Ghost in the Gallery Read online

  “Did she know anything about your great-grandfather?” I asked. That was the point of this whole discussion, after all.

  “Of course, Naya never met Cedric, but she did tell me that her grandmother talked about him from time to time. She knew that Cedric first moved to Holiday Bay when he was just nineteen with the intent of opening the first newspaper in the area. He ran it alone until he met her grandmother, Jasmine, in nineteen fifteen and decided to take her on as a reporter. In nineteen eighteen, Cedric ran into some financial hardships, so Jasmine offered to help him out in exchange for a fifty percent share of the newspaper. According to Naya, Cedric agreed, but once the dynamic between Cedric and Jasmine changed from employer/employee to equal partners, the two began to bicker. By the time Cedric died in nineteen twenty, the two were barely speaking to each other.”

  “You don’t think Jasmine killed Cedric, do you?” Georgia asked.

  Alaric shrugged. “I don’t know for sure. Naya didn’t seem to think so. She said her grandmother was a kind and giving woman. She was loyal and a hard worker. Naya always assumed that the discord between Cedric and Jasmine had been Cedric’s fault.”

  “Did Naya know why Jasmine inherited Cedric’s half of the newspaper?” I asked. “It sort of seems like it would have gone to his wife.”

  “According to Naya, Jasmine and Cedric agreed that the surviving partner would inherit the percentage owned by the other upon either partner’s death. They wanted to avoid a situation where a relative might inherit the interest in the business and then want to sell.”

  I supposed that made sense. If Jasmine had died first, Cedric would have inherited her half the way she inherited his with his death.

  “Did Naya have any idea what might have happened to Cedric?” Ainsley asked. “I can’t help but wonder if her grandmother shared her ideas relating to the event. I’m sure she must have had a theory.”

  Alaric answered. “Naya told me that Jasmine never spoke to her about Cedric’s death. She did say there was a young boy who delivered the weekly edition of the newspaper. He was around ten at the time, and his name was Jasper Wellington. As it turns out, Jasper died about fifteen or sixteen years ago after living to the ripe old age of ninety-six.” Alaric took a sip of his wine. “Anyway, Jasper had a nephew named Arnie. Arnie currently lives in an assisted living facility near Bar Harbor. I called and spoke briefly to Arnie, who confirmed that Jasper had told him all sorts of stories about the newspaper and the man who owned it before he died. He was happy to share, although he did say he had no way of knowing which stories were fact and which were fiction. I have an appointment to speak to him tomorrow.”

  “Maybe he’ll have something to share that will help you to make sense of what you’ve read in your great-grandfather’s diary,” I said.

  “I hope so.”

  Georgia asked about Jasmine’s life after the death of her partner, but I turned my attention to Colt. He hadn’t said a word during the entire conversation. I supposed his mind might be elsewhere given the fact that he had a much more recent murder and mystery to solve. He’d arrived a few minutes before we sat down to eat, so I hadn’t had a chance to ask him about his day. I hoped he’d want to take a walk after we ate, or perhaps adjourn to the cottage with me if he had time. Based on the slight frown on his face and the deep furrows on his brow, he had something heavy on his mind.

  Once everyone had finished their meal, both Alaric and Ainsley excused themselves to go to their rooms. Georgia popped up to take care of the dishes, and I asked Colt if he wanted to accompany the dogs and me on a walk. Thankfully, he did want to walk, and I hoped he’d want to talk as well.

  “Tough day?” I asked once we set off down the bluff trail, flashlights in hand. So far, the moon hadn’t shown up, and there was a layer of clouds over much of the sky, making it even darker, but the trail was well marked and familiar, so I wasn’t worried about anyone ending up on the rocks below.

  “Strange day,” he answered, curling the fingers of his left hand around the fingers of my right hand.

  “Strange how?”

  He didn’t answer right away. At first, I wasn’t sure he was going to, but then he began to speak, so I settled in beside him to listen.

  “I spoke to Elena today,” he began. “There are a lot of things that seem very odd about this particular murder case, but the thing that really stands out is the fact that some of the artwork had been moved, but not taken, in the weeks preceding Damian’s death. If the artwork had been taken, I would suspect a theft ring and would most likely be operating under the assumption that either Damian was involved and was killed by his partner or he just happened to show up and interrupt the thief and was killed as a means of keeping him quiet.”

  “The fact that items within the gallery were moved around does seem odd,” I agreed, raising my voice just a bit to be heard over the waves from the high tide crashing on the rocks below. “I thought it was odd when Nikki first brought it up. Georgia and I have discussed it, and we both agree that breaking in and not taking anything seems a needless risk. Does Elena have a theory about what might have been going on?”

  “She does,” Colt confirmed. “Her theory seems to be more of a wild tale than an actual theory, but she’s quite committed to it.”

  “And what is her theory?” I asked as I leaned slightly into Colt as our pace slowed.

  “Elena suspects that a ghost is moving the artwork at night,” Colt answered. “And not just any ghost, but a specific ghost named the Gemini Ghost.”

  “Nikki told me about that,” I said. “Apparently, there used to be a coven of witches living in Old Salem who believed that twins born under a full moon would have special powers. These witches were known as the Gemini Witches. The legend also stated these special powers came with a price, and if a witch from this coven delivered twins under the blood moon, she should expect to die before the next moon cycle was complete. Nikki went on to say that witches who’ve died due to this particular curse are able to walk the earth on Halloween, the five days before Halloween, as well as the four days after, on years when a full moon falls on Halloween night.”

  “That’s exactly the story Elena told me, minus the timeline. She was quite adamant that it is the Gemini Witch attached to the painting who is now a ghost who wanders the halls during October and she’s convinced that this ghost, for reasons of her own, is moving things around.”

  “But it’s still more than two weeks until Halloween,” I pointed out.

  “Which is exactly what Nikki pointed out when she came in,” Colt said. “I don’t think Elena was expecting her to be by. She looked surprised when she entered the gallery through the front door. After Nikki pointed out that the Gemini Witches were only active on the night of the full moon plus five days before and four days after on years when a full moon falls on Halloween night, Elena admitted that she hadn’t heard that part of the story and perhaps she was mistaken.”

  I frowned. “But Nikki told me that it was Elena who painted the Gemini Witch and it was Elena who told her the story in the first place. It doesn’t fit that Elena wouldn’t know the specifics of the legend.”

  “Which is what Nikki told me later. Not that I would have believed Elena’s explanation for the items that were moved anyway, but she seemed quite intent on trying to make me believe her tall tale. I have to wonder why.”

  “You think she knows what’s really going on and is using the story as a distraction.”

  He nodded. “I think that is exactly what’s going on. The question is why. Why would the owner of the gallery move items on display from one location to another? Why would she remove items from the gallery, only to return them the following day, if that, in fact, is what’s going on? And why would she steal valuable pieces of artwork which seems to be an act that could very well ruin the reputation of the gallery she’s just getting started?”

  “Maybe she’s trying to create hype,” I said. “I can see that there might be a certain audience that woul
d be pulled in by a rumor about a ghost at the gallery. There would probably be folks who would come to the gallery for the ghost even if they really aren’t all that interested in art.”

  “I suppose that might be what’s going on,” Colt admitted. “She would have access to the gallery at night. She could have slipped in, moved things around, and slipped out, and no one would be any the wiser. She could have even removed items, stored them elsewhere overnight, and then brought them back as a means of really getting the rumor mill going. The question is: if Damian stumbled onto what she was doing and threatened to out her, would she have killed him to keep her secret quiet?”

  “Good question.”

  I could see how Elena would be embarrassed and perhaps even discredited if she was faking the news about ghosts in the gallery, but would she be motivated enough to prevent that embarrassment that she would actually kill a man? It seemed like a long shot, but I supposed it was possible.

  “So, what are you going to do to prove or disprove the fake ghost theory?” I asked. I knew Colt couldn’t arrest Elena on a hunch.

  “I’m not sure. If that is what’s going on, it’s likely she acted alone so as not to leave any witnesses. Whoever broke in turned off the security cameras, so they won’t be of any help. Dusting for prints or looking for hair fibers won’t do any good, since it’s likely Elena’s prints and hair are everywhere. We could look for hair or other fibers on Damian’s body, but he was still dressed in the same clothes he had on the night of the exhibit, and she probably touched him or hugged him during the event. I really don’t know how I’ll be able to prove that Elena is the ghost in the gallery unless she told someone what she’d done and that someone decides to come forward.”

  “Did the artwork that was missing after the exhibit show up?” I wondered.

  “No. Everything has been located except for the four pieces loaned to the gallery by Xander Bloomfield.”

  “So maybe the artwork brought to Holiday Bay by Bloomfield was the actual target. Maybe everything else that’s been going on was just a distraction.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Have you spoken to Bloomfield?”

  He nodded. “While the man was concerned about the missing pieces, he wasn’t overly concerned. At least not as concerned as he should be given the value of the missing artwork. He did mention that he would be contacting the insurance company, and he did say he was sorry to hear about Damian, but in my opinion, his mood was all wrong. Of course, I don’t know the guy, so I really have no idea how he normally acts. When we met him last night, the first two of the four pieces had already been taken, and he was totally chill about the whole thing. Maybe he’s just the sort who doesn’t spend time crying over things he can’t change.”

  “Maybe, but I found his reaction to the missing artwork odd. I have no idea what sort of reason he might have to kill Damian, but I’m not sure I’d take him off your suspect list quite yet.”

  “Everyone is on the list until I can prove they couldn’t have done it. Bloomfield told me he was alone at his hotel, sleeping between two and four a.m., which makes sense, but that doesn’t provide him with an alibi.”

  “Do you think Damian was the thief, and Bloomfield caught him?” I asked.

  “Not really. If that were true, where is the art? The thief couldn’t have been caught, or the artwork wouldn’t be missing, so Damian most likely wasn’t the thief. But he was at the gallery in the middle of the night. I want to know why, and plan to keep digging until I get an answer to that question.”

  We paused and turned to look out over the expanse of the sea. Ramos and Molly jogged over and sat down next to us. It was a beautiful night in an eerie dark sort of way. A gentle, yet chilly wind had me wishing I’d worn my jacket and not just a sweatshirt.

  “Cold?” Colt asked.

  I rubbed my hands along my arms. “A little.” I laid my head on his shoulder. “I suppose we should head back.”

  He wrapped an arm around me. “I suppose we should. I have a busy day tomorrow. I imagine you do as well.”

  I nodded.

  He took a small step away from me and then turned, so we were facing one another. He tucked a wisp of hair that had blown across my cheek behind my ear. “I’ve missed you,” he said in a voice so soft I almost missed what he said.

  “Me too,” I whispered.

  He leaned forward and lightly brushed his lips over mine. I wanted to pull him closer, but he took my hand and started walking back toward the inn. I hoped that he’d stay for a while once we returned, but I knew in my heart that he’d leave. In the past few months, there were so many times I’d wished things had worked out differently than they had. I supposed that at this point, the ball was in my court. I needed to either find a way to answer the questions Colt had asked or find a way to let him go.

  Chapter 7

  Amy Hogan, a frequent guest, friend, and budding cook, had shown up for her two-week stay early so she could attend the taping of Georgia’s cable cooking show. Ainsley had gone off with Alaric to chat with Arnie, and Jeremy had gone in search of the additional pumpkins we needed for the patch, so it was only the animals and me at the inn this morning. It wasn’t often that I had the place to myself. Normally, I might have gone to the pumpkin farm with Jeremy, but this morning I felt the need to have some quiet time to think about the brief, but meaningful kiss Colt and I had shared the previous evening.

  I’d been thinking a lot about my relationship with Colt ever since he’d told me that he’d decided he didn’t want to have children. I guessed I understood that. He was approaching forty, and would most likely be raising his niece and nephew once they reached teen status. I understood his reluctance to bring a baby into the mix at an age when a lot of people were becoming first-time grandparents. Not that forty was the norm for grandparent status, but I could think of two friends from San Francisco who married and had children right out of high school only to have their children turn around and do the same.

  I also understood why he had decided that he needed to know how I felt about the subject before we moved our relationship forward. We’d been friends for almost two years, and becoming intimate was a big step. When he asked how I’d feel if I never had another child of my own, I really hadn’t been certain. I’d loved Johnathan with all my heart, but he hadn’t been planned. Ben and I were going about our lives quite happy to be childfree when I surprisingly turned up pregnant. It had been hard getting used to the idea of a baby, but once I held him in my arms, I knew I would never love anyone more. I knew I would die for him. But then I’d lost him.

  Five weeks. He’d only been in my life for five weeks, but I felt that his presence had profoundly changed me. I knew I’d never again be the same trusting and carefree woman I’d once been. I’d loved Ben and missed him dearly, but losing him is probably something I would have been able to deal with and move on from.

  But losing Johnathan?

  I closed my eyes and remembered his tiny head covered in fine dark hair. I remembered the look of wonder in his eyes as he tried to make out the world around him. I remembered the feel of him in my arms and the smell of him after a bath. I remembered feeling terrified that I’d make a horrible mother while at the same time being determined to be the best mommy any little boy had ever had.

  When Johnathan died, my world had shattered. At the time, I was certain I’d never want to open my heart in that way again, but enough time had passed that my perspective had become less clouded. I felt I was finally able to consider the idea of another child without feeling like I was drowning in a sea of anguish.

  On the one hand, holding Johnathan in my arms as his eyes met mine had been the most perfect experience of my life. It was an experience I still mourned the loss of when I woke late in the night. The idea of having another tiny being totally dependent on me did hold a level of appeal, but on the other hand, I wasn’t a spring chicken. I wasn’t exactly ancient either, but given the fact that there currently wasn’t even the prospect
of a man in my life I might want to have a child with, it was reasonable to presume that by the time I met a man, fell in love, married, got pregnant, and had a child, I’d be well into my forties. Maybe my chance had passed. Maybe Johnathan had been the only child I’d been destined to have.

  If that truth was one I could accept, then one of the questions Colt had asked was answered. The other question was whether or not I could be happy raising two teenagers who weren’t mine. I didn’t know Colt’s niece and nephew well, but I had met them, and they seemed like good kids. They obviously adored their uncle, and they seemed to share a deep bond between them. I supposed there was a part of me that worried I’d feel like an outsider in my own home if I did marry Colt and helped him to raise the children his sister had entrusted to him. I wasn’t certain how I could know if that would occur, but it did seem that if I was serious about my relationship with Colt, I really should start spending more time with them.

  I got up from the sofa and walked to the window. It looked like a storm was blowing in today. It wasn’t raining yet, but dark clouds were gathering on the horizon, and the wind, which had only been a breeze earlier in the day, had begun to whip and whistle its way up from the sea. Rufus walked over to where I was standing and began working his way in and out of my legs. I reached down and picked up my huge orange cat, causing him to purr loudly.

  I loved my little cottage. It was warm and cozy and filled with love. I loved waking up to and coming home to Rufus, Molly, Ramos, and Georgia. I loved the smell of cinnamon coming from the kitchen as Georgia baked pastries early in the morning, and I loved curling up by the fire as we talked about our day. I had a good life. A life I’d worked hard to build after the death of my husband and child. I loved the inn, and I loved living in Holiday Bay. There really wasn’t a thing I would wish to be different.