The House on Lake Jasper: A Tilton Chartwell Mystery (Tilton Chartwell Mysteries Book 1) (6 page)

Chapter Twelve

Everyone wants to join the ghost tour
, as Connie calls it, so about an hour after breakfast, they all assemble around the dining room table. 

“Where would you like to start,” asks Connie.  “Here?”

Tilt hesitates.  In the bright light of day, the house doesn’t feel quite as oppressive as it did last night, but it doesn’t feel exactly empty, either.  “Actually, I think I’d like to start outside.  That’s where I felt the first entity – the one who I’ve been sensing since last Wednesday.  I felt her outside immediately last night when we arrived, but I can’t seem to get a feel for her in the house for some reason.  So let’s start there, and work our way around the grounds, and then we’ll head back in here.”

“Tell them about the lights on the lake, Tilt,” says Aubrey. 

“Oh,” Tilt says.  “Last night, after we all went to bed, Aubrey and I were looking out our window over the lake… and I saw lights… I thought they were lights from other houses… but then they got closer, and Aubrey said she couldn’t see them.”

“Oh, my God,” says Norah.  “That just made chills go down my spine.  What did you do?”

“Closed the drapes,” said Aubrey.  “I didn’t want them to feel welcome.”

“I knew this place was crawling with ghosts,” moans Connie. 

Obedient as any tour group
, they troupe outside behind Tilt.  She pauses on the driveway, behind Chuck’s car, then turns to face the house.  Even in the bright sunshine, it feels like a dark and looming hulk of a place, so at odds with the graceful turrets, the delicate gingerbread. 

Something’s being hidden in there, she thinks.  Something… something that whatever is in there… doesn’t want anyone to know. 

This thought is accompanied by the softest of whispers.  Don’t let them forget. 

“Don’t let them forget what?” she murmurs.  She holds up her hand, closes her eyes.  “I can feel that that woman is with us.  She doesn’t want us to forget something…I can’t seem to get her to tell me what.”

“I’m smelling lilacs,” says Chuck. 

“Me, too,” says Connie, then Norah. 

Everyone else sniffs.  Tilt keeps her eyes closed, trying to hook to the energy she can feel flitting just at the edges of her awareness.  “Sarah?  Sarah, is that you?”

Don’t let them forget. 

“I looked up Sarah,” says June.  “She died here, in the house, in 1891.  She was the wife of Peter Van Ryn, who was Harriet and Emmeline’s nephew.  She died of consumption, leaving behind at least four or five kids.”

Don’t let them forget.  The voice is stronger, clearer.  The spring sunshine caresses her cheek, the breeze brings an even stronger scent of lilacs. 

“Where are the lilacs,” Chuck asks.  “The lilac bushes?”

“Around back,” answers Connie.  “They were immense when we got here last fall.  It was one of the first things we did, was to cut them back.  So we didn’t get many blooms this year… that’s why I’m so surprised I smell them so strongly.”

“I’m not,” says Chuck.  “I think Sarah wants us to go find the lilacs.”

Don’t let them forget.  This time the words are accompanied by images.  Dark hair.  White gloves.  Blood spotted handkerchief edged in lace.  A tightness in Tilt’s chest and a tickle in her throat as she follows the group around the side of the house. 

A circular turret juts out and around, offering a wide view, and a broad sweep of garden shrubbery.  This close to the house, however, Tilt feels cold, even in the warm sunlight.  She looks up, toward the water, where a long dock floats about twenty feet into the lake. 

Something flashes, then winks out, something of the same phenomena as last night.  You’ll have to wait your turn, she thinks.  “I don’t t think these are the right lilacs,” she says, looking around.  “Is there a lilac anywhere else?”

“Actually,” says June, “I think there’s a lilac near Sarah’s grave.”

A sigh goes through the group, as Chuck shakes his head.  “I don’t think that’s it.  Are you sure, Connie?”

Connie spreads her hands.  “Well, I’m a city girl.  I suppose there could be another kind of lilac around here somewhere…”

“Let’s look around,” says Chuck.  “Anyone know anything about lilacs?”

The group spreads out a bit, Aubrey the only one who goes to the rim of the beds to actually inspect what’s growing.  Finally, she motions to everyone to join her beside an ivy-covered octagon in the center of the lawn, encircled by squat shrubs covered in dark green leaves.  “These,” she says.  “These are miniature lilacs… but none of them are blooming.”

“Then why do they smell so strongly,” asks Norah. 

Chuck smiles and he winks at Tilt.  “I don’t think they’re what you’re smelling.”  She notices that once again, he’s standing next to Krystal.   

Tilt feels another pang of disappointment.  It’s been a long time since she felt such a genuine attraction and potential connection.  But no point going all Bridget Jones about it, thinks Tilt.  Everyone’s looking at her, waiting.  

Tilt takes a few deep breaths, and tries to get a better sense of the woman with the plaintive request.  The structure is a 19
th
century version of a patio, she supposes, situated half way between the lake and the house, near enough to the kitchen door that bringing out a tea service wouldn’t be much trouble.  The lilacs are low and leafy.

“Why no blooms,” asks Connie. 

“They probably need some fertilizer,” answers Aubrey.

Don’t let them forget. 

Tilt looks up, directly at the house, directly at one of the rounded turrets.  Framed against an attic window, she sees a face, then another. 

Don’t let them forget. 

“My God,” she blurts, before she realizes she’s spoken aloud.  “I think there’s someone in the house.”

Everyone wants to go immediately
to the attic, which disappoints Tilt, because part of her wants to stay and see if she can figure out if the woman with the bullet hole in her head is the same as the energy at the end of the dock. 

But the voice is rising in her mind, until the words are almost all she can hear. 
Don’t let them forget.  Don’t let them forget. 

“Shall we head in, ladies,” asks Chuck. 

“Wait a minute,” says Norah.  “I just want to know about the lights Tilton says she saw last night and Aubrey didn’t.  Who were they and why were they coming closer?”

“Psychics attract spirits,” answers Chuck.  “Tilton’s a pretty strong psychic… they’re attracted to her, to her ability to connect with them and be aware of them.   That’s why they came closer.”

“So, Tilton, Chuck – let me ask you - except for the lake tragedy,” says Mike, “you’re not seeing anything else out here?”

Tilt hesitates.  Chuck freezes.  She glances at him, and notices he won’t meet her eyes, which feels a little strange, compared to just a few minutes ago.  And he looks upset, suddenly, almost angry. 

“I’m not seeing anything more,” Tilt replies.  “But let me just tune in once more before we go inside, since you asked.”  She opens her eyes, puzzled.  The sense of Sarah’s gone, of the house, of the lake.  It’s like someone’s swept the fields clean… empty.  Everything is suddenly… empty. 

That’s so strange, thinks Tilt.  What the hell’s just happened?

But before she can share that for some reason, her psychic sense has totally and completely failed her, Norah points to the top of the house.  “I see something.”  She tugs at Neale’s sleeve.  “Look…look, everyone, look and tell me you see it too?  It’s a woman, right? See her?”  Norah sounds a little hysterical, a little high.  “In that turret room… do you see her? Please tell me you see her… she’s looking at us.”

Don’t let them forget.  Even before she looks up, Tilt knows who Norah’s seeing. 

“Oh, my God,” says Aubrey, nudging her so hard Tilt winces.  “I do see her, and look, Tilt…wouldn’t you say that’s our room?”

Chapter Thirteen

Before Tilt can say anything,
Norah and Aubrey take off toward the house. 

“Hey,” says Connie.  “Wait for me.   Come on, Mike.”

“I guess that’s where we’re headed next?” says Neale, rhetorically.  “After you, Mr. Cahill.”

“Coming, Tilt?” asks Chuck, when Tilt hesitates.  She was so sure that energy from last night is associated with whatever she’s sensed at the end of the dock.  So where is that angry spirit so hell bent on getting Connie out of her house?  Who is she, and why’s she so angry, and more importantly, why isn.t she showing herself now?  Today?  When she has the opportunity to tell everyone… including both Chuck and Tilt? 

And this is even stranger… it’s like someone turned the lights out.  Tilt glances around, wondering what exactly is happening. 

Chuck touches her arm.  “Earth to Tilton.  You okay?”

She comes to herself with a start.  “Oh, yeah.  Sorry.  It’s just… I was sure I felt something out here last night… something…oh, I don’t know.  It’s not here now.”

“Don’t apologize.  I think we should keep up with the others, though.”

As they start across the lawn, Tilt starts to feel an increasing pressure around her chest, something very much akin to what she felt last night.  The closer she gets to the house, the more she feels as if she’s walking into something that feels like a waiting beast.  “Emmeline and Harriet…. Any idea when they died?”

“They both lived to quite old…Emmeline into her 90’s and Harriet… didn’t she make it past 100?”  Chucks asks Krystal, who’s waiting for them as they round the corner of the house.   

“Harriet was 103 when she died in 1934.” Her eyes slide past Tilt’s, and again, Tilt has the distinct impression Krystal’s hiding something from her.  It’s not that unusual, really.  There are lots of reasons people don’t want other people – especially people with strong intuitive senses prying past their energetic boundaries.

And she has enough to figure out at the moment.  “So, if Sarah – assuming the lady in the garden is Sarah – died in the 1890’s, Harriet and Emmeline were here.  And since Sarah seems to repeat over and over… ‘Don’t let them forget’…. I’m wondering if Harriet and Emmeline are the ones she means.” 

Chuck glances up at the house, but before he can respond, there’s an excited shout from the front of the house. 

“Oh my God,” they hear in the distance.  “She really did get a picture!” 

It sounds like Aubrey.

It turns out Norah has snapped a photograph of something that does appear to be the misty outlines of two women in 19
th
century clothing standing at the top of the steps.  Goosebumps go down Tilt’s spine as she looks at the photo.  “So if these are the twins…” She looks up at the front door.  It’s standing wide open, but the foyer beyond is completely shadowed. 

The idea of walking into the house is about as appealing as walking into a tomb. 

Suddenly Tilt realizes that’s exactly what the house feels like.  Something about it feels like … a grave.

“Come on, Tilt, let’s go see if Norah can get a picture of whoever I saw in our room.”  Aubrey’s tugging at Tilt’s hand like a six-year old. 

Don’t let them forget. 

“What did they forget, Sarah?” Tilt whispers.  She closes her eyes, concentrates on the scent of lilacs, the overwhelming sense of grief.   In her mind’s eyes, faces flash like photographs.  Children’s faces.  She opens her eyes, to see the group gathered around her.  “Do you know how many children Peter and Sarah had?”

Chuck, June and Krystal glance at each other.  Finally June answers, “Four or five, I believe.”

“There’s a set of twins in the parish christening records born in 1887,” says Krystal, “But the census in 1890 only records one child born on that date.”

“So it sounds like they had five but only four survived?” asks Connie. 

Tilt gazes through the open front door, into the shadowy house.  It’s almost noon, but not a shaft of sun seems to penetrate the entrance.  It’s so dark, it’s impossible to see the staircase from here.  It’s black in there, thinks Tilt.  Black as a tomb.  Suddenly she’s freezing, all over.  

“Come on,” says Aubrey.  “Let’s ask the ghost I saw in our room.”

The force in the front door is palpable to Tilt, but there are so many living people moving through it, that the energies don’t seem capable of holding them back.  She’ll remember that for future reference.  But for the first time, she feels that she would not want to enter this house alone.

As the group moves up the steps, Connie says, “You know, I totally forget about this, but now that I think of it, in Olivia’s notes about the rooms that we found along with all the plans and the swatches and the paint colors, she calls that room ‘Sarah’s.’   The furniture in that room was here when the Bennetts bought the place.”

“So if there really was a Sarah Van Ryn who died in 1890… what happened to her husband and the kids?” asks Norah, as they climb the steps as a group. 

“Peter died not too long after Sarah, come to think of it.  Harriet and Emmeline raised the kids, just as they’d raised Peter.  The youngest child was Neville’s father.  And Neville was the last Van Ryn who died here in 1989,” answers June.

They’ve come to a stop in front of the door of the room where Aubrey and Tilt are staying.  Aubrey turns the handle.  The door is locked.  She looks at Tilt.  “Why’d you lock the door?”

Tilt shakes her head.  “I didn’t lock the door.”

“Let me try,” says Mike.  “Maybe it’s just stuck.”  He rattles the knob, but to no avail. 

“That’s really weird,” says Aubrey.

“It is really weird,” mutters Tilt. 

“I’ll get some tools,” says Mike.  His footsteps fade down the steps, and a sense of oppressiveness invades the corridor.  The light coming in from the window at the end of the hall seems suddenly excessively bright, raising heat from the dark flowered carpet underfoot.  Norah and Aubrey look uncomfortable, June folds her arms over her chest, Chuck moves a tad closer to Krystal.  Even Neale looks like he’d like to loosen his collar. 

Suddenly Connie moans and clutches her temples between her thumb and forefinger.  “Oh, God, there’s that noise again… can’t you all hear it?  That tap-tap, tap-tap?  It’s driving me fucking insane.”

Tilt takes a deep breath and grabs the door.  That’s enough, she thinks, directing the thought to whatever energy is creating both sound and blockage.  As she does, the doorknob turns in her hand and the door swings open with a creak. 

“Wow,” says Mike, coming up the steps.  “How’d you manage that?”