Chapter Nineteen

An Unexpected Happening

"Well, I have to say I never expected them to answer so quickly and so positively…" Carolyn commented in a wondering tone, quickly re-reading the acceptance letter from her new publisher for the third time. "Surely it must be some kind of record."

The Gull Cottage family were all seated at the kitchen table listening to her read out the welcome news. It had been a hectic three months, from the submission of the first three chapters of 'In A Captain's Arms', to Hanover's swift and eager final acceptance of Annabelle Grant's first historical romance novel.

Carolyn shook her head. Everything still seemed like an imaginative dream from which she would soon awaken and find it was all unreal.

"I think it is wonderful," Martha remarked, as she poured them each a glass of champagne after giving the children their orange juice. "My ladies are all very keen to read your first published work."

"Thank you…" Carolyn smoothed out the letter, her frown deepening. "I know you said you wouldn't and you have always kept your word. But I need to ask…"

She turned to her husband. "You didn't happen to do anything to help it along in any way, did you?"

"I'll admit to a serious temptation, but no, my hands are clean," he assured her, holding them both up in denial. "They are obviously smart people who know quality writing when they read it. And they didn't want you taking your debut novel elsewhere."

"In their reply, they did say you've brought an intriguing ring of realism to your first novel..." Martha raised her glass of champagne to both of them.

She smiled wickedly. "They'd better not ask about the source of such detailed material."

"Yes, we couldn't have written this one without help from Lucius…" Carolyn saluted with her own glass. "I think he will be happy with how his tale turned out."

"I'm just happy I got to read it first," Martha declared happily. "I do expect a personally signed copy from the author."

"Who knew that writing with the help of a true ghost writer or two could work out so well." Carolyn smiled. "Of course, we can't tell anyone about any of it."

"Yes, but what a pity." Martha shook her head. "Still, as soon as it's published, I'll be ordering a dozen copies from Lorrie Hammond for my ladies' group to read. I can't wait to see their reactions. I know there'll be requests for the next one."

"We'll have to see how well this first one works out." Carolyn glanced at Daniel, seeing he was watching her with a satisfied smile. "But I have a feeling we're going to do rather well."

"Oh, so we are going to write another one, then?" her husband asked with a thoughtful smile. "I wonder how Lucius is going to feel about that. He sweated enough over this one."

He laughed. "I'd better stock up on my Madeira. I will go and see Claymore about it. He knows what vintage I like. And I have an idea I am going to need a few more supplies to keep Lucius content. He's not an easy man to drag stories from without sufficient lubrication."

"Excellent, you do that. And of course, we're going to write another novel," Carolyn replied seriously. "You did say you can contact other ghosts with tales just waiting to be told. And when my editor from Hanover phoned this morning, she did say they want to contract me to write more."

She looked around the table. "But we need to tread cautiously. I would hate to expose all we have here because someone said something out of place. I would rather stop writing now than put everything we have in danger."

"We'll deal with that situation if and when it arises." Daniel shrugged.

"Does this mean we can get those new bikes we've always wanted?" Jonathan asked brightly.

"Yeah, we didn't like to ask before," Candy added. "You've both been working so hard on your book."

"I think we can finally manage that…" Their mother smiled at them both. "At least the bills will be paid on time from now on."

"Groovy!" her son exclaimed happily. "And maybe you and the Captain can now get to go on your honeymoon."

"Our honeymoon?" Carolyn echoed, looking confused.

"Isn't that what's supposed to happen after two people get married?" Candy asked innocently. "I know it's been months since your wedding. But it would be so neat."

"Well, yes it would be…" Carolyn's eyes met Daniel's above the children's heads. "But you know our circumstances are very different."

"Yeah, we know that too." Candy nodded.

"How different?" Martha interposed. "I mean, after all your hard work, surely you deserve to get away and spend some time alone together. What could be more perfect?"

She turned to look out through the kitchen window at the turning leaves on the trees. "The summer's almost gone. It would have to be in the next couple of months before the snow comes."

"Oh, but…" Carolyn shook her head. "How do we know it's even possible?"

"I guess we won't know unless we decide to test the limits." Daniel shrugged. "It is an intriguing thought."

"But where would we go?" Carolyn sighed. "It can't be anywhere we could be recognised. So, it can't be anywhere around here."

She looked back at her husband. "I know we've talked about it. But we have no true idea of how far away is actually too far away from the house for you."

Daniel shrugged. "I have never thought to test the limits until now. I can go up to the headland and down to the town. But that was always by necessity, not from choice. The presence of all those humans annoyed me immensely. I was better off without them."

"Yes, there's the thorny issue of how far can you go…" Martha's lips twisted with discontent. "A pity. It could have been so perfect for you."

"Yes…" Carolyn nodded, as Daniel took her hand.

"We must make the best of what we have now," he said with sympathy. "I am content to remain here, with you beside me." He turned to smile at the other table occupants. "And my family."

"Yes, as I am." Carolyn returned his hold on her hand. "But you deserve so much more, my love."

"Wishing for the moon doesn't bring it any nearer to you, my dear…" Daniel replied quietly, lifting her hand to his lips and kissing it with true regret.

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"Madeira… another five bottles of their very best…" Claymore hunched over his desk wearing his eye shade as he penned the growing list of his great-uncle's demands. "Ah, ha. Just like last time and the time before that."

He looked up sourly. "Anything else?"

Daniel sat back at his ease in a chair opposite Claymore's desk, his legs crossed at the ankles. He frowned in thought, studying his great-nephew's mutinous expression.

"Perhaps we do stand in need of some more bottles of that excellent sherry you purchased for me last time. I will say your palate is superb. That sherry certainly helped to ease Cousin Harriet's mind about leaving us alone. I thank you for that."

"You're welcome. Sherry, right…" Claymore muttered as he added it to the list. He looked up. "Is that it?"

Daniel nodded. "You'd better add two boxes of the same Cuban cigars as last time. Again, your choice was excellent. I have a feeling I am going to have need of them very soon."

"Very well…" Claymore wrote the order down before grimacing as he put aside his pen. "And what form will your payment take this time? More gold doubloons that I can't bank because they ask too many questions."

Daniel smiled. "I see you still cannot bring yourself to part with any of that treasure I paid you with for Gull Cottage or the diamond. Therefore, I recently gave Mrs Muir permission to sell some of my possessions from the wheelhouse to Deke Tuttle."

He drew a roll of bank notes from his jacket pocket. "He was most appreciative of several pieces that cost me only pennies to buy a century ago."

Claymore's frowning eyes grew round with avarice. "Some of my possessions, you mean…" he muttered in discontent.

"You really are like a starving dog constantly trying to grab at someone else's bone, aren't you?" Daniel shook his head. "The day you finally accept that Gull Cottage is no longer yours is the day you may be allowed back over its threshold."

"Which will be never…" Claymore grouched. "I could have made something of that place. Think of the money I could have made during the tourist season."

"Very well. Have it your way." Daniel shrugged as he rose to his feet to place the roll of money in front of his great-nephew. "Keep the change against the next time I will have need of your services."

He shook his head as he began to dematerialise. "You know, money won't keep you warm at night, or buy you your family or friends. You really do need to make an effort to stop being a failure at living and re-join the human race before it's too late." He vanished on the last word.

"Easy for you to say, Uncle. It doesn't matter to you because you're already dead." Claymore gazed after him morosely.

He picked up the roll of notes and tucked it securely into the breast pocket of his shirt close to his heart. It made him feel better. But it didn't make him feel any warmer or any less alone.

"Blast…" he said, with feeling. "Well, I'm better off alone, anyway. It doesn't cost me any money and I like my own company."

He pulled his property ledger toward him and opened it again to the page he'd been writing in when his great-uncle had first appeared. This was the true source of his displeasure. He re-read the entry with a disgusted twist of his lips.

He'd been feeling out of sorts with things since he's made one of his most recent property purchases. He had thought to make a quick turn-over of a remote camp he'd bought cheaply. The previous purchaser had made a huge mistake in thinking there was a bargain to be had in buying the place for a lot less than it was worth. And now it seemed, so had he.

"Double blast…" He scowled at the large cutting of his expensive *For Sale* notice he'd put in last month's Schooner Bay Beacon.

Because of a few malicious rumours, the advertisement had drawn little interest and no takers. Claymore had even gone to the trouble of placing smaller ads in the property pages of newspapers in both Boston and Bangor, but still nothing. It seemed the camp's unfortunate reputation had become too widely known for anyone to be willing to take it off his hands.

Claymore had attempted to talk Ed Peevey into going out to the camp and getting it ready for a quick, heavily discounted sale. But the usually reliable handyman had refused point-blank to go anywhere near the place. Not at any price. Peevey swore the rumours about the place being haunted were true and that was that.

"Haunted, indeed…" Claymore scowled at his ledger in disgust. "Why are people always so fussy about having to put up with a ghost or two if the price is right?"

He shifted his gaze to the list of supplies his great-uncle wanted. "I have to put up with their interference in my life all the time."

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"Claymore Gregg's got himself stuck with an old camp he went and bought cheap a couple of months back," Ed commented to Martha the next afternoon as they washed and dried their lunch dishes together. "He thought he'd bought himself a real bargain and he'd be makin' a quick buck on it. But it turns out no one else wants it either."

He grinned. "I thought you'd like to know since he ain't no favourite of yours or Mrs Muir's."

"Sounds just like him." Martha frowned at him with curiosity. "What sort of camp is it?"

"Two cabins, a good-sized lot and a great sea view. It's out on the other side of Spirit Island," Ed told her. "The young couple from New York that bought it wanted somethin' real secluded. Somewhere those who rented it wouldn't get bothered by any neighbours. It's surrounded by a state park, so there's not another body around for miles."

Ed shook his head. "When the couple came to town wanting to buy the place from old man Hislop's widow, people tried to tell 'em it was haunted. But they didn't want to listen to some old rumours. The price was too good, see."

He looked at Martha significantly. "But, I guess it being haunted wouldn't have worried anyone who's already used to living in a spooky old house."

"I've told you before, Gull Cottage isn't haunted," she replied with a straight face. "It just rattles and creaks a bit when the wind blows the wrong way down the chimney. You get used to it."

"Okay, if you say so…" Ed nodded, hanging up the dishtowel. "But I know folks who've seen things out there they'd rather not talk about. Bats out of the chimney and faces at the attic windows when no one was livin' there before you came. I was told a workman's hair once turned bone white and he never spoke again to a livin' soul after being up to the house to do some work for Claymore."

"Now, Ed…" Martha frowned at him. "You know my best cherry pies come out of that same kitchen. And there isn't anything wrong with them, now is there?"

Ed swallowed tightly. "No, ma'am, there most certainly ain't." He shook his head quickly, seeing his glaring mistake. "And a man would be a right fool to listen to such old wives' tales."

He pursed his lips. "Anyway, them New York City folks tried it for a few years, but they couldn't make a go of it as a summer rental 'cause of all the strange noises and things that went bump in the night, so they were happy to sell it to Claymore. He thought he would flick it on in no time. He even went and paid for a big *For Sale* ad in last month's Beacon. Still no takers. He's even tried both Boston and Bangor, but still got nothing."

He sighed. "Now that he owns it, he keeps naggin' at me ta go out an' paint the place so he can sell up. He even offered me three dollars-fifty an hour for the job. But I said, no way, not at any price. I've had my share of seeing ghostly things I can't explain."

He leaned closer. "Besides, way out there on the island, there's no one around there ta hear ya scream."

He laughed as he turned away to the stove. "Do you want some coffee before you go shopping?"

"Thank you…" Martha looked after him consideringly.

She had no idea where Spirit Island was. But she intended to find out. She would call into the Beacon's office on her way home and secure a copy of the advertisement.

It sounded absolutely perfect for what she had in mind and she knew just the person to use to take it off Claymore Gregg's hands. For the right price, of course.

※※※※※

A week later, Claymore was about to leave his office when the telephone rang. He sighed as he turned back to frown at it, in two minds if he should answer it at all. He was already late for an important town meeting.

But his curiosity won out and he shut the office door before crossing back to his desk and picking up the receiver. "Claymore Gregg speaking…"

"Good afternoon, Mr Gregg. It has been a long time since we last spoke. But I'm sure you remember me."

"Ah, yes, of course. Good afternoon, Miss Peekskill," Claymore said cautiously, wishing now he'd not answered the call.

"I would have come to see you in person. I hope you understand. It's just that I'm simply far too busy to find the time for such a long trip. I am very busy with my second book."

"Yes, of course, of course. I understand completely," Claymore reassured her nervously, wondering what she wanted with him and what would it cost in time and money.

"But, you see, I just happened to come across a *For Sale* property advertisement of yours in the Globe newspaper. It intrigued me, I must say."

"It did?" Claymore's eyebrows rose, his attention caught. He sat in the chair behind the desk, leaning forward eagerly. "How so, Miss Peekskill?"

"Well, for some time now, I've been searching for just the right property to buy. I have always fancied a-get-away-from-it-all place on the coast. Your Spirit Island cabin sounds wonderful. I hope it's still for sale and I'm not wasting my time. In your ad, you say it has all the amenities?"

"It does?" Claymore coughed. "I mean, of course, yes, it does and yes, it's still for sale. I think you'll find it's an excellent property. Not to mention great sea views and a wonderful location. Everything you could even want."

He was not about to mention the notion the place was haunted. He crossed his fingers on the desktop and prayed.

"Excellent. Then, I think we can certainly make a deal on it. All we need to talk about now, is the price…"

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