Unquiet Spirits Read online

  "You're not planning to have people back here afterward, are you?"

  "It wasn't easy, but we managed to talk Paavo out of that when he was here earlier."

  Mike and Johanna exchanged glances. From Johanna's compressed lips, Kit gathered they had different opinions about what he was going to say next.

  "It's the only way, Jo," he said before turning his attention back to them.

  "The power disruption from last night's storm is causing us a lot of problems. The OPP have closed some secondary roads because of fallen trees and downed live hydro wires. Some of my men won't be able to get here until they clear the roads and get them open again. That leaves our security patrols a bit thin. And with the electronic equipment inoperative for the most part, I figure your cabin isn't the best place for you."

  "We'll move into the lodge," Bart agreed. "That would simplify the security problems."

  "Good. Having you in the building will make me feel better about leaving Johanna here. You and Kit can have the bedroom I've been using. There are two double beds in it and I'll leave my computer set up in there. I'll be here most of the time but I'll sleep at home."

  She could see why Johanna would be unhappy about that plan.

  "You don't have to do that, Mike," Kit said firmly. "We need you here. If you think the cabin is unsafe, Bart and I will stay in one of the guest rooms."

  "The security is much better here in the tower section. We can lock off the bedroom wings entirely. And with the elevator and stairs to this area side by side we can concentrate all our manpower there."

  "Fine. We'll move into the tower suite." Kit was surprised at how little apprehension she felt about sharing space with the ghosts.

  Johanna's eyes widened. "But, Kat, you know Raoul..."

  "The bullet that killed Elsa wasn't fired by a ghost, Johanna," Kit interrupted. "Laila's and Raoul's spirits mean me no harm. I'm not saying they are comfortable to have around, but they are not dangerous. Would you object, Bart?"

  "I'm game if you are." Bart couldn't help but smile at the thought of sharing a suite with the recently reunited passionate ghosts. It had definite possibilities.

  "How long do you figure the electricity will be off?" Bart got his mind back on track. "I need to get on line as soon as possible."

  "We have the generator here. But power isn't the only problem with using the net." Johanna picked up the telephone receiver. "Still no dial tone."

  "So much for doing the background searches today."

  "I was out to the road earlier and the phone company crew told me that they hoped to have the lines cleared by the end of the day," Mike told them.

  "All I'll need to pack is an overnight bag then," Kit said, downing the last of her coffee. "Drink up, Bart. I'd like to see if the tower suite is as beautiful as I remember it."

  Chapter Eleven

  Stepping into the tower suite was like entering a different era. Bart felt as if a time machine had zapped him into the Edwardian era. All the elegant chairs and sofas in the large living room were upholstered in satin--some of them rose, some pale blue, some ivory. He spotted a cherrywood desk by a leaded window. Everything gleamed, from the finish on the mahogany tables to the gilt frames of the mirrors and the pastoral paintings. The deep rich reds and blues of the oriental carpets seemed to hold it all together.

  It was the kind of room he could see Laila commissioning. As a matter of fact, he thought he caught the scent of her distinctive perfume in the air. He felt the hair rise on the back of his neck as he scanned the corners of the room.

  "They haven't changed it a bit!" Kit said with glee. "I wouldn't want to live here, but isn't it impressive?"

  He allowed it certainly was.

  "Wait until you see the bedrooms," she said, taking his hand and leading him into a voluptuary's dream room. The carpet was thick and white. The chaise longue was pink satin. And the wall of satin brocade drapes and the bedspread on the huge bed were a deep rich red. The paintings were pastoral. But they were a real contrast to the innocent country scenes in the living room. These depicted lusty males and voluptuous women enjoying each other in the woods and fields. Their aroused bodies were painted in loving detail.

  He emitted a long low whistle. "That painting was there when you were a kid?"

  Kit laughed. "I didn't sleep in here. The other bedroom was mine. It had the same satin theme but much more restful paintings."

  "But you saw this one." Bart seemed genuinely shocked.

  "Laila was so determined never to be a hypocrite that she leaned too far in the other direction." This wasn't the first time she'd defended Laila's brand of parenting. "You always knew where you stood with her. Laila often said she refused to give her daughter a false picture of the world--that you couldn't learn the facts of life too young."

  Bart was still shaking his head when she led him into the other huge bedroom. Its satin drapes and chaise longue were pale blue and its bed was an oversized four-poster covered in white lace.

  "Looks like we have our choice of early Virginal or late Bordello," he said.

  "My vote is for this one."

  "Sure. By the time we get home from the funeral home tonight, I don't think it's going to matter much." Bart looked warily about him. "Do you think we'll be spending the night alone? I'm not much for performance art and Laila said it was our kissing that allowed her and Roaul to regain their bodies for some lovemaking the other day."

  "Let's hope they stay upstairs in the library." Kit led the way quickly through the rest of the suite. The dining room was impressive, the kitchen not much bigger than the one in the cabin and the ensuite bathrooms elegant.

  When they stopped by the living room window that looked out over the lake, Kit sighed. "I can't help thinking it might be a good idea if Laila appeared again. She might be able to give us some hint about Elizabeth Anne."

  "Is that an invitation?" She looked up at him with that sensuous smile that sent him instantly from the slow simmer he lived at when he was around her to a full boil. What could he do but kiss her?

  From her response, she needed a kiss as much as he did. Would he ever get enough of her taste? Until now the moment had always been sufficient. He'd always had a short attention span with women. He pushed aside frighteningly appealing thoughts of forever and concentrated on kissing Kit.

  Finally the need to breathe ended the kiss and Kit rested her forehead against his chest.

  "I didn't hear any panting chorus making out in the background," he said.

  "I wasn't listening," she whispered hoarsely. "Let's go pack."

  And, reluctantly, he agreed they should before the phone lines were cleared and he could get to work.

  * * *

  At five o'clock the next afternoon, Kit and Bart arrived back at the lodge. The sun was shining brightly and the air was warm and fresh. It was a pleasant change from stuffy, heavily flower-scented air.

  Although they'd had to run a gauntlet of shouted questions and thrusting microphones from the car to the funeral home, Kit was grateful to the phalanx of husky members of the funeral home staff who kept the reporters and TV cameras outside. So far, the headlines had been interested in the fact that a hit man had turned up in central Ontario to kill a local resort owner.

  Thank heaven they hadn't yet made the connection with her highly publicized past. The national press and tabloids alike had had a field day when Bart had been forced to shoot Ronald in self-defense. The reporters had dubbed her "Billion Dollar Kitten."

  Headlines like: $$$$$ KITTEN IN TRAGIC LOVE TRIANGLE! had screamed at her from the bookstands and grocery lineups. The delay was one benefit of the aftermath of the storm.

  The interminable hours of accepting well-meant sympathy from total strangers were finally over. As was the brief, but highly emotional memorial service. In spite of the fact that the phone lines had been down for most of the two days since Elsa's death, the population of Spirit Lake and nearby communities turned up in large numbers to offer their sympathy
to her and to Johanna and Paavo. Kit suspected that a good number had come to get a look at "Laila's daughter who'd been living down below and really owned the lodge."

  She did know Ruby and some of the tradespeople who had worked on the lodge this past week. There were also a number of faces she'd seen at Ruby's, but mostly she'd talked to a continuous stream of strangers.

  All the visitors spoke to Johanna and seemed genuine in their affection for her. She introduced Kit and Bart to absolutely everyone. Kit wondered at her grandmother's social skills and her stamina as she turned each conversation to the visitor's own family and interests. Mike never left her side.

  Of all the visitors, Betsy Warner was easily the most upset about Elsa's death. Even tranquilized as she was, she had trouble speaking without weeping. They did not stay the whole time but returned often. Joel hovered around his wife and treated her with more sensitivity than Kit thought he possessed.

  Paavo looked frazzled but, no matter how inappropriate some of the comments about Elsa's death were, he did not fly off the handle once. Just before she and Bart left, he hugged them both and told them to leave. He would get rid of the stragglers.

  * * *

  Kit got out of the SUV and leaned back against the door for a moment. She tilted her face up to the sun, closed her eyes and breathed deeply.

  "Are you going to have that rest you were talking about?" Bart asked.

  "No," she decided. "I want to get out of this suit and into some jeans. Then I want you to go for a sail with me. I need to blow the cobwebs out."

  Bart's face lit up. "Give me a minute to check if we have telephone service again," he said as they both headed into the lodge.

  "Well?" she asked, tucking in her T-shirt and zipping up the fly of her jeans.

  "It's a go. I never thought I'd be glad to hear dead air on the phone. When I called in our location again before we left town, that sugary voice was still repeating her litany. 'Service will resume soon. Our work crews are currently in that area,'" he chanted in a wicked imitation of the canned voice.

  "Quick!" she urged. "Get changed. The sun will be up for a while but I don't want the wind to die on us. I'll go down and get the sail bag out of the beach hut."

  He grabbed her wrist with an iron grip. "Not without me." He pressed a fast kiss on her lips. "I don't want anything to happen to you, Kit. Maybe we should rethink this sail. Even with the security patrol doubled, we can't guarantee the killer isn't lurking out there somewhere."

  "Please, Bart," she coaxed. "Even if he is avoiding the patrols, he couldn't know we're going out in the boat. We just decided a couple of minutes ago. Come on, Bart. It will be fun."

  He threw up his hands and gave in. "You'd test a saint, Brat."

  Within minutes, they crossed the hot sand of the beach to the dock and Bart was putting the sails up. Kit kept up a constant stream of chatter.

  "It's been so long since I've been in a sloop this size. Remember the day I tried to cut between Bret and the buoy and flipped my Flying Junior right over?"

  "I remember spending most of the day diving for your centerboard."

  She laughed. "Well, I never forgot to fasten its safety chain again, did I?"

  "Enough talk. Get in here if we want to get a sail in before the breeze drops on us."

  Not allowing another minute for nostalgia, he was at the tiller and skillfully caught a breeze that had the little sloop gliding quickly away from the dock. "Drop the centerboard, mate. And get ready to come about. Hard alee."

  Kit moved to the lee side of the boat and ducked as the boom went over her head. As she hauled in the sheet that held the jib sail, it filled with wind and they were embarked on a reach that would take them three miles without another bit of effort on their part.

  The warm wind felt wonderful on her skin. She looked back at Bart who was smiling broadly at her. This was the way she always pictured him, with the sun on his tanned face and the wind ruffling his blond hair

  They didn't need to speak. They reveled in the sounds of the boat--the slap of the waves on the bow, the snapping of the sail and the hissing of the water as it passed under the hull. She luxuriated in the warmth of the sun on her back and marveled at the number of new homes that had gone up on the south shore in the years since she'd visited Spirit Lake.

  After they passed the island where they had talked with Laila, Kit pointed out a distinctive rock formation beside some cleared pasture on the mainland. The fairly level land had some gentle slopes and thick wooded sections from what she could see. It was beautiful!

  "Bart, come about. That's the property Joel was talking about. I'd like to see it if you don't mind. I think he may be right about the golf course."

  Bart came about and brought them in fairly close to shore.

  "Joel cornered me last night after most people had left," he said. "I think he figures I have some influence with you. He said he'd drop off some very rough sketches of the prospective course for you to look at." He bent down so he could see under the sail. "Joel described a narrow inlet that he thought would make a challenging water hole for the course. Do you think that's it over there?"

  "Let's try to get a little closer on the next pass," she said. In spite of herself, she was becoming enthused about Joel's idea.

  When they came about for the second time, they both agreed that they had found the inlet. "I'd like to explore that whole shoreline in a canoe or a kayak," she said.

  "As soon as we find the guy who's doing the shooting, I'd like to do that too," Bart said as the sails filled and he had the boat speeding along on their original course.

  Suddenly, the sails went limp

  "Hey, what the Hell!"

  Although the height and movement of the waves indicated that the wind was steady, the sloop was completely becalmed. It sat rocking gently in the water, between the island and the Elmhurst property, going nowhere. Suddenly there was no fresh breeze on Kit's face but in spite of the stillness of the air, she felt a distinct chill. The sun's heat had faded with the wind.

  This had to be Laila's doing.

  Bart's reaction was unexpected. He had been apprehensive and shaken by Laila's appearance in the morning mists on Saturday. This time he was furious.

  "What the Hell is your mother up to now? Do you hear me, Laila?" he called. "We've had enough. Stop the tricks. If you want to tell us something, talk to us. After the stress of the last couple of days your daughter needs some consideration."

  There was no response from the still air.

  "Do you suppose she's back on the island?" Kit squinted in that direction across gold-tipped waves into the sun that was getting lower in the western sky. "I don't imagine there's any point in trying to paddle over there."

  "She stopped us here. She can come to us."

  "You weren't rude as a child." The lilting voice chastised him from off the stern, just over his shoulder.

  Laila's translucent form materialized slowly. She sat cross-legged on some kind of silvery cushion about a foot above the water and pouted at him like a sulky child.

  "You're right. I was brought up better. I apologize. But if you meant this visit to be amusing, Laila, I want to go on record that it is not! We came out here because Kit needs to relax and forget about murder for a few minutes." He stared boldly at the apparition. "Can you help us find the person who is trying to kill her?"

  "I can only help you to find Raoul's bones. You will find there is a connection." Apparently, Laila had decided to be more direct this visit.

  "Elsa came close to admitting to me that she was responsible for his death before someone shot her," Bart ventured.

  "Can you tell us who killed Elsa?" Kit interrupted. It was time she gave them some information they could use.

  Laila shook her shimmering locks. "I don't know. My range is limited to the lake and the tower."

  "Then can you tell us if the other daughter you never bothered to mention to me is here in the area?"

  Her mother's ghost flinched as i
f she had struck her.

  "I don't know that either." For the first time, Laila's voice sounded hollow and more how Kit imagined a ghost would sound. "So the baby was a girl!"

  A wave of such deep sorrow emanated from the ghost that Kit felt like weeping when it reached her. From the expression on Bart's face, he had felt it too.

  "I can tell you this much," Laila straightened her shoulders. "Elsa's jealousy is behind the attacks on you. That is a fact."

  "But someone killed her."

  Laila waved away Kit's objection. "True. But Elsa's hatred was the driving force. It simply ricocheted back on her."

  "Does that mean there will be no more attacks on Kit?" Bart asked. "Did Elsa put out a contract that dissolved on her death?"

  "I hate being this useless but I don't know that either," Laila said petulantly. "Raoul and I do feel that the danger to you is not over. We are both limited in our powers but we will do what we can to help you, Kitten. He'd like to tell you that himself but I seem to have a lot more staying power when it comes to appearing to live people. I don't understand the rules on that at all. However, in spite of that, I'm running out of time here. I need to tell you about Elsa's diary."

  "She's been keeping a diary?"

  "I'm not sure if she kept it up but she was still scribbling in one when I came home for my father's funeral. Those little blue books were very important to her. I always wondered what she could possibly find to write in them. She had such a dull life, I was sure she made up stories to fill the pages. But she wouldn't be able to resist putting down the details of what you need to know to find Raoul's remains."

  Laila put the palms of her hands together in supplication. "Please do it quickly. We've been too long apart." Then her eyes sparkled and she gave them a startlingly radiant smile. "I must thank you though for spending your nights in the tower. It's been wonderful for us!"

  "How do you suggest we find the diaries, Laila?" Bart asked.

  "Elsa always hid anything private in what she called her 'secret hidey hole.' I found it when I was ten and read a little of one of her diaries. It was so boring I never bothered again. I doubt if she ever changed the hiding spot. If you lift one of the tiles in the base of the electric fireplace in Elsa's bedroom, you'll find it. There's a big space down there between the studs on top of the sub-flooring. It's only a guess, but I think you'll find the diaries there."