Unhallowed Ground

She nodded knowingly. “Too often we don’t see what we don’t want to see, I’m afraid.”

 

 

“Well, what I’ve discovered so far is that the two girls who are still missing were both fascinated by ghosts and the occult. They were both looking for more than the usual ghost stories. So far, I have no idea where Jennie Lawson, the girl I’m looking for, was when she went missing, but Winona Hart disappeared from a beach out on Anastasia Island. No one saw her leave. The police have pretty thoroughly investigated the other kids who were out there that night, and I don’t believe any of them had anything to do with Winona’s disappearance. The only possible suspect I’ve discovered so far is a woman calling herself Martha Tyler of Cassadaga who was talking to Winona earlier in the evening.”

 

“And you don’t believe I was out on that beach that night?”

 

He cast her an apologetic smile. “You don’t look like a hippie in your thirties or forties.”

 

“I’m ninety,” she said, smiling. “My last birthday party was a hoot.”

 

“I’m sure it was,” Caleb said. “But this is serious. That woman was handing out your cards, with your address here in Cassadaga.”

 

“Business cards are very easy to print. And I suppose it’s still a point of amusement that there’s a Martha Tyler in Cassadaga.” When he looked at her curiously, Martha gave a decisive nod and explained. “My name is the same as that of a ‘witch’ who lived in St. Augustine over a hundred and fifty years ago. She didn’t call herself a witch, of course. In fact, I don’t think she called herself anything at all. Back when I was a little girl, kids up here in the north of the state had a nursery rhyme of sorts about her. ‘Martha Tyler, Martha Tyler, trust me, child, there’s no one viler. One, two, three, four, whatever you do, don’t open her door or she’ll see you buried far under the floor.’”

 

“That’s quite a story. I appreciate you helping me,” Caleb said, finishing his tea and dusting cookie crumbs from his fingers. “Thank you,” he said, taking her hand to say goodbye.

 

She smiled, then surprised him by turning his hand over to look at his palm. “Looks like I’ll be doing a palm reading after all,” she said, laughing. Then she turned serious and looked closely at his hand. “You need to stop doubting yourself,” she told him.

 

“I’m actually known as a pretty confident guy,” he said lightly, but he didn’t pull his hand away. Her grasp was unexpectedly strong for a woman her age, he realized.

 

She looked up into his eyes and smiled. “It’s the fear in you that’s holding you back. No, no—don’t get defensive,” she said when he started to object. “You’d risk your life for someone else. What you’re afraid of is risking your mind, but you shouldn’t be. Let your imagination go. Don’t demand a logical, provable explanation for everything. If you…just open your mind, you’ll find the answers you need. Don’t be afraid of being judged, don’t be afraid of the opinions of others. Let yourself be you.”

 

“Thank you. Good advice,” he said.

 

“It’s only good advice if you take it,” she told him, then frowned suddenly, and her grip on his hand tightened. “Someone you care about is…in danger. She’s very close to the situation. Too close. And you need to stay near her. Everything is connected. She’s treading too close to the truth, and…you need her if you’re to see this situation through.”

 

He pulled his hand away, startled by the wave of electricity shooting between them as she spoke.

 

“Look, Martha, I’m not the doubter you seem to think I am. I work for a man named Adam Harrison, who—”

 

“Adam Harrison?” she said, clearly delighted. “I don’t know him myself, but I have friends who speak very highly of him and the work he does.”

 

“Good. Then you’ll believe me when I say I know a number of people who…who believe they communicate with spirits, and I have to admit, they’ve solved some pretty impossible mysteries through whatever it is they do. So—”

 

“Her name is Sarah McKinley,” Martha said.

 

“What? How…?”

 

“The woman. And don’t worry, it’s just a simple deduction,” Martha said. “In the nineteen hundreds Martha Tyler was the housekeeper at a mortuary. Sarah McKinley owns the old place now. I’ve seen it on the news—they found skeletons in the walls,” she said. “You do know the young woman, right?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And you’re close to her.” It wasn’t a question.

 

It was impossible to be closer, he thought, then wondered how Martha had known. Definitely more than simple deduction going on there.

 

He gave himself a mental shake. This was getting a little too weird.

 

“We’ve become pretty good friends,” he said, wondering just how much this woman saw with her brilliant blue stare.

 

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