• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

Hoping he wouldn’t clam up, I asked gently, “Did she succeed?”

He studied his dirty fingernails. Then he scratched his chin. Finally he stared deep into his beer as though it was an old and comforting friend. Keeping his eyes downcast, he whispered miserably, “Aye.”

Poor bugger, as my Australian father would have said.

What was I doing thinking of Dad? I’d had no contact with him in ten years. For all Mom and I knew he was still wandering around the Nullarbor Plain, which he’d been planning to cross just before he disappeared.

I told myself to forget Dad, as he’d no doubt forgotten me, and focused on the job at hand.

But I decided not to question McEwen any further. It was clear that his unrequited love for Lady Justina had caused him to lie about her being a witch. Maybe he’d made a pass at her and been rebuffed. Who knew. But one thing was sure, I wasn’t going to rub salt in his wounds.

Leaving him to drown his sorrows, I glanced around the bar. The crowd was thinning. Douglas caught my eye and smiled.

“Do you want another drink?”

“Why not.” There was no longer any point in remaining sober. I was too tired to question anyone else tonight.

Putting away my notebook, I wrapped my hand around the glass Douglas put in front of me. I was savoring the fiery taste of the whiskey when Douglas came around the bar and sat on the stool to my right. McEwen was still perched on the stool to my left, staring moodily into his beer.

I left him to his own thoughts and turned to Douglas. The conversation that followed ended up more like a prelude to a date than a discussion between employer and employee, but, in my defense, I have to say he started it by asking, “How did you become a paranormal investigator?”

I could have told him about Casper, but I never talk about Casper. So, without mentioning any names, I told Douglas that very early in life I had realized that the skeptics were wrong and Shakespeare was right.

“To paraphrase,” I said to Douglas, “there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of by the average human.”

“But how did you know that, Allegra? You must have had an experience that made you realize it.”

“Yeah,” I murmured. But I didn’t tell him that my first contact with the paranormal had happened at the age of six. After almost twenty years I could still here the screech of the speeding car, could still see my ball lying in the middle of the road. From nowhere a golden-haired man had appeared and scooped me up in his arms. Next thing I knew we were on the sidewalk. I have no memory of getting there, but both the ball and I were safe. The man disappeared. Simply faded away. Thinking he was a ghost, I nicknamed him Casper.

Before Douglas could ask any other difficult questions, I said, “So tell me about you. Have you always lived in the village?”

“I was born in Edinburgh. That’s where I went to university. After graduating I worked as a high school teacher for a while.”

“What did you teach?”

“Economics.”

I smiled.

“What’s funny?” he asked.

“A hard-headed businessman employing a paranormal investigator.”

“Employing?” he snorted. “I’m not even paying you the minimum wage.”

“Oh yeah. Well don’t spread it around or everyone will want a freebie.” Changing the subject, I asked how he had moved from teaching to pub ownership.

“My uncle died. He had no bairns but he did have two brothers. Bess is the daughter of one, I’m the son of the other. Uncle Gordon owned this pub for fifty years and he wanted it to stay in the family. I suppose he thought that with my economics degree and Bess’s local knowledge we’d be able to run the place.”

“You’ve done him proud,” I said, remembering the crowded bar I had entered earlier.

“Och, I hope so, although I’m not sure he’d approve of me changing the name to Mac’s.” He turned to a photograph on the wall. “What do you think, Uncle Gordon?”

The man in the photo resembled Douglas, if you overlooked the black-rimmed glasses and the weak chin. Neither of which Douglas possessed.