The Witch of Willow Lake: Kyrie Carter: Supernatural Sleuth

Acknowledgments

What more can I say that hasn’t been said previously? My sincere appreciation goes out to those who have suffered through the creation of yet another book. I’d like to say you can relax now, but you know there are more stories to be told.

I’m sorry.

To my husband Mike and my sons Wesley and Wayde for patiently (or not-so-patiently, depending on the day) putting up with their wife and mother living as a hermit.

To all my author friends who know how crazy and sometimes discouraging this writing life can be: Thank you for your words of support and encouragement, and for your advice, whether solicited or unsolicited.

To all the folks at Lock Haven University who shared bits and pieces of campus lore: I am once more in your debt for sharing your knowledge and encouraging my storytelling. And Lou, you get another shout-out, this time for your Giwoggle stories. I’ve given Clinton County’s official monster my own spin in the tale of Stan’s Margaret.

To Raven Blackburn, my wonderful cover designer: I loved the way you’ve brought Kyrie to life for the first two books, and now we get a look at my book-boyfriend Spook. Thank you again!

And most of all, thank you to God, Who gave me the desire and the ability to write, Who stirred the fire within when fear or frustration threatened to put it out, and Who continues to give me stories to tell.

No Beast for his food

Dares now range the wood,

But hush'd in his laire he lies lurking;

While mischiefs, by these,

On Land and on Seas,

At noone of Night are a-working.

The storme will arise

And trouble the skies;

This night, and more for the wonder,

The ghost from the Tomb

Affrighted shall come,

Call'd out by the clap of the Thunder.

From The Hag

Robert Herrick

CHAPTER ONE

"UNBELIEVABLE. Just un-freakin’-believable."

Actually, given the situation and the person in question, the email I had just received was quite believable, and not completely unexpected. Still, seeing it in black and white on my screen rendered me speechless just the same. Absentmindedly tapping my foot in time to the ticking clock, I turned the events of two weeks ago over in my mind.

Even now, it made no sense. Even now, it seemed odd for so much secrecy to surround a decades-old fire in the Appleton Hall bell tower, especially a fire in which a young co-ed had died. I shuddered, thinking once more about how close that history had come to repeating itself. As it had many times since that night, the image of Spook falling through the floor and becoming trapped in the blazing tower played over in my mind. I shook my head to rid myself of the image before turning my attention back to the email.

Kyr, you’re still here? I almost dropped my phone as Lisa breezed into the room, startling me. She grabbed her purse and raised an eyebrow quizzically. Is everything okay? I thought you headed out five minutes ago.

I quickly closed the email and tucked my phone back onto my belt. Oh yeah, everything’s fine. My voice sounded too cheerful to my ears, but Lisa didn’t seem to notice. Just checking an email that popped up. I’m headed out now. I grabbed my purse and shut off the light as I followed her out of the office.

Lisa’s animated chatter filled my ears the whole way to the front door of the library. I thought this day would never end. I’ve been looking forward to some of Freddy’s Famous Fried Chicken all week. I even skipped lunch today so I’d be extra hungry. A loud growl from her stomach emphasized her point. She laughed and laid her hand over her abdomen. See? Are you getting your usual?

I laughed with her, mentally gravitating between my usual cranberry-apple chicken salad and the lemon-pepper rainbow trout that was tonight’s special. Oh, I don’t know. I might be daring tonight and try something totally different.

AN HOUR LATER, WE WERE seated in the smaller banquet room in the back of Freddy’s Family Restaurant just south of Franklindale. The décor in the banquet room left a lot to be desired, with its windowless beige walls and faded green carpet, but Freddy’s home-style cooking was out of this world. Our head librarian Maureen had made an executive decision a few months ago to hold our monthly staff meetings here instead of at the library. Of course, since Maureen, Lisa, and Henry’s spouses usually met us there, our monthly meeting doubled as an excuse to hang out together after work, but no one ever complained. As long as we covered what needed to be covered, what did it matter whether the meeting was held at the library or at a local restaurant?

As we ate, Maureen went over the coming month’s adult programs, ran down a list of new books arriving in the next few weeks, threw out some fundraising ideas, and reminded everyone of the Library Board meeting coming up. I reported on upcoming activities in the children’s department and read off the stats for the Summer Reading Program so far.

After we had taken care of business, we ordered coffee and dessert and chatted. Unable to resist the waitress’ description of the mile-high berry pie, I bypassed my usual indulgence, cherry cheesecake, in favor of the weekly special. As the sweet-tangy mixture of blueberries, raspberries, blackberries, and cherries danced across my tongue, the tension I’d been carrying for the past couple weeks melted away like the vanilla ice cream on top of my pie. For the first time since returning from Willow Lake, I felt completely relaxed, the bothersome email and the unsolved mystery momentarily forgotten. I let out a deep, contented sigh and closed my eyes, sitting back in my chair as I savored the last bite.

So how was it?

I opened my eyes to see Lisa leaning forward, her chin on her hands, looking at me intensely. I wiped my mouth and laid my napkin on the table next to my plate before answering, Oh, it was to die for! I think I have a new favorite... I considered for a moment. No, make that a new second-favorite dessert. Cheesecake is still my favorite.

Lisa slapped her hands on the table in frustration. Kyr! I’m not talking about the dessert! I’m talking about your ghost hunt! That was, what, two weeks ago, and you haven’t said beans about it. Was it a bust?

Lisa’s husband Turk chuckled and quipped, "Yeah, it was a bust. A ghost bust." Lisa turned and smacked his shoulder, rolling her eyes at his pun.

I should have known it wouldn’t last. My mind jerked back to the email, Dr. Harris, Mary Bollinger, and the malicious ghost in Appleton’s bell tower. I hesitated over what to tell them. Lisa loved a good mystery, and if I said too much about what had happened that weekend, she’d want to pick my brain for hours collecting every little detail to see if she could piece together the clues and solve the mystery. While there was no doubt I—we—needed help, I just wanted to forget about it, to put it completely out of my mind. At least for now. At least until I could talk to Spook.

Spook.

Just thinking his name made my mind whirl with images of the mischievous gleam in his dark eyes, the roguish smile he flashed whenever he teased me, and memories of the tender yet passionate kisses we’d shared. The corners of my mouth curled into a smile, and my stomach fluttered the way it did whenever I rode the Ferris wheel at Knoebel’s Grove. No, I thought. The weekend wasn’t a total bust; one good thing had come out of it.

Kyrie Carter! Lisa’s voice pulled me from my reverie, and my eyes snapped up to meet hers. "That is so not a ghost-hunting smile!"

Maureen brought her coffee cup down with a thump and joined in. I’m with you, Lisa. That’s a head-over-heels-in-love smile if ever I saw one.

Everyone at the table now stared at me expectantly. As my eyes traveled from one face to the next, I realized that not only had I not told them about our investigation, but I also hadn’t informed them that my relationship status had changed. Lisa and Maureen would have a field day when they found out who had managed to capture my heart. There was no way they would have forgotten how much I couldn’t stand Spook Steele after that first ghost hunt at the Berkeley mansion; I’d never hear the end of it when they found out we were now officially an item. Trying to delay the inevitable spilling of everything I’d kept from them for the past two weeks, I quipped, Can I just say that the weekend didn’t turn out as planned?

I WALKED IN THE DOOR that evening a full hour later than I’d intended to. After dropping my purse and tote bag by the back door, I rushed through my after-work routine more quickly than usual. I typically chatted with Spook as I thumbed through the mail, set the timer on my coffeemaker, and packed the next day’s lunch, but tonight I wanted no distractions. I had important news to share.

When I was finally able to change into my pajamas and flop down on the couch to relax, I speed-dialed Spook’s number. He picked up on the second ring as always, and I said, Hi, it’s me.

His warm chuckle found its way inside me, and a thrill danced down my spine. "Well, hello there, me.’ I was beginning to think you’d been swallowed by a giant book worm."

I giggled. We had our monthly staff meeting over dinner. I’m just now getting home.

A grunt and a long exhale told me that Spook had just sat down and put his feet up. So what do librarians talk about at their staff meetings? Besides the obvious.

Knowing he didn’t want all the boring details, I gave him a brief rundown of what we’d discussed, and then added, And...the cat’s out of the bag.

What cat’s out of what bag?

Everyone now knows about my changed relationship status. I replied, rubbing my temple and shaking my head as I recalled Lisa’s ecstatic squeal that I was sure was heard by everyone in the restaurant, the parking lot, and most of York County.

Wait, your relationship status changed? When did that happen? He laughed as I protested his joke. You mean you hadn’t told your coworkers yet? I thought you women shouted it from the mountaintops when you started dating someone.

I let out a huff. "You men and your stereotypes. I hadn’t said anything about us because I hadn’t said anything about the whole investigation, which wasn’t something I really wanted to discuss, for obvious reasons."

Don’t get your panties in a wad, Kyr. I was just kidding. His short laugh couldn’t hide the note of irritation in his voice over my sharp comment, and I immediately felt bad for snapping at him. His tone softened as he continued, But if it makes you feel any better, I haven’t said much about us either. I hate the game of a-hundred-and-twenty questions that goes along with people finding out you’re seeing someone.

Me too, I responded wryly. Especially when you end up dating someone you had such a rocky start with.

He laughed loudly, and I had to hold my phone away from my ear for a moment. Yeah, there’s that too. I’ll never hear the end of it when Katie finds out. I’m almost glad she’s an ocean away. Mention of his sister made me chew my lip in agitation. I’d never hear the end of it when my brothers found out either, but in my case, I knew I was in for more than good-natured sibling teasing, especially from my oldest brother, Luther. So besides spilling the beans about your new boyfriend, what else is new?

His question jerked my thoughts back to the real reason I had wanted to talk to him tonight, but now that I had him on the phone, I was reluctant to bring it up. I hesitated, trying to think of something—anything—to talk about besides our ghost hunt gone wrong, but Mrs. Rutter’s email kept bobbing to the top of my mind like a cork in the water. Unable to think of a way to ease into the subject, I took a deep breath and blurted out, I heard from Mrs. Rutter this afternoon.

I heard Spook change position as he became instantly alert. I had a hunch there was something on your mind. So what did she have to say?

Well, I began. "She didn’t say very much, just that the mystery continues. She sent me a link to the Willow Lake Record article about the fire in the bell tower."

What does it say? I imagined Spook leaning forward, poised to catch every word I said.

Thinking he would probably want to read it for himself, I made my way over to my laptop so that I could forward the message to him. Just as we suspected, the newspaper reported that the fire was accidental, started by a lightning strike. That much was true, of course, but it was only a small part of the story. The article quotes Dr. Harris as saying, ‘While we are grieved at the damage to the Appleton Hall bell tower, we are truly thankful that no one was in the building at the time, so there were no injuries.’ What a crock!

Spook let out a snort. Can’t say that there’s any surprise there. We expected what really happened to be buried under the same old lies. While it was true that Harris’ response had been predictable, I still seethed with anger and disbelief every time I reread it. How could he get away with telling a blatant untruth, especially when we had busted him in front of two other college administrators during our reveal?

Mrs. Rutter also mentioned that the necessary repairs are being made to the bell tower, which is also only to be expected. But here’s the kicker: ‘The bell tower door is now padlocked and hooked up to the campus alarm system when workers aren’t present, and the entire third floor is cordoned off so that no unauthorized persons have access to the upper floor.’ Naturally, the reason given for the increased security is ‘the concern over people’s safety while the bell tower is under construction.’ Come on, no one thinks that’s odd? In my mind, it was obvious that the real reason for securing Appleton’s upper floors was that Dr. Harris couldn’t afford any more secrets being uncovered.

Spook took an unexpected turn and began rationalizing. "From a purely logical standpoint, that’s really not that odd, Kyr m’dear. Any construction site is cordoned off, or at the very least has warning signs placed around it."

But we know it’s more than a construction site, I argued, not wanting to look at the logical side. Isn’t it obvious that...

No, Kyr, it’s not obvious, he interrupted. "I mean, yes, it’s obvious to us, and to Mrs. Rutter, because we’re invested in this haunting and in the story behind the haunting. But for your average Joe on the street, it’s just a news story about a lightning strike causing a fire in an old campus building, and now parts of said building are closed while they make repairs. End of story. That’s just common sense; there’s no reason for outsiders to question that."

I picked at the lint on my lounge pants, the logic of his words warring with what I knew to be true. I suddenly sympathized with all the conspiracy theorists whose ideas I’d mocked. This must be how they felt when someone tried to discredit their claims. "So how do we show people there is more to it?" I asked petulantly.

Spook heaved a long, weighty sigh. Look, Kyr, I know it’s important to you to solve this mystery and get the truth out there, but you need to cool your heels. This thing has been going on for more than fifty years...

And that’s fifty years too long, don’t you think?

"Yes, Kyr, it is, but listen to me. This mystery has been festering for more than fifty years. There’s a lot of secrecy surrounding Mary and whatever happened in the bell tower, and for whatever reason, there’s a lot of resistance in that town to telling her story. You can’t go in half-cocked and blow the whole thing open; you’ve got to slow down and think about each step."

He was right. I didn’t want to admit it, but I knew he was right. I sighed in frustration and let my head fall back against the couch with a cushioned thump. So what’s our next step?

A low, humorless chuckle told me that he didn’t have a ready answer for me. However, I knew the wheels were turning in his head just as they were in mine. I wanted to pressure him into saying something, anything, that would clue me in to whether or not his wheels were turning in the same direction as mine, but I knew it was no use rushing him. After a long moment, he finally spoke. As much as I’d like to tell you I have a game plan, Kyr m’dear, I really don’t. I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but I think our best bet is to just sit back and wait.

Wait? My head came up, and I sat bolt upright. Something in my gut told me we didn’t have much time, but Spook thought we should wait? Wait for what? The Bat Signal to appear over Metropolis?

He barked out a laugh. I think you mean Gotham City.

Whatever. I’m more into the Black Knight than the Dark Knight. My lips curled up into a smile as the image of Spook as a black knight popped into my head. For a brief moment my mind got sidetracked as I imagined him scooping me onto his destrier and carrying me off to his castle...

Kyr, you kill me. I heard him get up and begin pacing around, and I shook my head to refocus. To be honest, I don’t know what we’re waiting for, but I just get the feeling that the ball isn’t in our court at this point.

I groaned inwardly, somehow sensing he’d say something like that. Unable to settle down, I got up and went out to my front porch to sit on the swing, hoping the gentle swaying might do something to calm my restless mind. "The question is, whose court is it in?"

He chuckled mischievously. I’m not sure, but if you wanted to push the envelope a bit, you and JoEllyn could go back to the Drop in the Bucket and talk to your bartender friend. You could flirt him into handing over more information, or looking for some.

Suddenly recalling that night at the Bucket and how he’d so blatantly pointed out JoEllyn’s ability to use her feminine wiles to collect phone numbers and gain necessary details, I clenched my jaw in irritation. My chest began to burn from a combination of jealousy over her magnetism and annoyance over my own ever-present insecurities. I swung my legs harder, causing the swing to creak loudly in protest. "JoEllyn doesn’t need me along to do that, I argued tetchily. She’s the one who can turn guys to mush by batting her eyelashes, not me."

What, are Jo’s eyelashes registered as a lethal weapon? He laughed at his own joke, which I didn’t find the least bit funny. When I didn’t respond to his comment, he suddenly seemed to grasp the reason for my silence. His voice softened as he soothed, Just for the record, Kyr, you don’t even have to bat your eyelashes to turn me to mush. All you have to do is duck your head and look up at me through your bangs the way you do, and I’ll do anything you want.

The desire in his voice seeped down inside me and gradually squeezed out my insecurity. I felt my cheeks growing even warmer as I whispered, Spook...

You don’t know how easy it is for you to wrap me around your little finger, do you? He chuckled again, and a giggle escaped my throat as I turned to sit sideways on the swing, making the chains creak once more. Kyr, where on earth are you? It sounds like you’re rocking in a creaky old rocking chair. You’re not in a haunted house without me, are you?

It was my turn to laugh. Well, you’re not too far off the mark. I’m on my front porch sitting on the creaky old swing. I dropped one leg to the floor to stop the swing’s movement.

Hmm. Spook’s voice became serious. There’s something very wrong with that picture.

I began pushing the swing slowly once more, sure I knew how he would answer my next question. And what would that be?

His gravelly voice rumbled in his throat. I’m not sitting next to you.

In that moment I realized how much I missed him, and how much I wanted to be with him again. I let out a wistful sigh. I wish I could see you again. I miss you so much.

I miss you too, Kyr m’dear. But we’ll see each other soon enough. I could hear the mischievous smile in his voice, and I wondered what he was up to.

Before I could ask what he meant, he suddenly made excuse that his call waiting had beeped, and he needed to go. After we hung up, I sat staring at the phone and wondering what he had up his sleeve.

SPOOK MIGHT HAVE BEEN content to wait and see whose court the ball was in, but I didn’t have that kind of patience. My gut kept telling me we didn’t have time to sit around and wait for something to fall into our laps. My words to JoEllyn after the investigation about things at Willow Lake getting more intense before it was over came unbidden to my mind, and I shuddered, wondering what the coming months would bring.

Because the goings-on at Willow Lake weighed so heavily on my mind, I found it hard to stay focused at work, which made my typically-enjoyable and manageable job difficult and at times almost stressful. Summertime at the Franklindale Library was busier for me than most other times during the year. In addition to the usual monthly toddler and preschooler programs I was in charge of, the library also held summer activities for school-age children and teens, as well as the summer reading programs for all ages.

Ironically, the theme for this year’s summer reading program was Mystery and Mayhem, which had been decided upon months before the ill-fated investigation at Willow Lake. Had we decided upon a different theme, I might have been able to take Spook’s advice and put our mystery aside, at least while I was at work. As things stood, however, being at work only brought Mary Bollinger and the events in Appleton bell tower to mind even more frequently. As teens came to the library for events like Murder Mystery Night or a Clue-themed party, I found myself mentally sorting through clues we’d found during our investigation. Every time someone brought in a completed reading log, my thoughts immediately jumped to the articles we’d found—or rather not found—about the fatal fire in the bell tower.

If Maureen and Lisa noticed my distraction, they said nothing. I smiled ruefully to myself, thinking that even if they had noticed my lack of mental presence, they’d most likely attribute it to being in love. Maureen, while happy for my positive change in relationship status, had said little about Spook since that evening at the restaurant, but Lisa took every opportunity to tease me or to try to wheedle information from me about his height, his weight, the color of his hair and eyes, his favorite music, his favorite food, his blood type, the circumference of his pinkie toe, and most importantly, when he was coming to visit so she could meet him. I answered most of her questions, and I assured her that whenever he made it down for a visit, she would be among the first to know.

In my spare time at home and sometimes over my lunch break at work, I began searching the internet for information about Willow Lake—early history, local legends, forgotten lore—anything that might provide a clue about what happened that night in 1958. I found a lot of interesting stories about the town and the surrounding area, many of which I bookmarked to read later, but frustratingly little that came close to fitting into our investigation.

Finally, one day in the library, it suddenly occurred to me to search for books about Willow Lake. I really hadn’t expected to find anything, since Willow Lake was a small, relatively-insignificant town, so it came as a shock when I hit pay dirt: the obituary of a historian who had written a book about the strange legends and unusual occurrences of Clinton County. I let out a loud gasp, and then looked around self-consciously, hoping no one had noticed. All at once, I recalled sitting in the basement of the Willow Lake College Library with Spook, searching the archives for the article about the 1968 fire in which a construction worker had been injured. I remembered scanning through the Willow Lake Record and taking brief notice of an article about a book by a local historian. The obituary I had just found must have been for that author.

A quick glance at the clock told me that my lunch break was almost up, so I jotted down the name Kenneth Biddlesbach and the title of his book. I tucked the slip of paper into my purse, cleaned up the remains of my lunch, and headed back to work. The heaviness of inaction that had been hanging on my shoulders like a yoke lifted for the first time in days. As I went back to work, I was fairly singing, happy that I finally had a place to direct my energy. I was certain that we could now make some kind of progress on Mary Bollinger’s story.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

CHAPTER TWO

AFTER WORK, I scarfed down some leftovers, rushed through my evening routine, reheated a cup of leftover coffee, and sat down at my laptop to do a search for Biddlesbach’s book. I glanced at the clock—seven thirty-five. I was certain I could hop online, find the book in question, figure out how to get my hands on it, and be done by eight o’clock so I could call Spook and tell him the ball was firmly in my court.

Naturally, my first inclination was to check the Willow Lake Public Library. If a book written by a Willow Lake native would be anywhere, the library was the most likely place. I accessed the library’s website and then clicked on their online catalog. While I waited to be redirected onto the correct page, I tapped my fingers nervously on my coffee cup.

When the OPAC page came up, I entered the title of the book in the search bar and hit the Go button. I was a bit taken aback when the results page listed a number of similar titles, but didn’t include the one I was looking for. For several minutes I tried different search criteria, which always led to the same result—a lot of similar books, but Biddlesbach’s not among them.

Okay, let’s try something different, I muttered, starting over and entering Biddlesbach’s name in the author search. I hit Go and sat back, sipping my coffee and trying to ignore the all-too-familiar feeling that I was heading down a dead-end road. A list of authors with similar-sounding names popped up, but again, no Biddlesbach. I set my mug down with a thump, ignoring the coffee that sloshed out onto the desk. Muttering to myself, I sat forward to look more closely at the list, as if doing so would make the name I was searching for suddenly appear.

I repeated the process with the Willow Lake College Library, searching through lists of both books in the stacks and archived works. Not surprisingly, I had the same lack of success there. At least I have a personal contact here, I muttered to myself as I shot an email to Mrs. Rutter. She would be able to tell me if the college had ever had the book on the shelves and what had happened to it if it had.

The next logical step was to widen my search to include the entire county library system, and then some of the surrounding counties as well. With each unsuccessful search, I grew more and more frustrated. I knew I wasn’t searching for a best-seller, but could it really be this difficult to find a book? This was the 21st century, for crying out loud.

I chastised myself for being the least bit surprised. After all the other dead ends we’d hit so far, this was just par for the course, wasn’t it? I just get the sense that the ball isn’t in our court at this point. As I sat back in my chair, thinking about my next step, Spook’s voice echoed in my mind. I shook my head to silence the thought. I couldn’t accept that. I grabbed a pen and paper and began listing all the websites I could think of where I might find the book. Spook had told me once that my research skills were impressive. Well, prepare to be impressed again, Mr. Steele. My lips curled up in determination as I set to work.

Knowing that Biddlesbach’s book would likely have been published by a small local press and would only have held the interest of people in and around Willow Lake, for the time being I avoided searching Amazon and large chain-bookstore websites, instead focusing my search on independent bookstores in and around Willow Lake that had internet presence or email addresses where I could contact them. The shadows in the room lengthened, and my eyes grew blurry as I squinted into the glare of the computer screen. I sighed and took a sip of my now-lukewarm coffee. With a grimace, I set it down and propped my chin on my fist.

Time to bring out the big guns, I grumbled. Being a children’s librarian, I generally didn’t have to search for out-of-print books in my department. However, I occasionally dealt with other patrons who needed older, out-of-print books, usually for genealogical or historical projects, which meant I had a ready list of rare and out-of-print book websites already in my head. As I reached for my pen to start jotting down websites, I noticed how dark the room had grown. A glance at the clock on the wall told me it was already past nine o’clock. I groaned inwardly and switched on the desk lamp next to the computer so I could see. Just another half hour, I promised myself. If I don’t find anything in another half hour, I’ll quit for the night.

For the next thirty-plus minutes, I methodically went down my list, trying to locate either Biddlesbach or his book, but to no avail. As my list grew shorter, my frustration and discouragement grew. It was as if the book and any record of its existence had simply vanished. The minutes continued to slip away as my fingers flew across the keyboard, typing in requests for help finding the book on every obscure bookstore website I could find online.

I lost all sense of time, and had even forgotten about calling Spook until Copa Cabana suddenly blasted right next to my elbow. As I picked it up to answer, I saw that it was almost ten o’clock. Hi, Spook, I said absently, still scrolling through a book list.

"Ah, you are still awake. He sounded tired, and I realized that he had likely been waiting up for my call. You didn’t have another library meeting, did you?"

No. I crossed one bookstore off my list and moved along to the next. Just doing some research and lost track of time.

He was silent for a moment, obviously weighing my words. Research, hmm? On what, as if I didn’t know?

I exhaled loudly through my nose as the bookstore website I’d just entered came up as Page cannot be displayed. Well, if you already know, why are you asking? I meant my comment to sound facetious, but it came out as snippy, so I quickly apologized and backtracked. I came across a piece of information today, and I’m trying to follow up on it. I’m just not having much luck. I cradled my phone between my shoulder and my ear as I entered Biddlesbach’s name on the next bookstore website.

At the risk of fueling your obsession...

I’m not obsessed, I interrupted, setting the phone down and setting it to speakerphone so I could talk and research at the same time. I’m dedicated.

He chuckled. Okay, okay, you’re dedicated. What’s your new information?

I sighed, not missing the tension in his laugh or the skepticism in his comment. Do you remember when we were trying to find the article about the construction worker who was injured in the bell tower? When he indicated that he did, I quickly explained that another article had briefly caught my attention as I scrolled past it. That article was about a local historian who had just published a book about the legends of the Willow Lake area. If I’d known that it might be important to the investigation, I would have made note of it then.

The tone of Spook’s voice changed as he replied, Okay, so what’s the author’s name?

Kenneth Biddlesbach.

Biddles...what? His tone suggested that he had a sarcastic comment on the tip of his tongue. He didn’t disappoint. What a moniker! You couldn’t find someone with a normal name like Smith or Jones?

Biddlesbach, I repeated, ignoring his joke. I came across his obituary when I did a search of books about Willow Lake history. The obituary gave the title of his book, so I’ve been trying to locate it since I got home this evening.

He was quiet for a moment as he processed the information. I took advantage of his silence to keep going down the list of out-of-print book shops on the current website. Even with your super-human research skills, you haven’t found the book yet?

I squinted at the print on the Hidden Treasures Rare Books website for a moment before clicking on the Zoom button to make it larger so I could read the titles on the page. Biddle, Biddleston, Biddlestone, but no Biddlesbach, I muttered, hitting the Back button to return to the search engine.

Kyr?

Hmm? Oh, sorry. What did you say? I was usually better at multitasking, but the late hour and my frustration over my lack of success were making it difficult to focus.

He let out a long sigh. Never mind, I already know the answer. Kyr m’dear, why don’t you call it a night and talk to me?

Only a couple bookstores remained on the list, and I really wanted to finish it off before giving up. I knew he’d give me grief if I said that, so I made an attempt at conversation. So, what did you do today? No, that didn’t sound lame.

By the tone of his voice, I could tell he thought so as well. Dad and I had a big job over at the Batdorf farm today.

Oh? Even to my ears I sounded distracted. What did you do there? I had taken the phone off speaker and was typing with one hand while holding the phone to my ear with the other.

I thought I detected a change in his voice, but I was too immersed in my task to analyze it. Well, Mrs. Batdorf was concerned about the giant redwood tree next to her house. You know how big giant redwood trees get, right?

Sure, I know. I tapped on the desk impatiently, waiting for the website to load.

Luckily, this was a young redwood, so we only had a little less than two hundred feet of tree to work with. He paused, waiting for me to respond.

What had he just said? Something about the tree not being very tall? That’s good. Taller trees are harder to trim. I congratulated myself on remembering something he had told me before.

Still, the tree was higher than our ladder could reach, so we had to improvise.

I had just found the website of a bookstore that carried mostly books from small, local presses, but I caught the word improvise in his comment and knew it was significant to his story. So what did you do?

A slight huff caught my attention, so I held the phone closer to my ear and tried to listen attentively to his next words. We had to balance one of our ladders on top of her roof and then tie one of her ladders to the top of ours to reach the branches she wanted us to trim...

Mmm-hmm.

We cut off a dead branch about three-quarters of the way up the tree. When the branch came off, I noticed a big hollowed-out area in the trunk. You’ll never guess what was wedged inside that hole.

I looked away from the computer screen to cross off the last website on my list. Hmm? What?

There was no mistaking the sarcasm dripping from his voice as he responded weightily, We found the ghost of Mary Bollinger.

You found what? I threw my pen down, now fully focused on his words. Spook, you did not!

He let out a humorless laugh. I knew that would get your attention. Kyr, you need to give it a rest. You’re bordering on obsession here.

No, listen...

No, Kyr, he interrupted. "You listen. To yourself. I’m starting to worry about you. You got off work tonight, and right away you started ‘researching.’ It’s now past ten o’clock, and you’re still researching. You can’t even tear yourself away to talk to me, and the only way to get your full attention is to say the name Mary Bollinger."

His words hit me like a slap in the face. He was right; I was acting as though I were obsessed. I swallowed hard and reached up to shut down my computer. I’m sorry, Spook.

I’m not mad at you, Kyr. His voice softened as he repeated, I’m worried about you. I know it’s important to you to get to the bottom of this mystery, but you can’t let it take over your life. For the past couple weeks, that’s all you talk about when I call.

My mind flitted back over the previous days, and I realized that even before stumbling across Biddlesbach and the mystery book, my life outside of work had taken on the pattern of coming home, scarfing down a quick supper, and hopping on the computer to dig for information about Mary, the fire, and anything else I could find about Willow Lake. Even my conversations with Spook had become mostly one-sided and tended to focus on our ill-fated investigation.

Spook’s voice broke into my thoughts. Kyr, just let it rest for now. Just put it aside until we see each other, and then we can tackle it together.

Smiling at the prospect of seeing him again, but knowing it was unlikely with his summer work schedule, I teased, And when might that be? Are Drac and Gabe planning to revisit the Berkeley mansion this Halloween? I doubted that was the case, and in any event, I hoped to see him long before Halloween.

He chuckled mischievously. Not that I know of, but either way, I’ll definitely see you much sooner than that.

What are you talking about? He had my radar up now, and he knew it. What do you have up your sleeve, Mr. Steele?

I could picture his wide grin and the roguish sparkle in his deep brown eyes as he replied, I’m not telling, Ms. Carter. That’s a mystery you’ll have to work out on your own.

Though I kept returning to the topic throughout the rest of our conversation, he couldn’t be swayed to even give me a hint. Over the following days, I all but forgot about Biddlesbach and his book as I focused on Spook and his vague comments, trying to guess at his intentions. The thought did cross my mind that he was only bluffing in an attempt to get my mind off of Willow Lake, but somehow I doubted it.

As it turned out, I was forced to take Spook’s advice and ease up on the sleuthing, or at least to give up on finding Biddlesbach’s book. Responses had begun trickling in from the bookstores and libraries I’d contacted during my research marathon. None of them, it seemed, had the book in stock or had even heard of it, a fact I found more than a little suspicious, at least for those bookstores in Willow Lake or the immediate vicinity. Even Mrs. Rutter had been unable to help. She was familiar with the book and thought the Willow Lake College Library had it, but she was likewise unable to locate it either in the stacks or in the archives. I was disappointed, but not surprised at that development, and I tried not to sound disheartened when Mrs. Rutter promised to keep looking.

THE FOLLOWING WORK week was a short one for me due to the 4th of July on Friday. The approaching holiday weekend coupled with the typical summer slump meant that fewer patrons than usual came in to the library. When I wasn’t running one of the children’s programs, I filled the hours with some of my job’s more mundane tasks, which kept my hands busy but allowed my mind to wander. Trying to keep my promise to Spook, when my thoughts naturally drifted to Mary and Willow Lake, I made an effort to redirect them, focusing instead on Spook’s cryptic words, wondering what surprise he might be planning.

I also had Aunt Julia’s picnic to plan for. Every 4th of July, she hosted a picnic to which she invited me, my brothers, and their families. Over the past few years, JoEllyn had sometimes accompanied me when Trevor couldn’t—or wouldn’t—come, but since she and Brad were now officially engaged-with-a-ring, she understandably spent more time with his family, and I knew she wouldn’t be there to back me up this year.

I chided myself for being nervous about going to the picnic alone; it was my family, for heaven’s sake. I certainly didn’t begrudge JoEllyn the time spent with Brad’s family, but I had still been hoping she’d be there this year to act as a buffer between my brothers—especially Luther—and me. After my first paranormal investigation at the Berkeley mansion and my subsequent joining JoEllyn’s paranormal group, I had spent last Christmas and Easter listening to lecture after lecture from Luther about the evils of ghost hunting and being warned about opening myself up to demon possession by talking to spirits. While I hadn’t told my oldest brother about the weekend jaunt to Willow Lake, I was sure that the topic would come up before the picnic was over. I had no intention of lying and telling him I had given up ghost hunting, but neither was I planning to walk in and say, Hi, Luther. Good to see you again. How’s the family? By the way, I went on another ghost hunt, and boy, what a wild ride we had this time! I shuddered, thinking once more about the close call Spook had had in the bell tower.

Spook. Smiling wryly, I recalled the conversation I’d had with him about my reluctance to share my changed relationship status with my coworkers. I was even more reluctant to tell my own brothers that I was now dating the man who had been such a thorn in my side at the first investigation. I knit my brows with concern as I completed the monotonous task of putting together packets for the following week’s Guess the Mystery Author program. Aunt Julia had been urging me to come clean to Luther about Spook, hinting that it might be best for me to say something before the picnic. She wasn’t planning to say something, was she? I shook my head in answer to my own question. She wouldn’t do that; Aunt Julia wasn’t a busybody and generally held her tongue about my relationship issues unless asked. Still, why was she so insistent that I tell my brothers about Spook? Did she think our relationship was more serious than it was? That was just one more mystery to ponder.

I went home Thursday evening determined to forget about all things Willow Lake and focus on the next day’s festivities. It helped that I had to throw together something to bring to the picnic. I stopped at the grocery store on my way home to pick up what I needed to make strawberry pretzel salad, a Carter family tradition that had fallen to me to uphold. Not that I minded; it was one of my favorite summer dishes, and the picnic always gave me an excuse to make it.

By the time I had finished layering the crushed pretzels, cream cheese, and strawberries and gelatin and was ready to slide it into the refrigerator to set up, my phone rang. I set the dish on the table and snatched the phone off the counter. Of course, it was Spook. Hey, what’s up? I was going to call you as soon as I finished making dessert.

Making dessert? Are you going somewhere or expecting company?

No, not tonight, but tomorrow I have Aunt Julia’s picnic. I told you about that, right? I opened the fridge and tried to