Part Four

When his work for the day was done, Regan hopped into his old truck and headed down to Glen Road. He turned towards Louis Road, taking it easy and keeping an eye out for anything unusual. Reaching the turn-off a few minutes later, he parked on the side of the road and set off on foot.

The area had the same, desolate look that he had noted before. On the side of the road opposite the house, a stretch of unbroken woods concealed everything. He walked on that side, looking for any sign of the barn, but reached the dead end without result. Turning around, he retraced his steps more slowly, stopping altogether at the point where he thought the old building should be. A faint mark on the side of the road, like a vehicle track in mud that someone had brushed their boot over, gave him the clue he needed.

“Here,” he muttered, pushing into the undergrowth.

Only a few steps later, he was looking up at the object of his search. Nature was well on the way to reclaiming the old barn. There seemed no way to even open the doors, but he remembered the disguised entrance to the derelict house and began to search for something similar. Almost as soon as he started looking, he found it: a tangle of dead branches, grass and leaves, overlaid with trails of still-living vines.

He considered his next move for a few moments, then chose not to disturb it. The sun had not yet dropped below the horizon and the chances of being caught by the woman in white were enough to deter him. Instead, he looked for another way to find out what was inside.

Pushing through the nearby vegetation, he made his way around the side to a smaller door. Someone had cleared around it, not bothering to cover their efforts. It opened easily. Inside, the barn was so dark that it took a few minutes for Regan’s eyes to adjust to the gloom. Several dark shapes loomed, one of which resolved itself to be a red car. In the back corner stood a wooden wagon.

“Well, well,” he muttered, stepping across the threshold to see it more clearly. “So that’s what she wanted it for.”

The wagon was stacked with ordinary household goods, many of them battered and bruised. Old lamps and small tables tangled with pictures and kitchenware and books. This, certainly, was not the haul from a break-in. The items were all well-worn and – apparently – well-loved. Through the large sheet of clear plastic thrown over the whole lot, Regan could see what looked like hand-painted details on one of the little tables and some crockery in the same pattern as the plate he’d seen at the crash site.

He looked from the wagon to the car and back again, frowning. If she had the car, why did she need the wagon?

The answer, to Regan’s mind, was obvious: this car must have been acquired after the incident with the wagon. Picking his way carefully across the litter-strewn dirt floor, he made his way over to the wagon. Its bars rested on boxes of some sort. Reaching down, he began to lift one up, only to freeze as it groaned in protest, sounding exactly like the noise that had caught their attention on that rainy, blustery night.

Part of the sequence of events became clear in his mind. The woman in white must have crashed the car some time earlier. For some reason, she already knew that there was a wagon at the Glen Road Inn and decided to use it to transport these things here. Somewhere along the way from the inn to the crash site, it had made that terrible noise which had sent him and Tom searching the Manor House grounds. Then, sometime later, she had somehow gotten the red car.

He shook his head. It did not explain why she walked through the woods at night, why she found it necessary to string up fishing line to mark that path, what had happened to the house-sitter, or why someone – presumably the lady in white – had driven and crashed that car.

Regan stepped back out into the fading daylight and looked around. The fishing-line, in particular, was worrying him and it occurred to him that there might be some leading from here as well. Sure enough, he spotted some near the back corner of the barn, tied to a sturdy sapling.

With a surge of anger at the unknown woman, he resolved to follow it and see where it led. He stalked through the woods, following the faint trail underfoot and the slippery line. Only a short distance away, he found that it terminated near the path he had followed the last time, in sight of the edge of Louis Road. He turned away from it and followed the line back to Glen Road, crossed it and continued all the way to the Glen Road Inn.

At the edge of the woods, he stood thinking for a moment. What if the inn was not her final destination? What if there was another trail that began from here?

He walked along the edge of the trees slowly, looking for any signs. Fifteen or twenty paces later, he stopped. A bare patch of earth showed a scuff mark, like a blurred footprint. Stepping nearer and feeling among the branches of a small bush, he found what he sought.

Scowling now, he began to follow this new path. Only a few minutes later, it came to an abrupt end at the side of another country road. On the opposite side stood a house with a sign declaring it to be For Sale.

Regan crossed the road, walked up the path and two stairs to the tiny front porch. He peered through the window and saw at once that the house was empty. Retracing his steps, he looked around for any other buildings. Around the back, he noticed a shed of some kind. Seeing no one – and no other houses in sight – he decided to take a look.

His footsteps crunched on the gravel as he walked. Reaching the shed, he found it unlocked. Inside was dim and cluttered. Once more, he had to wait for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. When they did, he noticed one detail and nodded once. Right in front of him was a little table, painted in exactly the same pattern as the one in the old barn. Regan closed the door and returned to the road.

Thinking deeply about what he had seen, he walked along the road to another trail he knew and followed it back to Glen Road. Retrieving his truck was easy enough. Deciding what to do about all this was a little harder. And still, he didn’t have all the facts.

In the kitchen that evening, Celia was brimming with news to share.

“The police have been back,” she told him. “They’ve found the house-sitter from the place where the crashed car came from. She’s been in hospital the whole time.”

“And?” he asked, taking his seat at the table as Maggie put down a plate for him.

Celia frowned. “Well, we know, now, that she’s not the ghost, either.”

“There’s no ghost,” Regan repeated, for what felt like the hundredth time.

“That’s what you say,” Celia snapped. “They think, now, that someone broke in and stole the car and went joy-riding and crashed. I just know that they disturbed something they shouldn’t have when they did.”

He let that one go. “So, why were they here? What does she have to do with us?”

“That was just incidental to their visit,” Tom put in. “They’re on the track of another stolen car, now – that same red car we saw down by the Glen Road Inn and that they stopped opposite Ten Acres.”

“Where was it stolen from?” Regan asked.

Tom shrugged. “Some idiot left the keys in the ignition and the doors unlocked and then had the nerve to be upset about it being taken. It’s been parked on the side of the road, about a mile from here, for at least a month. They didn’t miss it for days – it didn’t get reported stolen until after it disappeared from the side of Glen Road again.”

Regan chewed his mouthful of beef and gravy, thinking.

“Not that that has anything to do with the main problem,” Celia complained. “As if that’s important, when we’re in danger the whole time.”

“It’s important because your ‘ghost’ is driving it,” Regan told her. “And since ghosts don’t drive cars, I think we can say that she’s not really a ghost.”

“As if I’m supposed to believe that!” Celia flounced out of the kitchen, head high.

Regan watched her go, then turned to Tom. “There’s a house for sale back of the Glen Road Inn. Can you mention it to Marge if I don’t get a chance? Looked empty. Not sure whether there’s much land attached.”

Tom nodded. “I’ll tell her.” He glanced at the door through which his wife had departed. “She really needs a distraction from all this.”

“How about a baby?” Maggie suggested.

“What!”

Regan took one look at Tom’s astonished expression and laughed.

By the next morning, Regan was no nearer to a decision. However, he had plenty to keep him occupied. The family were suddenly so busy they didn’t have time to ride, so he had all of the horses to exercise. He chose Jupiter to take out first, since he was the most discontented. As he swung into the saddle, however, he felt a qualm about where to take the horse. He had no clue as to whether other areas of the Preserve might also be strung with fishing line.

“Let’s take you up to Maypenny’s,” he told the big horse. “He’ll know where it’s safe to ride.”

The decision made, they set off. Jupiter worked off some energy on the steep ascent, but was far from pleased when Regan dismounted at the cabin and tied him to a tree.

“Won’t be long,” Regan promised, giving the gelding a pat.

“Morning,” Maypenny greeted, as Regan approached.

Regan replied in kind, then added, “Have a question for you.”

The old man nodded.

“Have you seen any fishing line strung around anywhere?”

Maypenny’s brow creased. “On the trails?”

Regan shook his head. “The stuff I’ve found is off the trails and the paths. Follows an old trail, I think. Other side of Glen Road.”

“You pulled it down?”

Once more, he shook his head. “Not yet. I figured it would only get restrung if I did.”

“Then you know who’s using it?” the old man asked.

“After a fashion.”

The other man contemplated for a moment. “I haven’t been off-trail on the far side of the road for a couple of weeks. From here to the big house and to the Belden and Frayne property boundaries, I’ve been off-trail a lot lately and I haven’t seen anything.”

Regan nodded. “Thanks. I’ll stick close to here, then. And I’ll let you know when I’ve sorted it out.”

“I appreciate the warning,” Maypenny answered, with a wave of his hand.

Regan remounted the horse and set off again.

An hour later, astride Susie, he saw in the distance the figure of a blonde woman walking along the side of Glen Road. The anger surged up again and he turned the horse in that direction. It did not take long to catch her up.

“Excuse me,” he called and she turned to face him, in surprise.

In that instant, Regan knew he had made a mistake. Her figure was about right and her hair, too, but as soon as he saw her face, he knew this woman was not the ‘ghost’. The anger melted away, to be replaced by a faint embarrassment.

“Sorry, I don’t think you’re the person I’m looking for,” he told her. A thought occurred to him, however. “You’re staying at the Glen Road Inn, right?”

The woman nodded. “I’m researching some local history. My grandparents used to have a farm nearby and I wanted to find out more about their life here. You wouldn’t be from one of the old families around here, by any chance?”

He shook his head. “No, I’m a new-comer. But I could mention you to some of the old folks, if you like.”

“That would be great,” she answered, smiling. “My name’s Millie Turner.”

“Call me Regan,” he answered. “I work up at the big, white house.”

She smiled. “Pleased to meet you, Regan. That’s a beautiful mare you’re riding.”

“Her name’s Susie,” he told her, warming at the appreciation of his mount.

“She looks anxious to get moving,” she commented. “But maybe we’ll meet again sometime. I’m intending to stay at least a month.”

“Yeah. That would be nice,” he answered, then turned the horse.

As he rode away, he contemplated several things. First, those girls were certainly on the wrong track if they still suspected that woman. Second, he still needed to do something about the woman in white. Third, he would not say no to another conversation with Millie Turner.

When the day heated up, Regan turned to other chores and left the remaining horses for late in the afternoon. Strawberry was last of all and the sun had dipped below the tree line by the time he was finished his run. Regan walked him around the paddock a couple of times to cool down, having felt too wary of the Preserve in the waning light to stay there any longer.

After he groomed the horse and settled his charges for the night, Regan returned to the paddock to pull out a few weeds he had noticed, when he caught sight of a figure through the trees. Another surge of anger ran through him, overriding the usual instinct to keep away from people and stick with horses. Without another thought, he swung himself over the fence and jogged along the outside to the place where a trail began.

Now and then, he caught a glimpse of white between the trees, telling him he was still on the right track. He was nearly at the road when he caught her up, certain this time that he had the right woman.

“Wait. I want to talk to you,” he called and she turned with a jolt.

“What do you want?” Her expression was wary and she seemed poised to flee.

For a moment, he did not know where to start. Then, the most important point came to him. “I need you to stop using fishing line to mark trails. It’s dangerous for the horses – not to mention the deer and other wild animals.”

She swore at him fluently, but he did not react.

“Look. We can do this the easy way, or the hard way.” He paused a moment, sizing her up. “If you co-operate with me, I think you can probably still get what you want. Otherwise, I think you’ll be on your way. But either way, the fishing line has to go.”

“What I want?” she repeated. “How the hell do you know what I want?”

He shrugged. “I don’t. But I’d guess you were wanting to get the rest of your things from that house that’s up for sale, through the woods from the inn.”

Her already-pale face whitened.

“I don’t want to get you in trouble,” he told her. “I just need to do my job, which is to protect the horses.”

She nodded, but did not reply.

“So, here’s the deal,” he continued. “I’ll help you get your things and you’ll take down the fishing line. All the fishing line.”

“Fine.”

“And you’d better give the Glen Road Inn their wagon back and put that red car back where you found it, too.”

She stared. “How –”

He shook his head. “Think about it, okay? I’ll bring my truck down to the house on Louis Road in the morning, about ten. If you don’t want my help, you can tell me then.”

She paused for a moment, then nodded.

Satisfied, he turned and left.

“Thanks for the tip about the house, Regan,” Marge told him the next morning. She had dropped into his office to go over an account with him. “I called about it first thing this morning. There’s a considerable parcel of land involved and Mr. Wheeler is considering a purchase. He’ll be going to see it in a couple of days.”

Regan nodded. “Has it just come on the market, do you know?”

“Apparently, the sign went up yesterday.” She smiled. “The realtor was anxious to assure me that the property was vacant and ready for possession. The owners moved out some months back and it’s been tenanted until recently.”

Though he did not show it, Regan found this little piece of information reassuring. He had tossed and turned last night, wondering whether he was assisting in a crime by helping the woman in white. Her morals left something to be desired, but he felt himself in no position to judge. There had been a time when he’d strayed on the wrong side of the law, just to keep body and soul together. Some instinct told him she was in the same boat.

“I think that’s all I needed to speak to you about,” Marge continued, gathering a few papers. “I’ll see about getting this bill amended and I’ll let you know when it’s sorted out.”

“Thanks,” he answered.

As soon as she had left, he snatched up his keys. He took a quick look around the stables and found everything in order. Then, he headed for his truck.

At five minutes past ten, he eased the truck onto the verge beside Louis Road. The woman in white emerged from the gate and got into the passenger seat.

“Morning,” he greeted.

“Morning,” she answered, a faint smile teasing her lips. “I take it you know the way?”

He nodded and turned around. They headed along Glen Road, past Manor House and the Glen Road Inn, turned at the next intersection and again at the one after. He slowed a short time later, unsure how far along the house was.

“There.” She pointed. “Stop there.”

He did so and followed her down the drive of the house. She wrenched open the door and began pulling things out. Regan followed suit. They carried load after load back to the truck and, by the time the tray was full, the shed was empty.

Regan pulled out an old tarpaulin and covered over the load, then tied it down.

“Hop in and I’ll take you back.”

She got in next to him and they retraced their earlier path.

“Where do you want me to drop this stuff?” he asked, as they approached Louis Road. “Near the house, or near the old barn?”

She frowned for a moment. “The barn, I guess.”

He nodded and pulled up near it, as well as he could remember. It seemed his position was pretty good, as she jumped out and began uncovering the entrance just opposite him. He turned the truck carefully, leaving the tailgate next to the entrance. Then, hopping out, he helped her carry everything inside.

“I did what you said,” she explained, when he noticed how empty it was inside. Both the car and the wagon were gone. “I took down the fishing lines, too.”

Regan only nodded and continued to carry her goods.

When he was done, he refolded the tarpaulin and stowed it away, wound up the rope and did likewise with it.

“So, that’s it, then.”

He looked up to see her watching him.

“I need to get back to my work.”

She nodded. Almost as an afterthought, she added, “Thanks for your help.”

“And thanks for yours,” he answered.

She smiled. He got back into the truck and drove away. As he glanced in the rear-view mirror, he saw her watching him leave.

He drove all the way to the Glen Road Inn. A glance in the courtyard assured him that the wagon was back in its place. He then searched along the tree-line, but could not find either fishing line trail.

Hoping that the worst of the situation had been properly dealt with, he got back in the truck and returned to his regular work.

A few days later in the kitchen at Manor House, Regan noticed a spring in Celia’s step and a smile on her face never quite went away. He sat down for breakfast opposite Tom, whose blank expression told a different story.

“Morning,” Regan greeted, before digging in to the pile of scrambled eggs on his plate.

Tom nodded, but did not speak. He dropped his fork onto a plate that looked untouched.

“Is there a problem?” Regan asked, with a glance at his friend.

“Turns out, there’s a reason why Celia’s been so emotional,” Tom admitted, at last. “We’re having a baby.”

Before Regan could think of anything to say in response, Tom had pushed back from the table and walked off. As the outside door closed behind him, Regan turned to Maggie, who was busy at the stove.

“You knew.”

“Of course,” she answered, with a small smile. “Celia didn’t until last night, but I’ve strongly suspected for more than a week.”

His brow creased as he contemplated this, but then pushed the matter away.

“Is she going to drop the whole ghost thing?” he wondered.

Maggie put a lid over one of her pots and turned to face him. “I think that’s up to you, isn’t it?”

“Me? I haven’t mentioned it in days.”

“But you know all about it, don’t you?”

He shrugged. “I might know a thing or two.”

“You do know that the Belden girl accused a woman who’s staying at the Glen Road Inn, don’t you?”

“She what?” He frowned. “No! She has nothing to do with it.”

“Then, you’d better clear this whole thing up,” Maggie told him.

“The next time Trixie sets foot in my stables, I’ll set her straight,” he promised. “As for Celia… well, I don’t know how to make her believe me. She’s so convinced it’s really a ghost.”

“Tell her the whole story,” Maggie suggested. “And show her some of the evidence.”

He shook his head. “Part of the deal I made to stop this thing meant that the evidence was destroyed. I’ve searched the Preserve to make sure. It’s all gone, as far as I can tell.”

He thought back to the afternoon before, when he had searched around the old barn. While he was there, he had looked inside and found it empty. After that, he had checked the abandoned house, too. The items covering the hole down to the basement weren’t secured. He had dropped down through the hole and climbed the stairs into the house, only to find it unoccupied and nearly bare. Clearly, the woman, whoever she was, had gone.

“Tell her,” Maggie repeated. “It’s the only way.”

He nodded and continued with his meal. Just as he was finishing, the outside door opened again and Tom re-entered. He sank into his former chair and poked at his now-cold food.

“Thanks, Maggie. I’ll be on my way, now.” He rose, nodding to Tom.

“I know about you and Millie Turner,” Tom accused, suddenly.

Regan stopped short. “There’s nothing to know about her and me.”

“I know you’re going to see her tomorrow.”

A slow smile crossed Regan’s face. “She likes horses. There’s nothing else to it.”

The swing-door opened while he was speaking and Celia came in, her smile faltering.

“You’re talking about the ghost again, aren’t you?”

Regan felt a pang of dismay. He had been so sure that the whole matter was over and done with.

“No. We’re talking about a woman called Millie Turner, who’s staying at the Glen Road Inn and is most definitely not connected to the ghost.” He frowned. “Not that there is a ghost.”

“How do you know?” Celia ground out.

He sighed. “If I tell you all about it, will you let the whole thing go? Please?”

Celia considered for a moment, then nodded.

“She was moving her belongings from one place she was living to the next. She didn’t have a car at first, so she was walking through the woods. The trail wasn’t well-marked, so she strung fishing line to help her navigate. I asked her to take it all down and she did. And that’s the whole story. Okay?”

Celia’s eyes narrowed. “What was her name?”

He shrugged. “Dunno. Didn’t ask.”

“You didn’t ask.” She eyed him suspiciously. “Where is she now?”

“I don’t know that, either. She’s moved on since I saw her.”

“And what did she have to do with the car crash?”

Once more, he shrugged. “I didn’t ask that, either. But, I’d guess,” he added quickly, as Celia opened her mouth to object, “that somehow she knew the house-sitter who was in hospital and that she was the one who stole that car and crashed it.”

“She wasn’t a very good driver,” Tom commented, still looking rather dazed.

“But where was she from? And where was she going? And what made her think that stealing a car was a good way to get around?” She did not let him reply. “Let me guess: you didn’t ask!”

“It didn’t seem important at the time,” he answered. “I just wanted to make the Preserve safe for the horses and for the so-called ghost sightings to stop. And both those are done, so I’m happy.”

“Men!” Celia muttered. “I pity the woman you ever marry.”

“I’m not planning on getting married,” he retorted.

“Not even to Millie Turner?” Tom teased, with some of his usual manner returning.

Regan frowned. “Who I just met.”

“And who likes horses,” Tom added.

Regan shook his head. “I’m gonna spend some time now with the horses.”

“You can trust them to keep civil tongues in their heads,” Maggie commented, smiling.

“You got that right,” Regan answered and returned to his own domain.

The End