Mo didn’t want to argue with Grace—or try to explain that she didn’t want a man like Aidan just for a night. She wanted something more, something richer.
“People tend to think I’m...different. I’ve dated some guys who want to know all the gory details of personal cases that turned out to be homicides in New York City, and it scares the hell out of me that this is the kind of thing that turns them on. Other guys act like they’re afraid of me because I work with Rollo on missing persons cases that become homicides. And don’t laugh at me about sex, Grace. I have had it, know what it is and prefer that there be a relationship. That’s my personal choice.”
“I’m not suggesting you sleep with half of Manhattan or anything. But, Mo, that guy likes you.”
“I think Rollo’s the one he likes.”
“At least Rollo’s smart enough to like him back!”
She and Grace had that conversation in the makeup room. Before Mo had been completely transformed into the Woman in White for the evening, both Ron and Phil were agreeing that she should at least indulge in something with Agent Mahoney.
“Honey, trust me,” Ron told her. “If he was gay, I’d be on him like white on rice!”
Finally, she was finished, and the crew of monsters and villains was ready. Mo hung back, hugging the wall of her mausoleum.
That was when she saw him again. The ghost of Major Andre.
He wasn’t perched on a stone that night; he was standing, a handsome man in Revolutionary-era clothing, watching her pointedly.
She looked carefully around. The other characters were in their places waiting, most of them texting or playing games on their phones before the call came to turn off their devices.
Mo hurried out to the path between the mausoleums and the tombs and stones.
“Major Andre,” she said softly.
He came toward her, real and yet not real in the moonlight. “You see me, yet you are living,” he said. “You see me clearly, do you not? Do you hear me, too?”
She nodded. “You were watching me the other night.”
“You reminded me of someone.”
“Was her name Elizabeth Hampton?” Mo asked.
He bent his head to one side in surprise. “You know her?”
“No, but I’ve read about her.”
He smiled poignantly. “She’s not here,” he said. “I look for her... But I in all my searching, all my watching, I have not found her. My dearest love...”
“I don’t know her, but I’ve heard the legend of the Woman in White since I was a child. Elizabeth may be the Woman in White—and if she is, she’s somewhere in the area,” Mo said. “Do you know where Elizabeth Hampton’s buried?” Mo asked.
He stiffened and seemed to be in pain. Not angry with her, just in pain.
“I know I am buried in Westminster Abbey, far from here. In the country to which I gave my loyalty and my all. It astonishes me to see that the country I fought and died for and this new nation are now the best of friends and allies. Of course, it has been...” He shook his head. “One does lose track of time.” He stopped speaking to give her a slow smile. “I’ve seen many people look twice or shiver when I am near. But it’s been a long, long time since I’ve spoken with the living.”
She smiled back. “And I’ve heard about your being here, in spirit, all my life. I’m pleased to finally meet you. And I desperately need your help. People have been killed, cruelly killed. And the one man who died left a message that said Lizzie grave. Do you know what that could mean? Do you think it could refer to your Lizzie?”
“Perhaps it does. Although I cannot explain why. I need your help, too,” he added. “If you can see the dead, will you look for my Lizzie...out there, somewhere?”
“I will. Can you tell me where to start?”
“Tappan,” he said.
“Pardon?”
“Tappan, in this place, now the state of New York. It was where I was hanged. Perhaps she lingers there.”
Mo nodded.
“And perhaps it is not my Lizzie’s grave that your friend was seeking. Perhaps it was my daughter’s.”
“What? Major Andre—”
“My name is John, my dear. And among friends, that is how I am known. Neither patriot nor redcoat. Just John.”
“According to the historical record, sir, you left neither children nor a wife.”
“She was with child,” he said. “I saw this, although she did not see me. I did not see her murder. I learned of her death. I watched our daughter grow in the home of gentle people who loved a child and saw her not as a rebel or a traitor, but as a child. When my Lizzie was killed and betrayed by those who should have loved her, my daughter was raised in gentle company.”
“And she died here?” Mo asked.
He didn’t answer her. There was a sudden commotion—the first group of visitors for the night was coming through.
“Wow! She’s good!” A female voice whispered with fear and awe. “You’d swear that Woman in White was talking to another ghost!”
“It’s okay,” a masculine voice returned. “Just a special effect!”