GHOST OF A CHANCE, a paranormal short story (5 page)

“He sacrificed himself to protect them,” Peter said.

Tracy nodded and walked toward the spot where she had earlier seen the oval frame.  “She was pregnant when she left with baby Francesca.  That was the condition she mentioned in the journal, but your father didn’t mention any aunts or uncles so…”

Pain washed over her, so powerfully she had to put her hand to her chest to press against the spot to ease the heartache.  “She lost the baby.”

“That’s what the journal said.  You couldn’t have known that from any of the research that you did.”

No, she knew it from Anna.  From the pain her spirit had been carrying for so long.  Looking toward the wall, she said, “Something is missing here.  A picture frame.”

Peter laid his hand on her shoulder and offered a reassuring squeeze.  “Maybe it was moved to another room?”

She nodded.  “Maybe.  Can we look for it?”

He dipped his head in agreement and slipped his arm around her waist.  As they walked out of the parlor, a bleary-eyed Tommy came down the stairs, dressed in sweats.  A moment later his crew of techs followed.

“Thought I heard some noise.  I was worried about the equipment.”

Peter and Tracy shared a glance before Peter inclined his head in the direction of the parlor.  “Equipment is fine, but if you’ve got anything motion activated, you may want to check it out.”

Tommy and his crew scrambled down the hall, their animated voices carrying up the stairs, awakening most of the other inhabitants of the mansion.  They came out of their rooms and hurried down the stairs, except for Hank.

“I can feel them around you,” Nancy said, raising her hands and circling them before Peter and Tracy.

“Cut the theatrics, Nancy,” the detective said gruffly, but Nancy only winked at him, dragging a blush to his features.

“Care to explain what happened?” asked Marcovic, his nose upturned in a superior kind of way.

Tracy was in no mood for the man’s diffidence.  “We’re looking for another clue.”  The final clue, she wanted to say, but bit that back.  No sense having him hounding them.

Peter motioned toward the parlor.  “Tommy and his gang are in there.  I think his cameras might have caught something.”

With that, Marcovic headed in their direction, but Nancy and the detective hung tight with Peter and Tracy.

The quartet walked along the halls, Tracy scouring each inch for something resembling the oval frame she had seen.  At one point the detective asked, “Mind telling me what we’re looking for?”

“A frame,” she said, worried that with all the years that the mansion had been first uninhabited and then in the state’s care, the object she sought might have disappeared.

She was losing hope when she rounded the corner and entered what had once been a large larder off the kitchen.  A goodly number of the shelves that had once held food items for the mansion had been removed to create an exhibition area.  Two long rows of glass-encased displays filled the space.

Tracy headed to the first exhibit case.  Inside were various books and journals that had belonged to the Ryan family.  “They probably put the more delicate items in these cases to preserve them.”

Peter followed beside her as they looked over the first row and then the second.  Dead center in the display was an oval frame and as Tracy peered at it, she experienced an immediate pull toward the object.

“That’s it,” she said, and Peter raised the glass on the display case.  Gently he lifted out the frame and held it for Tracy’s examination.  Nancy and Detective Daly stood behind her, also reviewing the object.

“He said there was a note in their secret place,” Peter pointed out, trying to see how that was possible, and then the detective spoke up.

“The frame is kind of thick.  Almost like it should open up.”  He mimicked the action with his hands.

Tracy flipped the frame to the side, and sure enough, there was a small space obscured by the fine filigree of the mahogany frame.  With gentle pressure she pulled at it and the framed opened like an old-fashioned locket.  Inside was a folded piece of paper, slightly yellowed, but well-preserved by the almost airtight space between the two halves of the frame.

Peter took the note in his hands and carefully unfolded it, since it was a bit brittle.  He read it and shook his head, sucked in a deep breath.  “It’s Skippy’s suicide note.  He killed Izzy’s messenger and dumped his body out in the ocean.”

“That explains the blood on the skiff,” Tracy said.

“And the witnesses who heard a fight and saw Ryan rowing out to sea,” Daly added.

Nancy held her hands out and Tracy gingerly handed over the frame.  Bringing the frame close to her heart, Nancy closed her eyes and swayed for a moment before saying, “There’s great emotion here.  A connection to both of them.  A physical connection.”

She brought the frame back out where all could see it and traced what looked like an embroidered floral design in the frame.  “The Victorians used to create ornate pictures and jewelry using human hair.”

She handed the photo back to Tracy who scrutinized it more carefully.  “There are red and black motifs here.  Like Anna’s and Skippy’s hair.”

“Which would give you the DNA proof you need.  Right, Angelo?” the detective asked Peter.

“Right.  I’ll need to get permission from the State to take some samples, but I hope they’ll be cooperative considering the situation,” he said and glanced at all of them. “I guess we have to determine who is the winner of the contest.”

Tracy waved her hands.  “Winners.  I had the theory and found the frame, but we wouldn’t have totally solved the mystery without Nancy’s séance or the detective finding the hiding place.”

Relief flooded through Peter at her words.  As a lawyer he was used to dealing with the bad side of human nature.  It was nice to witness someone actually behaving like a human being.  Looking to the psychic and the detective, he realized they were all in agreement.

“I guess that settles it.  I’ll advise the others and my father.  Contact the State about getting samples of the hairs in that artwork.”

Nancy and the detective immediately headed off, leaving Peter and Tracy alone in the room.

“So is that it?” she asked, but he knew she was referring to so much more than the contest.

He stepped close to her and slipped his arm around her waist.  His body reacted immediately to her nearness, but it wasn’t any lingering emotions from Skippy or Anna.  It was him responding.

“What do you think?”

Tracy smiled knowingly and raised her hand, ran her fingers through the thick strands of his hair.  “I think there’s still a lot we need to learn about each other, but I’m game if you are.”

“I’m game,” he said with a grin before he swooped down and sealed that promise with a kiss that curled her toes.

When they pulled away with breathless anticipation, she took his hand in hers and said, “Then let’s get started.”

Chapter 8

Together they walked to Tracy’s bedroom, driven by the attraction that had been simmering between them from the moment they had first seen each other.  But as they paused by the side of the bed, Peter urged Tracy to face him and cupped her cheek.

“Are you sure?  This isn’t something lingering from the whole Anna and Skippy thing, right?”

Tracy smiled and passed the back of her hand across his cheek.  It was rough with the hint of his evening beard.  “I’m sure, Peter.  You’re a handsome man.  Loving and caring.”

A boyish grin erupted on his lips and his blue eyes glittered brightly.  “I guess I wasn’t wrong when I said you were a smart woman.  Beautiful, too,” he teased and laid his hands at her waist.

Tracy covered his hands with hers and then urged them upward as she went on tiptoes and whispered against his lips, “So what are you waiting for?”

His smile broadened against her lips a second before he covered her mouth with his and swept his hands up to cup her breasts. Her nipples beaded instantly with his touch and he circled the hard nubs with his fingers before tweaking them between his thumbs and forefingers, yanking a moan from her.

“Like that?” he asked, pulling away from her only long enough to draw a breath before kissing her again.

“Hmm.  A lot,” she replied and opened her mouth to accept the thrust of his tongue as he slipped in to dance it across hers.

As they made love to each other with their lips and tongue, Peter reached for the hem of her sweater and eased his hands beneath to caress her breasts again, but it wasn’t enough to feel the lace of her bra.  He eased the cups down to expose her tight nipples to his fingers, tweaking and rubbing them until she moaned and shifted away from him.

He protested the movement until she yanked the sweater up and over her head, and reached behind to undo her bra and let it drop at their feet.

She was gorgeous, with full, generous breasts tipped with dusky coral nipples hard from his caresses and a softly rounded midsection that flowed into womanly hips.  As he watched, she reached down and unzipped her jeans.  Urged them down to reveal the dark nest of curls at her center and her long, shapely legs.

When she stood naked before him, she snagged his hand, and gave it a playful shake. “This doesn’t seem fair.  I’m here,” she said, motioning to her body with a quick wave of her free hand.  “And you’re still dressed.”

Peter needed no further invitation.  In a rush, he jerked his polo shirt off, and then shimmied out of his jeans.  When he stood before her, gloriously naked, Tracy dragged in a breath to control the blast of desire sweeping through her.

“You’re beautiful,” she said and brushed the back of her hand across the broad swell of his chest before drifting it down his body to encircle his erection.  She stroked her hand up and down his long shaft and stepped close to him.  As her nipples skimmed the hard wall of his chest, she sucked in a shaky breath and Peter trembled beside her.

“I can’t wait anymore, Tracy,” he said, reaching up to cup her breasts again and dance a kiss along the side of her face.

“I can’t either.” She sat on the edge of the bed and leaned back onto her elbows as Peter stepped between the vee of her legs.  Lifting her hand, she encircled his erection, and guided him to her center.  Invited him in with a subtle shift of her hips.

Peter sheathed himself in her warmth, but held still, relishing the feel of her surrounding him.  Vastly enjoying the sight of her lying before him, her body flush with desire.  Her breasts tempting him to lean down and suckle them as he finally moved, drawing in and out of her.  Building passion between them with the movements of his hips and the suckling and teething of her nipples.

Tracy cradled his head in her hands, keeping him close.  Urging him on with the soft cries of pleasure spilling from her lips and the lift of her hips, deepening his penetration until she was on the edge, waiting for that special moment.  Wrapping her legs around his hips to hold him close as with one powerful thrust he pulled them over that edge and her world shattered into thousands of tiny glimmering lights, like the diamond-like jellyfish they had seen along the shore earlier that night.

Peter held himself still, savoring the contractions of her body milking him, making him one with her.  As calm slowly returned, he gently urged her up on the bed until they were in the center and he dragged the covers over their bodies.

“I hope I’m not presuming too much,” he said as he nestled close and tucked her against his side.

She leaned an elbow on his chest and propped her head there so she could look down at him.  “I hope I’m not presuming too much to think this is about more than just tonight.”

He grinned and skimmed back a dark lock of her hair that had fallen forward so there would be nothing hiding his response.  “Well, it will take a bit to straighten out everything about the contest, and DNA tests take a while. . .”

He grimaced playfully as she poked him, but then his demeanor turned serious.  “I want to explore this more.  See where it can go.”

She dipped her head down until her lips were barely an inch from his.  “I’d like that, too,” she said and then brought her lips to his, sealing that promise with a kiss.

Chapter 9

Tracy sat beside Peter as the closing credits ran on the documentary Tommy and his crew had produced with the help of all of the contestants except Hank, who to their surprise had been so freaked out by the ghosts that he had left the mansion.  As had John Marcovic.  Apparently the project had been too low brow for the mystery writer’s participation, even though it was tasteful enough for the cable television station that had chosen to buy the rights.  In the end, Tommy and his crew had become winners as well when Peter’s father had agreed to lift the confidentiality ban so Skippy’s true story could be told.  It had been icing on the cake when Tracy had also sold a novel about the ghostly encounter and the real story behind the Ryan family.

Peter squeezed Tracy’s hand and rose, grabbed a bottle of champagne that they had been keeping on ice to celebrate with everyone gathered in the inn that he and Tracy had been lovingly restoring over the past several months.

His father sat in a wheelchair next to the sofa, his color and energy much improved since the night Peter had come to relay the information that the mystery had been solved.  After that night, and the day weeks later when the DNA testing had proved that he was Skippy Ryan’s grandson, his health had taken a decided turn for the better.

Nancy and Detective Daly sat side-by-side on a loveseat, clearly taken with one another.  Peter supposed the police officer had that worn and weathered look some women might find attractive.

Tommy’s crew was in motion, as it always seemed to be, moving from in front of the large screen television to the cameras off to the side for a short behind the scenes piece they planned on doing.

With Tracy assisting, Peter poured glasses of champagne for each of their guests and offered up a toast.

“To Anna and Francis Ryan and their everlasting love.”

Everyone around them chimed in with their wishes and Peter took a sip of his champagne, but noticed that Tracy wasn’t having any of hers.