Part Three

“Where have you two been?” Celia demanded, when they entered the kitchen. “It’s nearly the family’s dinner time and you haven’t eaten, yet.”

“It is not.” Tom kissed his wife’s cheek. “We’re not even a bit late. Do you think we do nothing with our time? We each have plenty of work to do, I’ll have you know.”

“Don’t you evade the question, Thomas Delanoy,” she returned. “And you’re wrong: the family is having an early dinner so that they can eat together before the kids go to the Cameo with their friends.”

“We had plenty of good times at the Cameo,” he reminisced. “Do you remember that time–”

“Tom! Where were you?”

He looked at her quizzically. “What does it matter, sweetheart?”

She huffed out a breath. “It matters because you won’t tell me!”

Caught in the middle of this marital dispute, Regan looked around for an escape, but found none. He was afraid that Tom was going to continue the evasion, when Maggie bustled up behind Celia for some reason. She gave Tom a stern look and a slight shake of the head. A frown crossed his face, then he sighed.

“We just went out for a little drive.” Tom glanced at Regan, who stood silent and uncomfortable. “I wanted to check something out in the station wagon. It’s been running a bit rough, lately.”

“And you took Regan with you?” She put her hands on her hips and glared. “A likely story!”

“I needed an extra person and he was available.”

Celia shook her head. “Don’t lie to me! You’re trying to find the body, aren’t you?”

“What? No!” Tom held up both hands. “No way. I’m not doing anything like that, honey. Promise.”

She turned to Regan. “Well?”

He shrugged. “I thought the police had warned us all away from the crash site. I haven’t been back since we found it and I’m not intending to go back there.”

“And did you go out in the car with Tom just now?”

“Yes,” Regan admitted. “And he kept telling me what he wanted me to look out for.”

She looked, in disbelief, between the two of them.

“Celia,” Maggie called. “It’s time.”

The maid frowned at them, then smartly turned her back. Moments later, she was pushing through the swing door, arms laden with dishes.

“I am so glad I’m not married,” Regan declared. “And the next time you want me to take part in an argument with your wife, you can forget it!”

“Sorry,” Tom muttered.

“You’d do well to take your wife more seriously,” Maggie told him, scowling. “That was a pack of lies, unless I miss my guess. She’s not stupid. She knows that you’re keeping things from her.”

“I just didn’t want to upset her.”

Regan snorted. “I can see how well that worked.”

“I thought you were keeping out of this?” Tom grumbled.

“Seems I’m already in trouble with your wife. It can’t get much worse from here.” A sudden thought made him grin. “For me, that is. For you, it can get a whole lot worse real quick.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Tom sighed. “What am I going to tell her? She doesn’t want to hear the truth and she doesn’t like the half-truth I already gave her.”

Regan shrugged. “Don’t ask me. I don’t know anything about being married. Other than that I’m glad I’m not.”

“You mentioned.” He shook his head. “She’ll be back in a minute. What line are we going to take?”

After a moment, Regan decided to cut him some slack. “I guess I could tell her that I thought I’d seen something and we wanted to check it out. We can honestly say that we didn’t find anything.”

Tom nodded. “Thanks. I hope that’ll be enough.”

“You get out of here.” Regan nodded to the back door. “Let her calm down a little.”

Tom shot him a grateful look and left. A minute later, Celia returned to the kitchen. She looked around and a frown formed on her face when she did not see her husband.

“Give him a break,” Regan asked of her. “You should be as annoyed with me as you are with him.”

She shook her head. “I’m not married to you.”

“Thank goodness,” he muttered, under his breath. “It’s not his fault, though. I thought I saw something and we thought we should check it out.”

“And?” Her eyes widened and all trace of animosity vanished. “What did you find?”

“Nothing. It was a complete bust.”

Celia frowned. “Does that mean you didn’t see it, or that you just couldn’t find any evidence?”

He shrugged. “I’m not sure what I saw. We sure couldn’t find any evidence, but that doesn’t mean much.”

She nodded. “That’s true. And it’s the worst part of this whole thing. I can’t stand the not knowing.”

“Give it time. The police are on it. They’ll get there in the end.”

Her expression at once became incredulous. “They’re not investigating the ghost!”

“Well, no. They don’t, usually. But they’ll get at the facts.”

“Facts! How does that help? You can’t prove whether or not there are ghosts.”

Regan left his position leaning against the counter and went to stand before her. “It’s not a ghost, Celia. It’s a real, live person. I’ve seen her more than once, now, and I’m sure of that. I could reach out and touch her just as easily as I could reach out and touch you.”

“Then why do I have such a bad feeling about this?” she asked, fear and worry clear in her eyes. “I don’t usually get premonitions, or bad vibes, or whatever you want to call them. I know there’s something wrong here. I just can’t seem to get anyone to believe me.”

He felt completely out of his depth. “None of us want you to be upset.”

“Upset? I’m not upset!” she practically shrieked. “This is not upset.”

“Fine. Okay. I believe you.” He held both hands up in front of himself. “You’re not upset and you don’t need to be angry with anyone.”

Her breath hitched and she turned away from him. He looked to Maggie in alarm. She dealt with the situation with her usual competence. Gathering the weeping young woman into her arms, she used a gesture to shoo Regan out of her kitchen. He did not need to be told twice.

A few minutes later, outside the garage, he encountered Tom.

“Did it work? Is she still as mad?”

Regan shrugged. “She was crying.”

Tom groaned and clutched at his hair. “I think you’re on your own from here. I can’t afford to upset Celia any more.”

Regan nodded. “I’d figured.” He frowned for a moment, wondering whether to say any more. “There’s not anything else wrong with her, is there?”

“What else would there be?” Tom asked, alarmed.

“You’d do better to ask Maggie.”

Tom glanced at his watch. “We’d better get back to the kitchen. I’m starved.”

“Maggie sent me out,” Regan admitted. “I’m not sure we’ll be welcome.”

“Well, I’m going, welcome or not.” He set off in that direction, glancing back over his shoulder when Regan did not follow. “Are you coming? Or do you want to starve?”

Regan considered the options for a moment. “You’re going in first.”

Tom rolled his eyes, but did not object. When they reached the kitchen, he opened the door and stepped in. All was at peace once more and the look that Tom shot Regan implied scepticism that it had ever been anything else. As Regan entered, Celia pushed through the swing door with the next course.

“You have saved food for us, haven’t you, Maggie?” Tom asked, looking hopeful.

The cook nodded and set about plating up their meal. “Luckily for you, I stopped Celia from throwing it out. She was inclined to let the pair of you go hungry.”

Regan felt his stomach grumble at the sight and smell of the hearty Irish stew she set down in front of him. He took an appreciative sniff before sinking his fork into a chunk of meat, and paid little attention as the swing door opened and Celia returned.

“Oh, so you’ve come back, have you?” she snapped.

Regan chewed his mouthful and took another of potato. He took his time over it, savouring the taste and the texture. He would never admit it aloud, but meals like this one reminded him of his early childhood. It was easy to get lost in the long-ago sounds and smells, things that he would never know again.

“Regan?” Celia prompted. “I’m talking to you.”

“Hmm?” he asked, glancing her way. “I thought you were talking to Tom.”

She shook her head. “I’m not talking to Tom.”

As she passed to the other side of the kitchen, he muttered, “Looks like the sofa tonight for you, buddy.”

Tom swore under his breath. “We live in a trailer, Regan. There is no sofa.”

“I meant my sofa – after she throws you out.”

“That’s really encouraging.”

Regan shrugged and turned back to his meal.

Half an hour later, Regan left the kitchen with a full stomach and a sense of contentment with his own life. Tom and Celia were still squabbling, to the point that his prediction about the sofa was looking increasingly credible.

He looked over his charges in the stables and found everything to his satisfaction. The first stars were visible overhead as he headed for his apartment. The evening air had a chill which he found pleasant and suddenly the thought of a few hours in front of the television held no appeal.

He ran lightly up the stairs and put on a heavier jacket, closed the door behind him and set off into the gathering dark. The path he chose was the second one that Strawberry had refused to follow earlier that day and would lead, eventually, to the vicinity of Louis Road. He used the small flashlight he held sparingly, shielding it with his hand to maintain his night vision.

As daylight faded away, Regan walked in near-silence along the familiar path. He paused at the place where the horse had wanted to turn back, but once more could find nothing out of the ordinary. Just as he was about to set off again, a noise caused him to change his opinion. Someone – or something – approached from his left, on the side opposite the direction he imagined Glen Road must be.

Without another thought, Regan stepped off the path and into the shadow of some bushes. He switched off the light and dropped it into his pocket. For a minute or two, he waited.

A grunt sounded, closer this time. He was torn between relief and alarm to know that the source was human and not animal. Soon, he could make out footsteps and the occasional heavy breath.

The bushes on one side of the trail parted and a figure stepped through. In the dimness, he could make out little other that her general shape. She carried some kind of parcel, hefting it just as she passed in front of him. For a few moments, she rustled the branches of the bushes on the other side of the path, then disappeared among them.

Regan stared after her for a few moments, then began to follow. He kept well behind her, as quiet as possible, but soon found her easy to trail. Her progress was hindered by her burden, and by her long skirt, which frequently caught on low branches. The sound of it brushing against the leaves masked any sound he made.

“Stupid car,” he heard her mutter, a short time later. “Stupid cop. Stupid town.”

She lapsed into silence, broken only by the occasional grunt. As she travelled, however, her mood seemed to change. She looked around more often and slowed her steps. Regan fell back from her, afraid that he would be caught. He strained to see what she was doing, but could only tell that she left his field of view. She pushed through the bushes and disappeared altogether.

For a moment, he hesitated, and then took a few tentative steps. A car passed somewhere close by. In the next instant, she was back between the bushes, laughing softly. He froze, hoping she would not see him. She seemed to have no fear of such a thing. She bent and picked up her bundle and stepped back onto the shoulder of the road.

Regan followed as closely as he dared, waiting in the shadows as she crossed the road and then darting across behind her. He peeked through the branches, but could not see her beyond them. Taking a chance, he pushed through, and found that she was a little distance ahead, but not so far that he would lose her.

The encounter with the car had buoyed her spirits and she moved with greater speed than before. In a few minutes she emerged from the woods on the side of Louis Road. Regan was forced to stop and wait. He watched as she walked along the side of the road to the old house’s gate, the moonlight glinting on her long, fair hair.

He frowned, knowing that there was no real cover between here and the house. If she turned at any time, she would not miss seeing him. After a few moments, he made his decision. Leaving his hiding place, he stalked after her.

By the time he entered the gate, she was nearing the house. He quickened his pace, heading for the shade of a broken-topped evergreen that stood a dozen yards from the corner of the house. Under its untidy branches, he would be nearly invisible.

To his surprise, he reached his chosen point of vantage without challenge. The woman was standing with her back to him when he got there. The package was on the ground behind her. She must have just finished pulling away the debris that covered a large gap in the planking, low to the ground at the side of the house. Regan was certain that he and Tom could not have missed seeing it, were it uncovered when they visited in daylight.

The woman turned in his direction and began to bend to pick up her parcel, but checked the movement and glanced behind her at the gap. Regan heard a sigh pass her lips, then she bent and grasped the hem of the white dress, pulling it over her head in one smooth motion. She crouched to tuck it inside the package, then picked it up and crawled with it through the opening. Next, her hand reached out and she tugged the covering items back over the hole, making a loud, grating noise. Regan heard a clicking noise, which might have been a padlock, then silence.

As he waited and watched, a faint light showed in one of the upper windows. Though he listened carefully, he could hear nothing from within the house.

Leaving his hiding place, Regan approached the place where the woman had entered. He felt for the flashlight in his pocket and cupped his hand over the end. With its light, he found the place where a chain and an old padlock, both rusty red but still sturdy, secured the mess in place.

Seeing nothing else to do here, he skirted close to the house until he reached the side with the driveway. From there, he had only to hope not to be noticed. He walked, not looking back, until he reached the nearest tree. As he passed behind it, he turned to look up at the house. A figure was watching him from one of the upper windows, visible only in silhouette.

He kept walking at a steady pace, eyes on his destination. Passing out of the gate and down the road, he considered his next move. The question of how the woman had navigated so confidently through the Preserve in the dark troubled him, but he couldn’t investigate further before daylight. Hesitating on the corner of Glen Road, he remembered her words about a car and decided to walk back on the side of the road and see if he could find it.

He had already passed the Manor House drive and Crabapple Farm when it came into sight near the rutted track that led to the ruin of Ten Acres. The dark form huddled against the encroaching trees, one overhanging branch brushing against its roof. In the moonlight, he could not tell for sure, but it looked a little like the car that he and Tom had encountered earlier.

Regan pulled out the flashlight again, but did not trouble to hide its beam this time. As he had guessed, the paintwork was red and bore several scratches and dents. He shone the beam into the windows and found the interior to be littered with papers, food wrappers and assorted junk. He tried the door and to his surprise it opened.

A bright light shone in his eyes and he raised a hand to shield them.

“Step away from the car, sir,” a stern voice ordered.

Without a word, he did as he was told.

“It’s not going to be him, Joe,” another voice remarked. “He’s one of the locals.”

“May I ask what you’re doing here, sir?” the first voice, presumably Joe, demanded.

Regan took a moment to check the identity of the two men, finding as he expected that they wore police uniforms.

“Just taking a walk.”

“To this car?” the one called Joe prompted, in a voice filled with scepticism.

He shook his head. “I didn’t know it would be here.”

“Then, why were you opening the door?”

Regan glanced at the car, frowning. “It doesn’t belong here. Considering what Tom and I found the other day… well, it just seemed to me that I should check it out.”

“Have you seen this car before?” the other voice asked, rather more politely than his colleague.

Regan looked at it again. “Might have.”

“When and where?”

He considered for a moment how much to say. “Little further along Glen Road, earlier this afternoon.”

“Was it parked, or being driven.”

“Driven. Heading this way.” Pre-empting the next question he added, “Young woman. Blonde. I didn’t get much more of a look at her than that.”

“How long have you been walking?”

He shrugged. “An hour, maybe, or a bit more. It was just getting dark when I set out.”

“Have you seen anyone?”

“No one I knew. I saw a blonde woman in the woods just after I started. I don’t think she saw me.”

“And where was that?”

He pointed behind him and to his right. “Beyond Manor House, on the other side of the road. She crossed the trail I was walking on.”

“From this direction?”

“I’d say so.”

“And if she kept going in the direction you saw her walking, where would she go?”

He considered for a moment. “Near as I can tell, she’d reach Glen Road somewhere near the crash site.”

“That’s all for the moment,” the more friendly officer answered.

Regan nodded and turned away. Leaving the road, he took a path that would take him around the outskirts of the Belden property, following the contours of the hill. As he walked, he mused on the things he had seen, the questions he had been asked and the information he could have given should he have chosen.

He walked up the stairs to his apartment, coming to an abrupt stop half-way up.

“And where have you been?” Tom demanded, testily, from where he sat on the topmost stair.

Regan shrugged and continued his progress. “Out. You been thrown out by the missus?”

Tom grunted and got to his feet.

“You can use your old room. You know where everything is. I’m gonna take a shower.”

“Thanks, Regan. I owe you one.”

With a curt nod, Regan opened the door and allowed Tom to enter.

Fifteen minutes later, when he emerged from the bathroom, the door to the second bedroom was closed. Regan listened for a moment, but could hear nothing. He sank onto the sofa and put his feet on the coffee table. For a few minutes, he flicked through channels on the TV, but nothing held his interest. He switched the set off and stared at the ceiling. Something about this whole situation bothered him, but he could not yet put his finger on it.

He rose early the next morning and set off to solve the mystery of the woman’s navigation through the woods. Reaching the place he had first seen her the previous evening, he started to search the area for any clue as to how she had done it. The search didn’t take long. He spotted a footprint in the soft earth, and, turning to the left, immediately found the answer.

A thread of fine fishing line stretched away through the undergrowth, glinting here and there in the morning sunlight. Its end was tied to a thick branch, just to the side of the trail. On the other side, another line began. This must be what Strawberry had seen which had frightened him. It could certainly hurt a horse, especially if encountered at speed.

Regan spent a good two minutes venting his anger, then turned to the left, his back to the road. He pushed his way through the branches and set off to see where the other end led. The line was loose enough that it trailed on the ground some of the time, but it was easy to follow. He decided that, in the dark, the woman would only have to pick it up to be able to follow it with ease.

The way was rough, but not as difficult as in some other areas of the Preserve. There must have been a well-travelled trail through here at some time in the past, since the growth was not as thick or as wild as it was on either side. Each time the way crossed a trail or path, the line was tied off and another started on the opposite side.

The line finally emerged just behind the Glen Road Inn. Regan stood at the fringes of the woods for several minutes, trying to decide just what that meant and what he should do about it.

A glance at the sky told him that he needed to be about his own work and that this would have to wait for another time. He skirted around the inn’s property, crossed Glen Road and took the bicycle path which was the shortest way back.

“Oh, so you’ve turned up, have you?” Celia snapped, as he entered the kitchen at lunchtime. “About time.”

Regan shrugged. “I was here earlier; I just didn’t see you.”

“Likely story.” She turned her back on him.

“Your lunch is in the refrigerator,” Maggie informed him, over her shoulder. “I’ve got my hands full over here, or I’d serve it out for you.”

He crossed to it and pulled open the door. The second shelf held a row of brown paper bags. He picked up the one that had ‘Bill’ written across it in blue marker.

“Thanks, Maggie. This feels good.”

She smiled. “I hope you’re hungry.”

“Starving,” he answered with a return smile.

Just outside the door, he met Tom.

“You look like hell,” Regan commented.

Tom rolled his eyes. “I thought you noticed that I stayed last night at your place.”

“Last I checked, my spare bed was comfortable.”

“You know what I mean.”

Regan had resumed his trip back to the stables when Tom called him back.

“She’s still angry, isn’t she.” It wasn’t a question. “And she’s in there.”

Regan nodded, unsure of what else to say.

Tom sighed. “I just don’t know how to convince her.”

For a moment, Regan was silent. “Maybe you should just try to understand her point of view.”

A thoughtful look settled on Tom’s face. “You think that might work?”

Regan stared at him. “Do I look like an expert on women?”

Tom snorted and turned to enter the house. After a moment, Regan went on his way.

Half-way through eating the man-size sandwich that Maggie had prepared, while contemplating whether to eat the other half now or eat the apple first, he heard the sound of fast-approaching footsteps from two directions.

“Did it work? Did you get a look at it, Hon?” Trixie’s voice demanded, in low tones.

“Uh-huh. Her name is Millie Turner and she’s from somewhere called Hinklewood, Pennsylvania. She’s staying in room 12 and she’s been there since last Wednesday. The desk clerk told me that she’s here to research something to do with an old building somewhere, only he says she spends most of her time walking in the woods.”

“That’s got to be her,” Trixie asserted. “Did you ask whether she has a white dress?”

“I couldn’t work that into the conversation,” Honey objected. “But I did kind of ask whether anything strange had been going on and you’ll never guess what the man said.”

“What?”

“The night before we got back, their wagon got stolen!”

“What wagon?” Trixie asked, sounding confused.

“A horse-and-wagon kind of wagon – but not really an old one, only one that was supposed to look old. They had it in that kind of courtyard that the new owners are setting up, only that night, in the pouring rain, someone took it!”

“It must have been Millie Turner,” Trixie asserted. “After she crashed the car, she must have gone looking for something to use to transport all the stolen goods away from the scene. A wagon would be perfect for that.”

“If she could find something to pull it.” Honey, he was relieved to note, sounded dubious about the monumental jump Trixie had made to reach her conclusion.

“Her accomplice could have helped her pull it. It wouldn’t be too hard.”

“Wouldn’t it? And who is her accomplice?”

“When we find out where they’re stashing the stuff, I’m sure we’ll know that, too. So, which way are we going to search today?”

Honey’s reply was delivered in a whisper, but Regan still caught his name in it. He carefully wrapped up the last few bites of sandwich and prepared to put an end to whatever scheme the two were hatching. A few moments later, when the two girls entered looking all-too-innocent, he was hard at work at the other end of the stables and they were none the wiser that he had overheard them.

“Oh, hi Regan. Is it okay if we go for a ride?” Honey asked.

He straightened and looked at the pair. “That depends on where you’re planning to go.”

“Oh, nowhere in particular,” Trixie answered, glancing at her friend. “Just around the Preserve.”

“Stay this side of Glen Road,” he ordered, putting on his most stern voice. “And keep away from that crash site.”

The girls exchanged a look of dismay.

“Is there a problem with that?” he asked.

“No, Regan,” they chorused.

As they saddled their horses, they exchanged the occasional whisper, but Regan did not trouble to listen in. Returning to his office, he finished his sandwich, the apple and the large hunk of brownie Maggie had packed for him before returning to his problem. He pulled out the large-scale map of the area and spread it out on the desk.

Taking a few coins from his pocket, he marked the locations of the abandoned house, the crash site and the Glen Road Inn. They formed a crooked line across the local area. Next, he marked the places on Glen Road where the Manor House and Ten Acres had their driveways. Both of these were between the Inn and the crash site in one direction, but did not fall into the line. Glen Road curved through the line formed by the first three coins.

Regan frowned at the map for a few minutes. He traced Glen Road with a finger, then the rough path that the fishing line followed. If you were travelling by foot, it would be by far the shortest route between the two places. If you had to follow Glen Road, however, you would pass by all of the intervening points.

“But where does she keep the car?” he muttered.

His eyes widened. Leaving the map where it was, he strode out of the stables and across to the garage. He found Tom washing one of the cars.

“Have you been out this morning?” Regan asked, without preamble.

Tom nodded. “I took Mr. Wheeler to the station, then I picked up some things for Marge.”

“Did you pass Ten Acres?”

Again, Tom nodded. “That red car that clipped me was parked opposite the drive.”

“You’re sure it’s the same one?”

“Of course. Already reported that to the police, too. Mr Wheeler’s orders.”

Regan frowned. “It’s still there, then.”

Tom dropped his sponge into the bucket. “What did you say?”

“I said, it’s still there, then.”

“Still there since when?”

Regan shrugged. “Since I saw it last night.”

“Why were you–” Tom broke off. “Wait. Forget I said that. I’m not getting involved.”

“Suit yourself.” Regan turned to leave.

“But, no, it’s not still there,” Tom corrected. “I saw it the first time I passed, but it was gone on the way back.”

Regan hesitated, wondering what this might mean. He thanked Tom and returned to the stables to think things through. He set to work on cleaning, knowing that the physical effort would help him to think better than if he tried to start on his book-work.

He was nearly finished when a thought occurred to him. Not rushing, he completed what he was doing, then went into the office. The map he had used earlier was still where he had left it. He swept the coins off and returned them to his pocket, then carefully put it away. In its place, he laid out another, older map. Mr. Wheeler had obtained this one because it showed the trails as they had been more than fifty years before, along with the property boundaries of the time and some of the land usage.

Regan pored over it for a few minutes, noting that his guess had been correct and a trail had once passed along the same line as the fishing-line now followed. He turned his eyes to the end near the abandoned house, examined it for a time, then straightened.

“There.” He tapped the spot with one finger. “I’ll bet that’s where she keeps it.”

Across Louis Road from the abandoned house was a structure marked as a barn.

“But why?” He frowned some more, trying to make sense of it.

Why should the woman live in that derelict house? Why hide the way in? And what is she doing driving that red car up and down Glen Road?

“Whatever it is, it’s probably a crime,” he muttered.

The trouble with this theory, he decided, was that he didn’t know of any crimes that had been committed locally in the last few weeks.

“Except maybe the missing house-sitter,” he clarified, aloud. “And stealing the car that was wrecked. And the stolen wagon, if those girls are to be trusted.” He shook his head. “A wagon. That’s just crazy.”

Continue to part four.