Chapter 4: Man of Mystery

"Carolyn Dear, I was about to go mad with worry." I thought I'd give you a week to settle in, but when I still didn't hear from you…" Her mother made a clucking maternal noise.

"I'm sorry mother, it's been...it's been…" She wasn't certain how to put it, the week had been busy, challenging, frustrating, and finally, blessedly– rewarding.

"I made a friend!" Carolyn changed tack.

"Why that's lovely dear. Is he handsome?"

She wasn't sure if her mother was joking or not.

"Her name is Laura and she owns a bed and breakfast." She decided not to react to her mother's implication that she'd been man-hunting.

"Why that's wonderful. A good woman friend is worth a handful of men." Clearly, her mother was inclined to be supportive of whatever Carolyn was up to, and she appreciated that.

"Yes, and she's a marvelous cook. I may even have learned a few things." If she'd learned anything it was that she wasn't cut out for cooking, with its constant fiddling and tasting, and watching over. It was like caring for a newborn three times a day.

"A bed and breakfast you say? I thought you were staying at a cottage."

"I am, but I go into town regularly. You wouldn't want me moldering away out here all by myself."

"No, of course not. So the people are friendly? You know what they say about Mainers."

"Tight-lipped, suspicious, and frugal," Carolyn repeated what she'd heard. "I haven't found them that way at all. Well, not most of them." She guessed Mr. Deke could sometimes be tight-lipped and Claymore Gregg took frugal to a whole new level. The only thing anyone had seemed suspicious about was the so-called paranormal activity that was supposedly happening at Gull Cottage. "They're lovely people. Everyone has been very helpful. There's a charming little library, and I practically have an entire beach to myself!"

"I'm so glad dear, I felt this would be good for you, but you never know, people can be funny."

"How are the children?" Carolyn felt suddenly guilty for not asking sooner, and not calling to check-in.

"Oh, they're wonderful. They love the school, and two days a week there's an afterschool program. Candy is learning art and Jonathan is learning music, well rhythm anyway. But they do miss you dear," she added almost as an afterthought.

Carolyn sighed silently. She expected the kids missed her at bedtime and anytime their grandparents were a bit strict; the rest of the time they were likely too busy in that hazy rush of activity and imagination peculiar to childhood.

"We had a bit of an emergency the other night; Jonathan couldn't find Bun Bun, but it was sorted out by morning. Scruffy had dragged him off under the kitchen table and of course, none of us thought to look in the kitchen." Her mother chuckled.

Carolyn felt like she should care, or feel sorry for Jonathan, or annoyed with Scruffy, but all she felt was bored. After all, what were the antics of a family dog and kindergarteners learning tambourine compared to a possible ghost, and her threatening Claymore Gregg with legal action? It was surprising how quickly she had found her place in Schooner Bay.

"I'm tired mom. You know, all this sea air." Carolyn turned to watch the last spangles of Sunshine on the water down below. "I think I'll turn in early."

"You are well though, right? Maybe it's not the sea air. Have you been eating well? I know you don't care to cook dear, but you're under a lot of stress and you need a good diet." Her mother made that clucking sound again.

"Yes, mother, five servings of fruits and vegetables a day." She lied easily but decided she would buy herself a bottle of vitamins and mineral pills the next time she was in town. She supposed she could get herself some of those frozen vegetables, that were quick and easy to prepare. Her mother was right, sorrow wasn't a reason to let those things go. She didn't need to end up ill on top of everything.

"Write the children will you? Even a postcard would mean the world to them." Her mother implored. "They say a prayer for you every night at bedtime. Jonathan brought home some forms...he was beside himself. The teacher told him they needed to be signed by mother or father, and he hasn't either."

Carolyn felt a pang. Children were so wonderfully, shockingly literal. How could she so callously be missing his precious first weeks of school?

"Candy solved the issue of course. She's so clever, just like you were when you were her age. She wrote grand in front of mother and father and that was that."

Carolyn smiled, that was her girl!

"I will write them, mother, I promise." And she crossed her heart even though there was no one there to see it."

"Father sends his love."

"Give Dad a kiss for me and the kids. I'll try to be better about calling, now that I have my feet under me."

"You sound well dear, tired, but well."

They said their goodbyes and Carolyn mindlessly spun the telescope as she watched the colors fade on the beach, and then from the sky.

She imagined standing here with Jonathan tucked beside her, his head smelling like sweat and dust, a thousand questions pouring from his busy little mind. She imagined Scruffy running on the beach, yapping at Candy's heels and barking at the surf.

She hugged herself and turned back to the room. It was time to light the lamps and have a snack of cocoa and cookies before bedtime. She'd have her fruit and vegetables tomorrow, tonight she wanted a bit of comfort.

She sat up paging through the Sea Serpent book and letting her mind wander. Had sailors truly believed such things existed; or had they simply dreamed them up to have a good yarn to tell the landlubbers once they reached port? Maybe there was a kind of collective madness that took over the mind after so many weeks adrift of the ocean. Maybe their tobacco had been laced with some strange herb, or they'd eaten moldy biscuits that caused hallucinations. Or maybe frightened minds simply needed something to fixate on

"People love a good story." She glanced over at the typewriter, then up at the portrait. She smiled to herself, things hadn't changed so much since back in the day. She was counting on it.

She wasn't sure she could come up with something quite as astounding as tales of sea serpents, but she was pretty sure she had a handle on human interest stories. She'd already met several "characters" here in Schooner Bay, and she realized, she was at the beginning of her own great adventure.

She wondered what weird, wonderful, and shocking things would raise their heads as she sailed her own uncertain sea. She snuggled down into the blanket, then realized that while she'd shut off the electric lamp, she'd failed to turn off the kerosene lamp. "Blast!" she muttered, preparing to get up once again, but at that moment the window–always that same window– blew open and the lamp went out.

"Huh?" she frowned. The kerosene lamp had a chimney, the breeze couldn't have blown it out. "Thank you Captain!" she said with a shrug. Everyone else seemed to believe in him, she may as well give it a shot.

She sighed as she settled into the pillow, and fell asleep listening to the waves on the shore below. She knew that she couldn't actually hear them on a calm night, but she didn't argue with her mind, or the ghost. She accepted the gift and drifted into a dream.

XXX

For three days Carolyn enjoyed a morning and evening walk along the beach and spent the rest of her time writing. She felt quite posh typing on the old machine on antique paper, thick and beige with deckled edges. Oh, how her college writing buddies would envy her if they could see! They would fairly gnash their teeth! It didn't get any more authentic than this! With her heavy crockery mug of coffee (That never stayed hot long enough) and her bowl of oyster crackers, she tapped away the morning and afternoon.

She didn't have a story, per se. But then what was a story but something that happened after a beginning? So she had begun and counted on the current to carry her to some far-off destination.

Ken Clark, and a buddy, had delivered the firewood, and she indulged herself with a fire in the evening. She'd had some trouble, at first, getting the fire lit in the old fireplace. She wasn't familiar with handling the dampers and getting the draft started. Three days later she felt like a pro.

She raked aside the ash to expose the embers from the morning fire, and carefully blew on them with a leaky bellows she'd found in the kitchen. A handful of beach grass, and a crumpled sheet of one of the aged newspapers she'd found on the porch, and a quick little fire would come to life. Three logs were just enough to keep the fire snapping till bedtime.

She didn't count on the fire for warmth, as much as atmosphere. She loved to see it come to life and to hear its crackle and pop. She had discovered an old sandwich iron in the kitchen and enjoyed cooking herself a melty cheese sandwich or hand pie for a bedtime snack.

The children would love it here. She imagined Candace, giving Claymore Gregg a piece of her mind, and Jonathan's chest puffed out with pride after he'd mastered fire-building.

Martha would like it too. She'd put stingy Mr. Gregg in his place in no time. And she'd get more than her money's worth at the Lobster House on "all you care to eat" crab legs night! She'd love the old books at the library but she might not be overly enthusiastic with the old stove. It was working nicely though, now that Mr. Peevey had connected it to a propane tank.

Carolyn's mother would NOT love it. She would accuse her daughter of shutting herself away from the world and hiding from life. But she wasn't. This was simply a different kind of life. And it wasn't as if Carolyn could step back into her old life. Most of the people she had socialized with were connected to Robert's job.

Those connections were dead to her, not because the people didn't care, but because without Robert, she simply didn't fit in. She would be the odd one out at dinners. The men would be talking shop and would feel awkward with her there, and the women would feel uncomfortable having their husbands beside them.

Carolyn understood this, with sadness, but no longer with resentment. She'd had days when she railed at the unfairness of it all, but she reminded herself to be rational. She had moved into another stage of life, or perhaps another sector of society.

But she would find her place, her level, her people. In a town like Schooner Bay, her widowhood didn't seem to set her apart. The town had a rich history of widows and no particular opinion on whether or not they remarried or used their new status to fill a particular niche in life.

As she did most days,(especially at mealtimes) she wished that Martha was here. Martha was widowed, she understood, even if she hadn't been left with two little children. Carolyn felt a teensy pang of guilt for telling Mr. Gregg and Mr. Peevey that her housekeeper was on the way, but it didn't matter now. Maybe it hadn't been a lie as much as it had been a wish.

She valued her alone time–except when she didn't.

In spite of her determination, no story was yet taking shape. She had a bit about a ship bobbing about in the doldrums and the mens' attempts at coping–some successful and some less so.

That situation had led to three men plotting to escape via lifeboat rather than die from madness, thirst, or at the hands of their shipmates whose tempers had become dangerously unstable.

Only two managed to escape and now they were adrift, haunted by the "ghost" of the man they had left behind and at the mercy of the seas and the serpents that dwelled there.

It had the bones of a good story, but Carolyn didn't know enough about the sea, or how men reacted to it, to do the tale justice. "What about you? Did you ever see a serpent?" She turned to the Captain's portrait. She swore she heard a laugh.

"Don't laugh, it's YOUR book that gave me the idea...and your typewriter, and paper and…" She shook her head at herself. Maybe this story was less about men lost at sea and more about her adrift in her own life.

She'd been uncomfortable dealing with the feelings and efforts to help from the people around her. She felt trapped and "stuck" in her widowhood so she'd escaped to a place of solitude trying to find her way and now she felt stuck again. She vacillated between feeling hopeful and free–and feeling trapped and in danger of losing herself.

Words seemed to flood into her mind. "Madam, I've seen monsters at sea, but never serpents. Given a challenging set of conditions and the men themselves become monsters–as you have discovered in your story."

A chill ran down her spine and gooseflesh broke out on her arms. Had she heard the words of merely thought them? But she hadn't thought them, she'd felt them; they had come to her, not from her.

"So I'm on the right track?" She looked around the room, looking for a sign. Nothing, she sighed. "I could use a little help here. These men who took off in the lifeboat, is that considered mutiny? I mean they didn't have permission."

"Not only is it mutiny, it's thievery, and desertion. They contracted to work on the ship and to obey the officers for the entire voyage regardless of incident or time. They then plotted against the captain and owners of the ship to steal a boat and provisions. They deserted their positions and put the well-being of the ship, voyage, and fellow seamen in peril.

"Were they to be caught they'd be flogged, imprisoned, and quite possibly hanged. Men such as that would have no money to repay what they stole, and there is no manner to truly repay having put your fellow crew members in danger. Besides, there's the principle of the thing and the fact that if one man is allowed to get away with such dishonorable behavior, it leads others to expect they could do the same and soon the system dissolves into shambles."

Carolyn was sitting straight up in her chair now. The telescope on the binnacle was turning, first quickly, then slowly as if being sent spinning by a finger. Floorboards creaked in rhythm as if someone was rocking back and forth on their heels, and she detected an accent that she couldn't quite identify. Her own thoughts never had an accent.

"Captain Gregg?" She was surprised at how timid and squeaky her voice sounded.

"Madam," an audible voice replied, coming from the area of the binnacle.

"I'm glad no one is going to hang me for deserting my ship." She thought aloud.

"I rather think your situation was a case of you being set adrift. You didn't leave your husband madam, he left you, even if it was unwillingly." He sounded affronted on her behalf.

"That's true, I didn't really abandon my post. And the children are safe and happy. And I'm only here for one more week." She realized with a sigh.

"I can understand that your situation might well feel like being trapped in the doldrums right now." The voice had lost its imperious tone. "But I dare say, the energy of young children...well, they don't stay young very long, and surely that wave will catch you up and carry you along with it."

She smiled at the imagery. He was right. She knew it. In fact, she suspected it was one reason she had been glad to get away from the children, for just a little while. She had needed an opportunity to feel her grief, maybe even wallow in it just a bit before being forced to move on by the brisk pace of the children's lives.

She both envied and resented their response to Robert's death and the changes it had wrought on their lives. Certainly, they missed their father, and now their mother, but as young as they were, life was always an adventure. As long as it kept changing, they were eager to change along with it. It was only adults who found something and wanted it to stay that way forever. Children might say they felt that way, but 24 hours later, all was forgotten and the next new excitement filled their minds and captured their hearts.

"That's very insightful Captain? Did you have any children?"

"No madam, the sea was my mistress and I never took a wife."

"I didn't ask if you had a wife, I asked if you had children."

The binnacle stopped spinning and the floor ceased creaking. "Madam!"

"It's an honest question," she defended herself. "I'm not a hothouse flower. I know how life is, how men are...how humans are."

"Perhaps, but such a question!"

"Maybe you are a hothouse flower." She teased him.

"If I had a child, you would not be sitting here." There was a sadness in his tone. "I would have left the house to my son or daughter, and it would be my posterity that would be living here."

"I thought Claymore Gregg–"

"That insipid, loathful, gangling, toad of a…" The Captain's voice dissolved into a sputter. "No madam." He regained his composure. "Claymore Gregg is no direct descendent of mine! I would rather have fathered a dozen bastards and called them my own than take credit for that that vile, chicken-livered excuse for a man."

Now his tone was downright contemptuous.

Carolyn was no fan of Claymore Gregg herself, but she didn't think he was as bad as all that.

"He is my great-great grand STEP nephew!"

She could almost imagine Captain Gregg straightening his spine and shoulders and tugging the lapels of his coat straight as he clarified the situation for her.

"I'm sorry, I didn't understand the situation." She folded her hands in her lap.

"Apology accepted. You couldn't have known, of course. You only know what that fool has told you, and no doubt the lies that continue to be passed down as truth among the gentry." The telescope began to spin once again.

"The only thing I've really heard is that Gull Cottage is haunted by a ghost, presumably you and that for some reason no one has been able to live comfortable here since...well, I suppose since your death."

"And I assure you there's a good reason for that." His tone was clipped and stiff now.

"Care to share?"

"Put fresh paper into the typewriter." His tone was very imperious.

Carolyn hesitated a moment, unsure that she wanted to take orders, even from a Captain, even in his own house and a ghost no less, but she was curious as to what he had to say, so she played along. It might be her own mind playing tricks on her but what did it matter if she got a good story out of it?

She removed the sheet she'd been typing on and carefully loaded the typewriter again with that lovely heavy paper. "Shoot!"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I mean, Captain, I'm ready when you are." She offered a mock salute to the area she sensed his voice to be coming from.

"I, Captain Daniel Gregg…" He cleared his throat.

"Wait." She typed–I, Carolyn Muir, at the behest of Captain Daniel Gregg, do hereby take down this dictation at the hour of 3 PM–then she remembered that sailors used military time and changed it to 15:00, and she added the date.

"Proceed."

He cleared his throat once again, and now his voice came from much closer, from just behind her. Her head spun around, but of course, no one was there.

"Yes, that's better!" Apparently, he was reading over her shoulder.

"I used to take dictation for Robert sometimes." She felt suddenly wistful.

"I do appreciate your attention to detail and formality. Most women are too emotional to bother with procedure. In my day we never kept women secretaries."

"Well, times have changed and I'm all you have." She gave a shrug. "If you want your story told, you'll have to settle for me. Or I could ask Claymore to take down the story. He can type. I've seen his office."

She could feel him bristle behind her at the suggestion. He clearly didn't realize she was joking.

"Lies, lies, Claymore Gregg peddles lies! He, above all, doesn't want the truth to come out! He keeps scheming ways to make money off of Gull Cottage, but I won't have it. His Aunt Cordelia, why he's just like her. She inherited the property and destroyed my will!"

"Stop!" Carolyn put a hand up. "You're getting ahead of yourself. Don't start talking descendants and wills yet. I don't even know how you died!"

"Ah, see, but that's where the lies begin. They got away with their schemes because they convinced the courts that I was mad!"

"You?" She was rather surprised. The Captain was clearly angry, but not in the least insane...or was he? After all, most people after dying moved on, and here he was, 180 years later, haunting a cottage and clearly not happy to be here.

"You may think it a strange thing that I stay here all this time, but I have my honor and I WILL clear my name and direct my legacy!"

She jumped at the sound of a fist banging on the desk beside her.

"Can you read my mind?" She shivered at the thought.

"No madam, but I can read your face and your... body language."

There was something about the way he pronounced the word "body" that sent a wave of disquiet through her. He was a ghost, but apparently, he had not entirely forgotten the world of the physical.

"Well, Captain, I'll do what I can to help. I like Gull Cottage and I'm grateful that you've allowed me to stay. From what I hear, that's an uncommon privilege."

"Madam, I wouldn't turn out a woman with no place to go! And you have shown a rather admirable respect and appreciation of Gull Cottage, and an appropriate level of disdain and mistrust of Claymore Gregg! You have been one of the very few spirits who have been able to squeeze either honorable behavior or a shaved penny from that skinflint!"

"I've thoroughly enjoyed my stay, and who knows? Now that Claymore's got the utilities working here, maybe you'll have other renters. You might end up with lots of wonderful company." She hoped she sounded encouraging.

There was a beat or two of silence then suddenly her stack of typed pages whirred up in an angry upward spiral, and fluttered down all around the desk.

"I'm sorry Captain, I thought–"

"You thought wrong, madam! The only company I seek or have ever sought is that of the sea and those who respect it. And I am not referring to blubbery sunburned vacationers or those who engage in the infernal and never-ending noise of televisions, radios and the racket of what passes for music these days."

She looked around at the mess on the floor. Foolishly, she hadn't been numbering the pages, and she didn't look forward to the task of trying to sort out the dozens of pages now hopelessly scattered around.

"You may have controlled ships and crews, but you have very poor control over your temper!" Carolyn scolded him. "If you want my help, scattering my work all over the floor is a poor way of getting it."

"I thought we had a manner of understanding, but evidently I judged too hastily. I see that you are not the one to help clear my name and reputation with the truth. You are as empty-headed and–"

"Be careful Captain!" Carolyn stood up. "It's no wonder people have believed the things they've heard about you! Throwing temper tantrums like a child!

The door to the room opened, and then slammed!

Carolyn slumped in her chair. Things had been going so nicely, but she guessed that living alone in this cottage all those years hadn't helped the Captain hone his people skills. He had grown used to having his own way, and plenty of peace and quiet. It didn't excuse his insulting words or his throwing her story around, but it couldn't be easy being trapped in the past. He was set in his ways and displeased with his reputation as an angry and inhospitable ghost.

People did tend to get attached to their personas, and if he was famous for chasing people out of the place, perhaps he'd grown rusty at offering hospitality.

She didn't have the heart right then to clean up the mess. Instead, she decided to bike into town. She'd stop and see Laura at the B&B and maybe stop at the library and see if she couldn't do some sleuthing to find out just what people were saying about Captain Gregg that had made him so angry.

As much as she felt Laura was truly becoming a friend, Carolyn didn't feel comfortable bringing up the subject of Captain Gregg's ghost in the context of her hearing and experiencing it. It was rather different from discussing the subject as so much hearsay, or local flavor, but quite another to admit to hearing voices and seeing things move seemingly on their own power.

Instead, she told her new friend about the story she was writing, having been inspired by the atmosphere of the cottage and the interesting old books on sailing and life at sea. Her enthusiasm was clearly evident in her voice and face, and Laura smiled at her excitement. "Nothing like a project to get the blood pumping again," she said, offering to top up Carolyn's tea.

"You're right. I mean, I didn't realize that since Robert's death, I'd still been clinging to the past; or at least I didn't know how to move towards the future." Carolyn admitted. "But writing a new story reminds me that there is a whole world full of possibilities out there." She almost felt guilty hearing the excitement in her own voice. There were no possibilities left for Robert, how dare she be excited about moving on.

"Your husband loved you?" Laura asked, sitting down and picking up a cookie. Carolyn realized that it was an honest question, not a statement.

"Yes. We were happy." Carolyn nodded as she spoke. "We still enjoyed each other…the passion wasn't…well it wasn't all gone." She took a sip of tea. Robert had often been tired after work, and the too often obligatory dinners and drinks with clients, but they had still laughed, still made love, and enjoyed the children together. He'd been proud of them.

"Then you know what he would want the most is for you to be happy. To be fully alive and engaged with life." Laura finished her point.

Carolyn had heard it before, from her parents, and Robert's family–other than his mother–and her friends. Not a single person had either said or implied that it was her duty to wear black, stay single, or make do on the insurance money and savings and devote her life solely to raising the children.

"It does feel good to be writing again!" Her shoulders rose and fell in an excited shrug, as if shaking off the bindings of widowhood and settling back into herself. "It's even fun to be using that clunky old typewriter," she admitted.

"It seems like you and that old house are good for one another." Laura noticed. "I don't think Claymore Gregg had done a thing with that place for years until you came along, and it's certainly getting your creative juices flowing."

"There's something about it. It's remote, but not too remote, and well, the fact that at least half the town thinks the place is haunted…"

"But you don't?" This too sounded like a genuine question.

Carolyn shook her head. "I wouldn't call it haunted, but I do sense a…presence there. As if the house has stories of its own to tell."

"Well, you know what they say, when someone comes to a bad end in a place, the place absorbs some of the energy." Laura gave a little smile. "But I like to think a place hangs onto the happy memories too."

"Came to a bad end?" Carolyn set her mug down. "Did something happen there?" She had heard genuine anger in the Captain's tone, but the house itself didn't feel gloomy or creepy.

"So you haven't heard the story then? Well, I'm sure Claymore wouldn't have brought it up, and there are still enough people here who hold that you shouldn't speak ill of the dead." Laura pushed the cookie plate towards Carolyn, but Carolyn shook her head. She wanted to hear the rest of the story.

"The old Captain had come back from a particularly difficult voyage, or so they say. There are as many versions of the story as there are tellers. Some say he had been supposed to marry a Spanish beauty, but when he got there she was married and pregnant with another man's child. Others say he was doing the devil's work, smuggling good…or slaves. You can probably find out what the ship was carrying in the archives. Records were kept of all of that. Anyway, he was back in port, had just returned is how I've heard it, and his housekeeper found him head in a chair with the gas turned on and the windows closed."

"Oh, an accident!" Carolyn felt genuinely sad, even a bit horrified.

"No, it was no accident."

"Murder?" she paled.

"Suicide." Laura spread her hands out on the table in front of her, as if laying out her cards.

"Why that's ridiculous!" Carolyn sputtered. Utter nonsense! She didn't believe it for a second. The Captain wasn't that kind.

Laura looked at her both startled and puzzled. "Oh I don't know, there's any number of reasons an older man might make that kind of decision. Maybe he found out he had cancer. There was no wife, no children, no one to take care of him."

Carolyn's face grew hot and her cheeks flushed. She wasn't sure if it was due to the ludicrous theory that Captain Gregg had taken his own life, or the fact that she'd reacted so violently.

Laura offered her an encouraging smile. "I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. Bringing up death." She had misread Carolyn's distress as being related somehow to Robert.

"No, I mean. It's fine. It's just that, I guess I've gotten attached to the old place and the idea that it was the scene of…something like that. I guess it's silly, but the house–Well, I guess you could say that it's my happy place." As she said the words, she realized how true they were.

"And you don't want it ruined by any salacious rumors," Laura said gently. "Of course not."

"I'm sure it must have been an accident. I've seen first hand how those old gas lines were." Carolyn added, accurately.

"Well, old stories get more colorful with each telling." Laura acknowledged. "If you want the story, I'm sure they have old newspapers or something at the library. It's amazing how well documented the history of this town is. People keep their family's history with a rabid sense of pride and loyalty, and even the younger folk can often tell you who is related to who and how."

Carolyn nodded. It was similar in Philidelphia, where everyone who had any relation to colonial days knew of it and made sure you knew it as well. The difference was that Philly had a population of a million and Schooner Bay had a population of a few thousand. She could understand how it could be that much more clannish.

"I think I'll go to the library to check things out. It would be fun to know more about Captain Gregg….and the cottage." She was careful to add. "The kids will want to know all about it, and of course, if the story is a bad one. Well, I don't want to put any dark ideas in their heads." But Carolyn already had her mind made up on the subject of suicide.

"I'm so glad you stopped by." Laura surprised her by embracing her in a hug. The people of Schooner Bay had been generally welcoming, but not effusive. "I really enjoy our time together."

Carolyn swore she saw the woman swipe a tear out of her eye. She felt deeply moved. The woman would miss her! In just a few short weeks, she'd made a genuine connection! She squeezed her friend's hand, then turned away. She felt suddenly heartbroken at the idea of leaving the town, she had already been of two minds about leaving the cottage. Well, if nothing else, she was going to get to the bottom of this suicide tale, and if she could, she would clear Captain Gregg's name either before she left, or in a follow-up story after she returned to Pennsylvania.

She got back onto her bike and headed straight for the library. The librarian, as always, was eager to help. Carolyn expected that she and her inquiries were a welcome break from helping schoolchildren with their projects, and setting out the latest magazines. The woman was always in good spirits, and quite talkative, though at a much-subdued level.

"It's actually a story that's been well investigated, maybe due to the local stories of the cottage being haunted. Just a few years ago one of the high schoolers did a nice write-up and I've saved her work. I have a file here, it will save you time. Of course, I can find you the original sources as well, though quite a few have been copied for her paper."

Carolyn followed the librarian, but stopped short when she came to an area cordoned off with a sign reading "staff only". It was just another section of the regular library shelves.

"I'll just be a minute!" The woman said as she stepped into the dim aisle, her crepe-soled shoes made no sound as she disappeared into the darkness, then suddenly there was a bright light as she turned on a flashlight.

"Dusty old archives indeed," Carolyn muttered, and she guessed it made sense to keep files that were less often used filed in the dimmest part of the library.

The woman returned, not with one file, but several. She led Carolyn back to the well-lit part of the building and laid the files down in front of her. "Gregg Family history," was written on one. The others were labeled, "Gull Cottage history", "Ghost Tales of Schooner Bay", and "A research of Gull Cottage and Capt. Daniel Gregg, Haunted or Not? A project by Kellie Flannagan".

"This should get you started!" the Librarian said with a smile and a loving pat on the stacks of papers.

"Well, I should think so!" Carolyn felt slightly intimidated by the height of the pile. She'd been worried she might not be able to find answers, now she wasn't sure she was ready for what she was getting into.

"You can't take them out of the library, of course, but I'll be glad to keep them behind the desk and you can read them at your leisure."

Carolyn nodded. That was probably for the best. If she did take them back to the cottage, there was a good chance that Capt. Gregg might do something to destroy them. She frowned; she was NOT looking forward to cleaning up the mess of papers he'd sent sailing all over the room or trying to piece her story back together.

She sat down with a sigh and decided first to look at the Gregg family history, to see if indeed, Claymore was a red-headed step-nephew rather than a blood relation. It looked as though everything the ghost had told her was true. Claymore was related, distantly, through blood, by third cousins thrice removed, but that hardly amounted to anything. The relationship that had resulted in the current owner of Gull Cottage owning the property was indeed the result of marriage, not blood.

Well, she thought, if he was right about that, it seemed likely that Capt. Gregg was telling her the truth about other things, and while he hadn't mentioned the word "suicide" it seemed likely that was what he was angry about.

She moved next to the research paper done by a Miss Flannagan, and soon lost herself in the references to various other ghosts and hauntings in the area as well as a collection of stories about strange noises, sightings, and sounds in and around Gull Cottage, including a sort of right of passage among local teens in entering the cottage (and better yet spending the night) on or around the date of its original occupant's death.

And just as she was getting to the part explaining that death, the Librarian announced that the Library would be closing in 10 minutes and that all materials should be either checked out or returned to the desk.

"Damn!" Carolyn muttered under her breath. She was so close to the answers she sought, she should have dove headfirst into this one, but she hadn't and now she would have to wait. Well, perhaps the Captain had simmered down, and she could ask him directly, after all, she had access to a first-hand resource.

She stopped at the Lobster House for a bite before catching a ride for herself and her bicycle–or the cottage's bicycle from Mr. Peevey. She was tired, but he was unusually chatty. She knew she could shut him up if she brought up the subject of the ghost, but that seemed cruel, so she half-listened to him carry on about one thing or another and nodded and said "ah, uh-huh, I see," at intervals.

As he lifted her bike from the trunk of the car in front of the cottage, he looked her up and down, rather frankly and declared. "You fit in pretty well…for an outsider."

"Well, thank you!" She was fairly certain he'd meant it as a compliment.

"Haven't had any more trouble with those pipes or the heat?" he checked.

"No, everything is working just fine. I can't tell you how much I appreciate your help and expertise." She was laying in on a bit thick, but it was the truth. If he hadn't been able to get things in working order as quickly as he had, she would probably have gone back to Philly by now.

"Well, you know…" he sounded sheepish, it was dark, so she couldn't really tell if he was blushing.

She took the handlebars firmly in hand and began to walk the bike up to the porch. "G'night Mr. Peevey," she called. When she put her hand on the doorknob, she noticed a light go on in the front hall. She smiled to herself and wondered if Mr. Peevey had noticed it, but he didn't say anything as he got back into his vehicle.

Carolyn set her things down in the hallway, and looked up the stairs, at the darkened second floor. As her hand touched the banister, a light went on at the top of the stairs. When she entered her bedroom, the kerosene lamp near the bed was lit and much to her surprise and delight, there were no papers strewn about on the floor; instead, there was a neat stack on the desk beside her typewriter.

"I was afraid you weren't coming back." A quiet voice seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at the same time.

"Oh, you can't scare me off that easily!" she said out loud. "I've had quite an interesting day, learning about you–or at least what others say about you."

"Oh?"

"We can talk all about it in the morning. I'm afraid I'm done for the day." Carolyn sat on the edge of the bed with a sigh and took off her shoes. She took her nightgown into the bathroom and got ready for bed, not bothering to light a fire. As she drifted off, she heard the familiar sound of the window opening; she was too tired to complain. The covers were warm, and she slipped into sleep.

XXX