wife with a motive to kill him, and I’d just met Mia Jamison. I shook myself. Who said anything about murder? I’d been reading too many mysteries, and Marcy’s story had my imagination racing.

“And now Alan’s dead,” Marcy said. “I wonder if Sara finally had enough?”

I must have looked shocked at the confluence of our thoughts because she laughed.

“Don’t mind me. Wild imagination.” She waved a hand at me as if to say forget what I said.

She set the carrier and cat on the large scale pad and peered at the readout. “Twenty-five pounds. He needs to go on a diet. He also needs exercise. I wonder if he’d take to a harness? I felt some fatty pads on his belly. He looks like he has some Maine Coon heritage—the bushy tail, fur between the paws, and the hair at the tips of his ears like a bobcat, but he could still stand to lose some. Nice musculature though. I think he’s just been overfed. No plaque on the teeth.” She lifted the carrier off the scale. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you were a bit upset. I’ve seen dead bodies in class. Not pleasant.” She added up my bill and showed me the total. “Cash or check? I don’t take credit cards yet.”

“Check then. I barely write any these days.” I took out my checkbook.

“Sorry about that. I’m slowly moving into the twenty-first century. I’ve ordered the Square. You know.”

I shook my head.

“It’s that little square thing that reads credit cards. It’s free. Plugs into smart phones, tablets. You pay a percentage like other credit card payment companies, but it’s a lot easier to use, and individuals can use it. That’s why I decided to finally start taking credit cards.”

The light dawned. “I did see vendors using them at the craft fairs.”

She waved a hand at the files behind her. “You’ll notice that my records aren’t computerized, either. Look at it this way. Your records aren’t online, so at least one part of your life isn’t accessible to hacking.”

I had noticed all the files in the wall-to-wall cubbies. “Good point.” I wrote the check.

In the lull, Marcy continued. “Alan’s death has been on the news with a nice photo of the beach with your house in the background.”

“I didn’t see any reporters.”

“You will,” she said matter-of-factly. The late afternoon sun slanted in through the skylight above her, highlighting her shiny, dark hair. Marcy clipped the check to my bill, dumped it on a desk, and handed me a receipt.

I absentmindedly stuck my fingers through the holes in the side of the carrier and jumped when Thor licked them. I wiggled my fingers again, but he didn’t come back. Uncomfortable now, I picked up the carrier in a hurry to get out of there.

“I’ll walk you to your car.” Marcy held the door for me and walked me down to the curb. “Take care of that sweet little ball of fur.”

I unlocked my car. “I really do appreciate your seeing Thor without an appointment.”

“No problem. He really is a neat cat. You’ll find out. Give him time and space.” She handed me the bag containing Thor’s medicine.

I put the carrier in the back seat, strapped it in, and got in.

“Come by anytime.”

I waved as I pulled away from the curb. Not anytime soon.

Thor’s low moan spurred me on toward home. I parked close to the front door, shortening the distance I had to lug the furball. He protested every time his carrier hit my leg, but finally I got it into the living room, locked the door, and set him free. He vanished under the table.

“Hi, guys. He’s going to be hard to catch when we have to medicate him.” I zipped up the cat carrier and stowed it in the front closet.

Jack said, “He’ll come out when he’s ready. What’d the vet say?”

I joined them in the living room. “We have to watch him in case he throws up or acts strange, but he’ll be fine. She gave me some ointment for his eye and antibiotics in case of infection. It may take two of us to dose him.” I set the bag with the meds on the coffee table. “Oh, and she wants you to have his vet records sent to her.” I dug the card out of my pocket and handed it to him.

Jack took the card, glanced at it, and pocketed it. “Sure thing.” Then he pulled the ointment out and read the label. He picked up the bottle. “This says the antibiotics need to be stored in the fridge.” He got up off the couch and took the bottle out to the kitchen.

When he came back, I said, “The vet—Marcy—was very forthcoming about Alan Howland’s wife. Maybe a little too forthcoming.”

“Oh?” Jack closed the fridge. “In what way?”

“I got the distinct impression that she was feeding me negative information about the woman, maybe spreading rumors about her, giving her a motive for murder. At first I was fascinated, but,” I paused, thinking about it. “Now I wonder if I was being manipulated. But why? I’m new in town. It was weird. Did you hear anything on the news?”

Gillian paused the TiVo. “I’ve set up several news shows to record.”

I looked at the TV. The picture was paused on my house. “That’s my front porch on live TV. I just came in. There was no one out there.”

Gillian said, “Apparently, there is now.” She pointed toward the front door.

I turned and saw lights shining through the curtains and heard voices and shuffling on the front porch. “Okay, now that’s just creepy.”

There was a knock at the door. Jack went to the window and pulled the curtain aside. The lights were blinding. He dropped the curtains.

“Don’t answer the door,” I said, turning to look at the TV. “Gillian, let’s get a live picture.”

She hit play and fast forward. Sure enough, the reporters were setting up for an interview shot with me. We listened for a few minutes and learned about the background of the house, the murders on the beach, and more about Alan’s death, including the presence of two puncture marks on his neck. A lot of speculation followed from that revelation. The last comment was something about trading in a ghost for a vampire.

Then the phone rang.

“Let me guess,” Jack said. “You got a landline but didn’t think about an unlisted number.”

“I actually wanted people to find me. I was thinking about starting a business, not being hounded by the press.”

The knocking on the door continued.

I stood up and moved the bowl of pistachios closer to Jack. “Eat and leave me alone.”

He took a couple and cracked the shells open. “They aren’t going away.”

“I know. I’ll talk to them.” I had no idea what I was going to say. They knew more than I did.

“Are you sure you should?” Gillian asked.

“No, but I don’t see them going away if I don’t.” I went to the door, and opened it a crack. “Yes?”

“Cassandra Peake? I’m with—” The rest was a blur of microphones, lights, and shouted questions.

“How does it feel to live in a haunted house?”

“Did you see the murder?”

“Was it a vampire?”

“Did you see the body?”

I stepped out onto the porch and pulled the door shut behind me. “I don’t know anything. I just moved here.” A staccato of lights. “Yes, I saw the body. No, I didn’t know him. No, I don’t know what happened. No, I haven’t…seen…a ghost. No, I’m not a Satanist. What vampires?” Why was I here? A million thoughts. The ocean. As far west as I could go without being in Hawaii. The weather. “That’s all I know.” I threw my hands up in front of my face and pushed back through the door. I stood on the other side, leaning against it until I heard the noise outside die down.

Gillian peered out the window. “They’re going away.”

“Good.” I walked over and sat on the couch, a little weak in the knees. “We need to watch that. I didn’t hear all the questions. The reporters know more about my house than I do.”

Gillian hit play, and we all watched as I walked out onto the porch and into incoherency.

Jack laughed. “That was pretty funny!”

“Thanks so much.” I said sarcastically. “You’ve always been a brat.” I hoped Phil wasn’t watching. That would be all I’d need. “Gillian, can you run it again and pause for each question?”

Gillian did as I asked, and I grabbed my notebook and took notes on the questions.

Gillian paused the tape. “They know more than we do.”

Jack said, “I think the background of your house is well known around here. I can’t believe so many people buy into this occult crap.”

“You seem to be enjoying it,” I said.

“I find it all highly entertaining.”

“You’d better tell us the story of the house. You told them more than you’ve told us so far,” Gillian said. “How was the girl killed? The one who’s supposed to be haunting this place. Jack may not believe in the supernatural, but I’m not so sure.”

“Axe murderer?” Jack sounded hopeful.

“Close. But not quite. Probably men her dad owed money to.”

“Now she tells us.” Jack rolled his eyes.

“I can stop here if you like,” I teased.

“No, tell us; otherwise, I’ll keep wondering.” Gillian grabbed a couple of pistachios and paused the TiVo again.

I cleared my throat. “It’s a nice little bedtime story. Realtors were reluctant to show me this place. I found it on my own. When I finally got someone to tell me the story, I learned that legend has it that a group of women mystery writers in the Sixties used to rent this house from one of their members for their meetings. The woman who owned the house at the time was the daughter of Shelagh Macalin, who wrote spooky stories published in women’s magazines in the Twenties or Thirties. They held a séance to conjure up her ghost as a kind of a muse for the group. The séance went awry, and instead of Shelagh, they got Doris, the ghost of the illegitimate daughter of a notorious Twenties bootlegger. Judging by my neighbor Mina’s reactions while she was in my house, the ghost has a bit of a temper.”

“What happened then?” Gillian leaned closer.

“No one knows for sure. The group broke up shortly thereafter, and none of them ever published another story.”

Jack shrugged. “If not publishing is the curse, I can live with that.”

“Speak for yourself.” Gillian poked him in the ribs. “I plan to publish quite a bit in the future. It is odd that it’s such a feminist story—all women writers—that ended with the loss of their creativity or receptivity to their creativity.”

“What a minute,” Jack said. “How did they know they ended up with a ghost? Did they see one? What’s their proof? Did they continue to meet here? Did the owner live here? How well known was the story? Did she sell the house?”

I raised a hand. “Hang on. If you want answers, you’ll have to run over it again with a smaller truck.”

Jack sighed. “How’d they know they got a ghost? And which ghost they got?”

“I’m not entirely sure. I’ve only found out about this in the last couple of days. I’m sure there’s more to the story given that the cottage seems to have been abandoned with a lot of stuff left behind. Apparently, no one wanted to clean the place out, so I got it lock, stock, and barrel.”

Before I could answer, Gillian said, “So who paid the taxes?”

“Pardon?” I asked.

“If that writer abandoned the house, someone must have continued to pay the taxes. Actually, unless the house was in really bad shape when you bought it, someone must have done upkeep from time to time. Leaves in gutters need to be removed. I guess you don’t have to worry about frozen pipes out here.”

“There have been owners,” I said. “Dave said the last owners owned it for five years even though they only stayed here for a total of two weeks.”

“Who was on the deed when you bought the house?” Jack asked.

“Now you’re going to make me find the paperwork, aren’t you?”

Jack nodded.

“We can do that tonight.” Gillian extended her long, slim legs and stretched. Her slacks had retained their crease and her pearls were perfectly centered. “Let’s do the outside work during the daylight. We still have to find space for the rest of Cass’ belongings from the storage units.”

“Wasn’t there an out building in the floor plans?” Jack asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “I think that’s the old garage. I poked my head in when I first looked at the property. There’s something out there under a tarp.”

Jack perked up. “There’s a car out there?”

“Maybe.”

“It would be in terrible shape after all these years,” Gillian said.

“Not necessarily,” he said. “If it’s a classic, it could be worth some bucks.”

That got my attention. “We should check it out, see if there’s a car and if it’s salvageable, saleable, or towable.”

“Great idea.” Gillian’s short, blonde hair was tousled, and her peanut-butter-brown eyes twinkled with the excitement of exploration. “In the meantime, we can see what’s in the loft.”

“We brought a lot more supplies, such as lanterns and Maglites, and some homemade cleaning solution from Gillian’s grandmother’s formula. It works like a charm.”

“Fine with me. We need all the help we can get.” I looked Jack over. His loose shirt and baggy jeans hung on his six-foot-two frame. “You’re not eating enough.”

“Told you.” Gillian said, a small smile playing around the corners of her mouth. “He’s on a fitness jag. But he does need new clothes to show off his new toned look.”

His brown hair was cut shorter than the last time I’d seen him, and I could have sworn his hazel eyes were greener, but that often happened when he was overtired or upset.

I couldn’t stop myself from thinking that they were very different. She was so Nordstrom’s; he was so Land’s End.

I must have been staring because Jack snapped his fingers in my face and said, “Hey! Wake up. Let’s go exploring.” He looked at Gillian’s slacks. “Honey, do you want to change?”

She shook her head. “I don’t plan to do any heavy lifting.” She winked at me and kissed him on the cheek.

“I have the keys to all the doors around here. It’s got to be one of these.”

“If not, I don’t think it’ll be too hard to knock the door in,” Jack said. “I’m more worried about the vegetation.”

That stopped me. “I didn’t think about that. Phil and I had a gardener for years. I don’t own anything that would cut away heavy plant growth.”

Jack shrugged. “Let’s find out.”

We trooped out the front door and around back. It was slow going as we picked our way through thick weeds and wild flowers, but it wasn’t quite the jungle it might have been because of the sand that had blown up from the beach over the years. The garage was a very small, separate building at the far end of the lot away from the beach. Looking at it, I couldn’t believe a car could fit in it. I’d gotten used to the three-car garage we’d had in Pleasanton with a whole bay for tools and storage.

The wood was badly weathered, and the little building hadn’t been painted nearly as often as the main house. I couldn’t find the key to the padlock, but that didn’t slow us down for long. Jack forced the door open and nearly knocked it off its hinges.

At first we couldn’t see a thing. Jack swung the big Maglite up and illuminated an ancient car. He gave a low whistle.

“What? It’s a pile of—” I inhaled sharply. There was no denying that I had a ghost now, and I think that was her point. A chill shot down my spine.

The woman in the green dress from the beach leaned back across the front seat of the boxy convertible as if the leather weren’t stained and torn. She was dressed in a beautifully beaded sea foam green gown, a white fox stole draped across her shoulders. Her body language screamed “mine!”

I quickly looked at Jack and Gillian, but Jack was looking at the car. He ran trembling fingers over the trim.

Gillian stood apart, keeping well away from the grime, and I could see the shock on her face, her eyes wide, mouth open as if to scream. She saw the ghost, but Jack didn’t.

“Do you know what this is?” His voice wavered slightly.

“A gho—car?” I ventured.

“A Packard Roadster.” His voice broke. “Look at the running boards. The wooden dash.” He rubbed dust off the fender. “Gorgeous gold.”

“I take it that’s a good thing,” I said faintly.

The beautiful ghost shifted her pose, putting her face mere inches from his.

Gillian’s hysterical laugh was shaky, but it was better than having her scream. She couldn’t take her eyes off the ghost. “Oh, you’ve done it now, Cass. We’ll be lucky to get any work out of him around the house.” The hand she held up to her mouth shook.

“We can get this running again,” he whispered with reverence, buffing the hood with his shirtsleeve.

The ghost leaned toward him with a smile on her face. She turned toward me and stage-whispered, “Oh, I like him! Abyssinia!” Then she was gone.

The instant she vanished, Gillian let out a burp of a scream, quickly smothered.

Jack turned, stared at us, and stopped babbling. “What are you girls looking at?”

Gillian and I exchanged a glance.

“N-nothing,” I said. He hadn’t seen her!

It was clear from Gillian’s expression that she’d had the same realization. Then I had another.

Holy shit! I really did have a ghost!