there.”
Celeste’s stomach clenched as she looked into the dark cabin. “Maybe. You go first.”
She crowded into the small space behind her sister, propping the cabin door open with a brick that she’d found lying beside it. The cabin consisted of a counter, the remnants of a ratty old mattress and a bucket. Celeste didn’t want to speculate as to what the bucket was used for. The dust was an inch thick. No one had been on this boat in years.
Jolene bent over the counter, shuffling through a pile of papers. Celeste planted her feet, steadying herself against the rocking motion of the boat and willing her ears to ignore the alarming creaks and groans.
“Look at this,” Jolene said. “These papers are dated the year Mom died.”
Celeste bent over Jolene’s shoulder to see the seven-year-old newspaper and the breath rushed out of her when she read it. “It’s an article about Mom’s death.”
Jolene looked at her with wide eyes. “Let’s see what else is here.”
Celeste bent down to help sort through the papers, which included menus, newspaper clippings and some pictures. She stopped short when she came to one that was eerily familiar—the cliff next to their house.
“Why would a picture of our cliff be here?” Jolene mused.
“I don’t know, but that looks like the spot where Mom was standing when she …” Celeste’s throat closed up and she let her voice trail off, not wanting to say the words.
“And look at this.” Jolene held up a scrap of dark pink silk fabric. Celeste didn’t recognize it, but the tone of Jolene’s voice made her scalp tingle.
“What is it?”
“I’m not sure, but it looks like a scrap of fabric from the scarf Mom was wearing that day. The one that washed up on the rocks later on.”
Celeste stared at the fabric.
Why would fabric from the scarf her mother had worn the day she died be on this boat?
The boat lurched with the force of a large wave and the cabin door swung free of the brick, its rusty hinges screaming with the effort. Celeste lunged forward to catch the door before it slammed shut cutting off the light to the cabin.
She pushed at it and it swung back open. The figure of a man sprang into the doorway, partially blocking the light.
Celeste gasped when she noticed the light filtering through the shadowy figure.
“What is it? Jolene jerked her head in the direction Celeste was looking.
“A ghost,” Celeste whispered out of the side of her mouth. Then louder she asked. “Who are you?”
“I’m Barnes. This is my boat and you’re trespassing.”
“You don’t keep your boat up very well,” Celeste said. Clearly, he didn’t realize he was dead. “Where have you been?”
Barnes’ face swirled into a mass of wrinkles. “Been? Why, I been lobstering out at the point.”
“The point where our house is?”
“Your house?” Barnes glanced from Celeste to Jolene in confusion. Another wave set the boat rocking. Celeste braced herself on the counter to keep from falling.
“You’re those Blackmoore girls? But I thought you were much younger.”
“We were back then …” Celeste’s voice trailed off. She realized Barnes’ ghost was stuck seven years in the past, but had no idea how to explain it to him.
“What’s going on?” Jolene whispered in Celeste’s ear.
“It’s Barnes, the guy who owns this boat.”
“Well then, find out why he has this.” Jolene held the scrap of pink fabric up.
“Where’d you get that?” Barnes snarled at Jolene, not realizing she could neither see nor hear him.
“We should ask you the same,” Celeste said. “It’s our mother’s, isn’t it?
A mix of emotions flitted across Barnes’ face. He glanced behind him nervously. Swirls of vapor drifted around him.
“You girls shouldn’t be here. It could be dangerous.”
No kidding.
“What do you know about our mother?” Celeste persisted. The boat was rocking harder now and an acrid odor drifted past Celeste’s nose.
Celeste’s stomach clenched as she looked into the dark cabin. “Maybe. You go first.”
She crowded into the small space behind her sister, propping the cabin door open with a brick that she’d found lying beside it. The cabin consisted of a counter, the remnants of a ratty old mattress and a bucket. Celeste didn’t want to speculate as to what the bucket was used for. The dust was an inch thick. No one had been on this boat in years.
Jolene bent over the counter, shuffling through a pile of papers. Celeste planted her feet, steadying herself against the rocking motion of the boat and willing her ears to ignore the alarming creaks and groans.
“Look at this,” Jolene said. “These papers are dated the year Mom died.”
Celeste bent over Jolene’s shoulder to see the seven-year-old newspaper and the breath rushed out of her when she read it. “It’s an article about Mom’s death.”
Jolene looked at her with wide eyes. “Let’s see what else is here.”
Celeste bent down to help sort through the papers, which included menus, newspaper clippings and some pictures. She stopped short when she came to one that was eerily familiar—the cliff next to their house.
“Why would a picture of our cliff be here?” Jolene mused.
“I don’t know, but that looks like the spot where Mom was standing when she …” Celeste’s throat closed up and she let her voice trail off, not wanting to say the words.
“And look at this.” Jolene held up a scrap of dark pink silk fabric. Celeste didn’t recognize it, but the tone of Jolene’s voice made her scalp tingle.
“What is it?”
“I’m not sure, but it looks like a scrap of fabric from the scarf Mom was wearing that day. The one that washed up on the rocks later on.”
Celeste stared at the fabric.
Why would fabric from the scarf her mother had worn the day she died be on this boat?
The boat lurched with the force of a large wave and the cabin door swung free of the brick, its rusty hinges screaming with the effort. Celeste lunged forward to catch the door before it slammed shut cutting off the light to the cabin.
She pushed at it and it swung back open. The figure of a man sprang into the doorway, partially blocking the light.
Celeste gasped when she noticed the light filtering through the shadowy figure.
“What is it? Jolene jerked her head in the direction Celeste was looking.
“A ghost,” Celeste whispered out of the side of her mouth. Then louder she asked. “Who are you?”
“I’m Barnes. This is my boat and you’re trespassing.”
“You don’t keep your boat up very well,” Celeste said. Clearly, he didn’t realize he was dead. “Where have you been?”
Barnes’ face swirled into a mass of wrinkles. “Been? Why, I been lobstering out at the point.”
“The point where our house is?”
“Your house?” Barnes glanced from Celeste to Jolene in confusion. Another wave set the boat rocking. Celeste braced herself on the counter to keep from falling.
“You’re those Blackmoore girls? But I thought you were much younger.”
“We were back then …” Celeste’s voice trailed off. She realized Barnes’ ghost was stuck seven years in the past, but had no idea how to explain it to him.
“What’s going on?” Jolene whispered in Celeste’s ear.
“It’s Barnes, the guy who owns this boat.”
“Well then, find out why he has this.” Jolene held the scrap of pink fabric up.
“Where’d you get that?” Barnes snarled at Jolene, not realizing she could neither see nor hear him.
“We should ask you the same,” Celeste said. “It’s our mother’s, isn’t it?
A mix of emotions flitted across Barnes’ face. He glanced behind him nervously. Swirls of vapor drifted around him.
“You girls shouldn’t be here. It could be dangerous.”
No kidding.
“What do you know about our mother?” Celeste persisted. The boat was rocking harder now and an acrid odor drifted past Celeste’s nose.
Similar Books
