The Ghost of Kathleen Murphy Read online

  “Now tell me again exactly why we need to visit this area?”

  “We think he, the priest, and his assistant was somehow involved with Kathleen’s sister and her disappearance. I rather not say much more right now. We are still looking into things and ask you to please keep all this confidential, professor.”

  “Understood, Cassie. My interest is not gossip, it is in finding and tracking bound spirits, and if I can, helping them release. One must be part detective and part scientist, but it also helps to have a lot of compassion for these wandering souls. I try to remember that, and make no judgment about anything until I have the entire story. Anything you say is just between us.”

  “Of course, and I didn’t mean to be rude. I am just concerned we get things right.”

  “By all means, Cassie.”

  April pulled the key from her pocket. “It’s the last room at the end of the hall there.”

  She unlocked the door and she and Cassie stood back to let the professor in with his equipment. Cassie stood in the doorway and looked into the room. It looked harmless enough. There was no sign of the room ever being used. It was clean and tidy if somewhat bleak and bare.

  “Well now, what have we here…a dark spirit, a dark energy?”

  April’s eyes were huge as she looked at Cassie and then backed up against the wall in the hallway. “Oh Cassie, I don’t like this.”

  “Easy April, nothing is going to hurt you.”

  The professor came out a little pale and shook his head back and forth.

  “This is an unusual reading, ladies. I picked up a presence, but it’s odd because though dark, I am not getting a strong reading as I do most times with a dark energy like this. It might be because the room has been altered so much. Tell me, where are the other rooms he used and those of his assistant?”

  April pulled her notes from her pocket. “He used the entire wing for their quarters, I think. There was a sitting room, library, kitchen area, and his assistant had two rooms, and his own formal living area.”

  “That might explain the odd reading. I need a better site. Can we get into the adjoining rooms and see what we can find?”

  “Yes, I have the master key.” April handed Cassie the key and unfolded her notes again.

  “Can you tell from your notes, April?”

  “Yes, I was right. He used the entire wing, and the room we were just in was his library. This room here across the hall was his master suite where his bedroom was, and his sitting room adjoined it.” April put the notes back in her pocket.

  The professor adjusted his equipment and went inside. He didn’t turn on the lights in the room but used the light on his recorder. Cassie and April stayed in the hallway and listened to the sound of the recorder hum. Then they heard a new sound…a bop, bop, bop, like someone hitting the wall with a tennis ball.

  “What the… Come and look at this, ladies.”

  Cassie felt as if her shoes were nailed to the floor but April was pushing her forward. “What is it? What was that noise?” April whispered.

  “Well, that my dear girls, was the dark spirit saying hello.”

  “Jesus, Mary and Joseph.” April crossed herself three times as she backed out of the room.

  “So, professor, the priest is still here, but why?”

  “The big question, for sure, Cassie. What has he left undone?”

  “I can’t imagine. We may as well be honest with you, professor, we think his assistant killed Maeve either by accident or to stop her from talking. We think he, and maybe even the priest as well, abused a lot of other girls during their time here.”

  “But Cassie, how can you hope to prove it after all this time? Have you found something to point you in that direction?”

  “We think the monastery Sisters may have kept some information hidden in the old monastery building, and we think Maeve hid her journal somewhere in the monastery.”

  “Ah, there you go. The priest wants Maeve’s journal, or he wants no one else to find it. Ladies, you be careful because if he knows you are looking for it and if you are getting close, he will cause you some trouble.”

  “How professor, how could he?” April turned pale again and clutched at Cassie’s hand.

  “This spirit has been around a long time so it is strong and it is dark. It will stay here as long as the journal is a threat and as long as there is anyone alive who might remember Kathleen and Maeve. If Kathleen’s spirit is not at rest, then the priest’s spirit can’t be either.”

  “I wonder if Lydia knew about the priest spirit too?” April asked.

  The professor began to pack up his equipment. “I have a feeling she did, and is the reason she is still around. Of course, we are assuming it is her we are picking up. Oftentimes, spirits can meet and work together. Something tells me Lydia is around to help Kathleen. Tell me, why do you think the priest was involved?”

  “We are just guessing right now, but it makes sense. Otherwise, if not the priest, and he knew it was his assistant, he would have just gotten rid of him and kept silent if he didn’t want anyone to find out and cause a big scandal,” Cassie said.

  “Yes, a good theory, Cassie.” The professor motioned them toward the hallway.

  April held up her hand. “Wait, I have one other big question.”

  “Just one, April?” Cassie laughed.

  “Well, maybe two more questions…where is the spirit of Maeve and the horrible assistant?”

  “Maybe Maeve was lucky enough to let her spirit go when she died. Her suffering was done and though I am sure she loved her sister, Kathleen, she was not strong enough to hold on here for some reason. It’s just my feeling. Maybe you will run into Maeve’s spirit too before you are done. As for the assistant who could have been the killer—who knows why we don’t find him? Or maybe it is him we are mistaking for the priest.”

  “Oh, don’t say that, professor. Cassie is already threatening to go back to America if we find one more ghost.”

  “Now Cassie, you can’t tell me you aren’t having a grand old time with all this. I can see the writer in you, the detective in you, and the love of life in you. All the things that make a good writer keep writing. If I am any judge of character, my guess is you won’t stop until this mystery is solved, written your book, and gone on to yet another adventure and another book.”

  “Thanks professor, I can see now why you are such a popular teacher; and I knew I liked you from the moment we met.” Cassie said.

  April was grinning from ear to ear. “Cassie, pay attention to his wisdom. It’s another good reason for you to stay in Ireland. There are lots of subjects for books and mysteries to solve in this country.”

  “How can I not consider staying after all of this? It would be like leaving in the middle of the best movie ever. At least I can say I won’t leave any time soon.”

  The professor packed the last piece of equipment back into its case. “How long will you be staying here at the retreat center, Cassie?”

  “Six months, unless they catch us snooping, and then I will be out on the street, professor.”

  “I suppose it is going to be a real issue at some point. If you do find proof the priest or his assistant killed Maeve, and if the Sisters and the church hushed it up, it will be a huge scandal. It might cause the church to stop the sale of the property to the retreat center.”

  “I know, and I don’t want to hurt them, of course. We have no choice now; we have to follow this no matter where it takes us, which is to the truth, we hope.”

  “Just be careful, ladies. Inside my other case I left by your room, Cassie, I brought a really sensitive recorder for you to use. If you sense a spirit, and you will get good at that, click on the recorder and just let it run. I will download it all and analyze it later. Let’s get out of here for now and I’ll show you how to work the devices before they all return to the center.”

  By the time they heard the arrival of the group, the three of them were sitting in the community room having tea. Al
l the workshop ladies were in good spirits and impressed with the professor. They bombarded him with questions about his work and Irish history. Cassie could tell they were excited about his coming lecture on Irish myths.

  The class went well, the ladies seem to hang on the professor’s every word, and Cassie could see them taking notes. The bells for supper started to ring and the professor was pushed along to the dining room by his new admirers. The meal passed pleasantly and without any suspicious looks from Rose or Emily. They all seemed to enjoy having the professor there to add something to their studies. They were thrilled with the ideas he gave them for their future stories.

  The ladies in the workshop were reluctant to give up the professor to Cassie and April, but eventually they got him away from the group. They walked him to his car and they made their plans to meet the following weekend so he could download any readings they got from the equipment. He warned them to stay away from the priest’s quarters for now. It took little to persuade them. They were reassured to hear the professor say the priest’s spirit was bound to the old original part of the monastery.

  As Cassie and April walked back into the center, each lost in thought, they were not aware someone watched them from the balcony above.

  Chapter 10

  Jacob poured a second cup of tea and called his store manager. He paced around the kitchen as he waited for Tommy to answer.

  “Good morning, Tommy, can you do without me today?”

  “Of course, boss, but you are not ill, are you?”

  “No, I just have some things to do. Call me if you need me.”

  “And you do the same, boss,” Tommy said.

  Jacob walked through the quiet house. Was Lydia’s presence still in the house? He needed to think so, yet he was terrified it might be true. He walked and he listened but there was nothing but silence. He took a deep breath and opened the box he had put aside. It was full of Lydia’s journals, papers, and some photos. It was the last box left to go through, and he didn’t want to open it now. The call from his Aunt Bernadette was just disturbing enough to bring him to this moment. She was convinced Cassie was doing research to stir up trouble for the church, the retreat owners, and to bring out the story of Lydia’s suicide again. Though he didn’t believe her, entirely anyway, he felt compelled to look at Lydia’s journals. He was desperate to convince himself Lydia’s suicide was not caused by her time at the monastery. It was his fault she was there, and deep down he thought it might be what pushed her over the edge to suicide. Then there was the thought that plagued him constantly. What had he seen in the garden? Was it a ghost? Everything he believed in told him no, and yet, he saw something. There is no doubt Cassie would chase the story down to the bones. After Cassie found what she was looking for, he had no idea what she planned. He could only guess. He hoped somehow to keep his relationship with her on solid ground, but he was beginning to doubt his ability to do it.

  Jacob sifted through photos, mementos, and found a few sea shells in a pink sheer pouch. The pain of remembering the day Lydia collected those shells hit him like an arrow to his heart. He forced himself to go on. There were two rosaries, one plain made out of wood, and the other was from mother-of-pearl handed down to Lydia from her grandmother. It was one she hoped to give to her own child. This thought took Jacob to a dark place, paralyzing him again. He sat with his thoughts as long as he could stand them, and finally he stood, kicking the box across the floor as he left the room. He slammed out the back door and stood in the yard trying to catch his breath, then collapsed onto the lush grass and lay on his back looking at the sky.

  “There can be no God,” he said.

  When Jacob’s breathing returned to normal he went back into the house and poured his cold tea down the drain, and opting for a beer this time, grabbed one from the refrigerator and forced himself back to the box. He couldn’t get rid of the fear of what waited for him in those journals still unread. He didn’t want to know. Cassie’s face kept popping into his mind which added to his torment. Several times while at work in the bookstore, he found himself thinking he heard her laugh and walked around the store to look for her. Yes, Cassie was a large part of his current source of torment; and he reminded himself it was her arrival that was responsible for stirring this current pot of grief. He allowed himself to blame her for a few minutes before he admitted to himself it was not right.

  The ringing telephone broke into his thoughts.

  It was his aunt again. “Hello Aunt Bernie, what can I do for you?”

  When Jacob hung up the phone he realized he was gritting his teeth. His aunt insisted he come for dinner. In a breathless whisper, she said there was something she needed to tell him, and she could not say on the telephone. He reluctantly agreed because he was nearly all the family she had left and he felt responsible for her. Odd, quirky, and a little fey, she was a good person and always treated him well. The least he could do was go have dinner with her and listen to her latest ravings about whatever was roaming around in her head. This time he was sure Cassie’s name was tops on her list of things to complain about.

  But now he must get through this box. He sat down on the floor and pulled the box over beside him. With a sigh of surrender, he opened the lid. He didn’t stop at the photos, mementos, or anything else this time. He went for the journals. The first one was an old one, back from Lydia’s college days. He skimmed a few pages and put it aside. The next one was more recent and about their wedding, honeymoon, and her art classes and love of painting. He took a little more time with this one but had no desire to read her thoughts about their life together. It was too painful. There were two more journals in the box, both with identical covers. The first one was dated the year before her death. She started it when she first got so depressed right after the Christmas holidays. Jacob’s hands shook as he turned to page one.

  ‘What is wrong with me today? I can’t pull myself out of this dark hole that has become my new home. I know Jacob is worried about me but I can’t tell him what is wrong because I don’t know myself.’

  There were a few pages of more introspection that covered a few weeks. Jacob noted the date of the next section. It was about her first appointment with the psychologist. It was early March and she had agreed to go see someone about her depression.

  ‘God, I hated talking to the doctor today. I know he thinks I am insane, and maybe I am. I tried to tell him about my dreams, about the girl in white, but I don’t think he was listening to me. I have been dreaming about her since I stayed at the monastery’s spiritual retreat before Christmas. The weather turned bad and Jacob told me to stay overnight rather than drive back home. I was helping the Sisters decorate, and it was fun. In fact, it may have been the last day I can recall being happy.’

  The next few pages were about her attempts to paint again, and her thoughts about what she might choose to plant in the garden. Sometimes one sentence flowed into the next with no stop, like a stream of consciousness rather than a documentation of her days. He turned to the back of the journal. The last three pages, dated June 4th, were written in a bright green ink.

  ‘I fear I will never get better. The darkness is always around the corner, hovering, waiting there with its foul breath, wanting to overtake me. I know Jacob is tired of dealing with me and my moods and I don’t blame him. I am tired of me too. I can’t paint anymore. I don’t care that my garden has gone to seed. I don’t care about anything. I’m afraid. Still I dream about the little girl in the white nightgown. She haunts my dreams and invades my thoughts in the daylight. Who is she?’

  Jacob closed the journal and ran his hands over his face as if he could erase what he was thinking. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe normally as he felt the panic rise. The girl in the white gown. He breathed it out loud. He forced himself to look at the last journal, the one he feared so much. He picked it up, hugged it to his chest, and went into the kitchen. Though it was still shy of noon he opened another beer and took it and the journal outside to read
. He couldn’t seem to breathe right inside the house. He settled himself in his favorite place in the backyard, a comfortable chair under the tree. From this location he looked at the back of the house and at all the work he had done. He saw the yard, the plants, and if he tried really hard, he could still see Lydia planting her tulips around the porch steps.

  He crossed himself and said a real prayer, something he had not done in over ten years at least, and opened the last journal.

  October 10th. ‘Jacob brought me home from the hospital last week. I pretend as hard as I can that I am better. I smile, I cook, I breathe, and I try to paint, or at least I try to make Jacob think I am painting. But I am not well. I am a little better maybe. I do care how I look from time to time and don’t forget to take a bath at least. But the dark thing has claimed me and I am his.’

  November 14th. ‘Jacob has insisted I go to the monastery and go through the spiritual program the Sisters have started there. Bernadette, who is as crazy as I am, is supposed to look after me, which I must admit gave me my only laugh of the year. But I will go because if I don’t I fear Jacob will put me back in hospital again. He can hardly look at me now and he wants me out of his life. I can understand, and I don’t blame him. So off to the monastery I go. Tonight I will go live with the other crazy women.’

  December 1st. ‘The dreams about the girl in white are coming every night now. At least I think they are dreams. But the other night I woke up and I was standing in the hall. I don’t remember waking up and going out into the hall, but there I was. I must be taking too much medication. The Sisters think they are helping me with their spiritual program. I dare not go along with it because if I say the wrong thing I am afraid they will have me exorcised. Crazy old bats.

  December 3rd. ‘It is no dream; I don’t care what they say. The ghost-girl came to me last night and spoke to me. I was not asleep. I was painting on the balcony right before sunset. She spoke to me in Gaelic and I wanted to follow her but I turned and she was gone. What does she want from me?’