His wife’s name, with her date of birth and a blank expanse of marble where her date of death would one day be etched, was next to his.
Genevieve and Nikki sat on the bench together, and Gen tried to decide whether the world that had opened up to her was terrible or intriguing.
They were alone, yet the cemetery was crowded.
A child in knickers went running by, chasing a ball. A woman with a bustle went racing after him, calling out distractedly, Ethan Taylor, you come back here right now! She offered Genevieve and Nikki an apologetic smile as she passed.
She wasn’t real, of course, and neither was her son.
After a while, Gen felt the softness of a breeze and looked toward the monument. A pleasant-looking man of sixtysomething was standing by the iron-gated doorway. He was wearing a suit and could have been out for a pleasant stroll in the historic cemetery, pausing momentarily to catch his breath.
Except that he wasn’t going to catch his breath again. Ever.
“So sad,” he said, looking at Genevieve.
She forced herself to speak. “Mr. Morton?”
“William,” he said, smiling crookedly. “Not Will or Bill, much less Willie or Billy. I was always William. Don’t know why.”
She stood slowly, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Nikki stood up with her, so at least she wasn’t alone, but whether Nikki saw him or not, she didn’t know.
He slammed a fist against the tomb, and Gen almost jumped back. But she realized he wasn’t angry with her when he said emphatically, “I want to help.”
She cleared her throat. “You were murdered.”
“I know that,” he said
“Who did it?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“You have to know!”
“Young lady, don’t you think I would tell you the name of my killer if I knew it?”
“But…you must have let him into your house.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her as if daring her to dispute his next words. “All right. Poe.”
“What?”
“Edgar Allan Poe.”
Apparently Nikki did see him, because she said, “Excuse me?”
“We were getting ready for Poe Fest,” he said. “When the doorbell rang, I assumed it was Beau Headley. He was supposed to come by so we could discuss the lectures we’d be giving that Saturday night. I was busy, just finishing up on the computer, so I wasn’t paying a great deal of attention when I opened the door. I said something like, ‘Gee, Beau, great costume, let me just run down and turn off the computer.’ But whoever it was followed me. I didn’t realize it…until I was being throttled. I fought back, though. I gouged him pretty good on his chest.”
“But his face,” Genevieve protested. “Can’t you at least describe his face?”
“He had on false whiskers and a wig. And his eyes were brown and the pupils seemed too big, so I’m thinking he had on some kind of contact lenses.”
“Are you at least sure it was a man?” Nikki asked.
“Yes. I think so.”
“You think so,” Genevieve said. She was amazed at how frustrated she was feeling. Last night she had been terrified by the very concept of ghosts, and today she was angry with one.
“We think he’s killing other people, so if you can come up with anything else, it would really help,” she said.
He was thoughtful, leaning against the tomb. He rubbed his chin. “You see me pretty well, right?” he asked.
“Yes,” both women said together.
“I can’t quite get the hang of getting out of here,” he said. “The cemetery, I mean.”
“We can’t really help you there,” Nikki said. “I’m so sorry. From what I understand…you just keep trying. Others here may be able to help you.”
He sighed. “Tell me, please…how is my wife? Do you know?”
Nikki glanced at Genevieve, then turned back to the ghost. “My husband is seeing her this afternoon,” she said. “I believe she’s doing well, though I’m certain she misses you.”
“If you can, will you let her know that I love her?” he asked.
“Of course,” Genevieve said.
“I’m sure she knows,” Nikki told him softly.
“Is there anything else you can tell us that might help to solve your murder?” Genevieve asked.
“Do you think I’ll be able to go then?” he asked wistfully, then shook his head. “I don’t think so. I think…I think I’m waiting for Nancy. We did everything together. I can’t take a major journey without her.”
They both just looked at him, not knowing what to say.
And then William Morton was gone. He faded away, and then, there was nothing where he’d been but the air.
They all met up back at the bed-and-breakfast just before seven. Adam had been busy on the computer all afternoon, and he had information.
“Thorne Bigelow and his family were here when William Morton was killed. They had come to attend a series of lectures at something called Poe Fest. They got here the day before he was killed and didn’t leave until five days after.”