Trapped (A Jenny Watkins Mystery Book 5) Read online

  Jessica widened her eyes. “It wasn’t easy, that’s for sure. But it all came together nicely, I think.”

  Jenny walked through the threshold of the bathroom and saw all the modern conveniences, albeit with old-fashioned-looking fixtures. “This is simply incredible,” she declared.

  “Well, I’m glad you like it. This is actually our nicest room. It used to be the master bedroom when the house was first built.”

  A wave struck Jenny, during which time her emotions ran extremely high. Somebody in this house definitely had something to say, but she wasn’t sure whom—or what.

  Keeping that notion to herself, Jenny asked, “Do you mind if we take a tour of the rest of the property? I want to see all of the buildings to see if anything in particular triggers a contact.”

  “That’s fine,” Jessica said. “I’d be glad to show you. We do have other guests, so I won’t be able to let you into every room, but I can certainly show you the empty rooms and walk you around the grounds.”

  As they walked down the hall past several closed doors, Zack posed, “How many bedrooms do you have here?”

  “Seven. And as you might suspect, this was a magnificent house back when it was first built. Houses simply weren’t that big back then.” They approached a door that was slightly ajar, and Jessica let them in. “Here’s our Carriage Room,” she announced.

  Jenny took several steps in and looked around. The room was smaller than hers had been, but it was still exquisitely decorated. She closed her eyes, trying to get a contact, but nothing out of the ordinary struck her.

  They completed the tour of the rest of the house, and then Jessica led them outside for a walk around the property. There were several buildings on the lot, although none of them even came close to the size or elegance of the main house. The first building they entered had been converted to a modest-sized banquet facility. A stage graced the back of the large room while round tables with chairs skirted the edges, leaving an area in the middle open. She presumed that to be a dance floor.

  “Back when the house was built, this was the slaves’ quarters,” Jessica explained. “This whole area had been a tobacco farm—tobacco plants as far as the eye could see—and the plantation owners had numerous slaves to work the farm. Now, obviously, this building serves as our banquet hall. If the weather is nice, most people prefer to have their functions outside, but when Mother Nature doesn’t cooperate, we have this area as a back-up.”

  Jenny smiled as she looked around the room, wondering how many weddings had taken place there. The thought warmed her. Then her mind wandered back a couple of centuries and she considered how many people had been crammed into this single space, calling this tiny area home until they were sold away. The whole concept was unfathomable to her. Owning people? Buying, selling, and trading them? Keeping them in conditions barely worthy of pets? She couldn’t wrap her head around it.

  Perhaps the spirit haunting the main house might actually have been that of a slave, protesting the horrid conditions that he, or she, had been exposed to during this life. Jenny would need to keep that notion in mind.

  Guiding the couple to a third building, Jessica said with a smile, “This building was originally used for storage, and it still is. Back then it housed the tobacco that had been harvested, but now it’s just our shed, essentially.”

  Jenny poked her head into the building and looked around. Nothing remarkable struck her; she simply saw a riding lawn mower, countless tools hanging from the walls, and boxes throughout. She quickly decided this building was not the source of the problem.

  As they headed back to the inn, Zack asked Jessica, “So what is the history of the house itself? Who has owned it?”

  “Well, like I said, it was built in the 1830s, and the original owners were the Davies family. Unfortunately, they died of illness—which was not all that uncommon back then—leaving the house vacant when the Civil War broke out. Considering its size and remote location, the house was regarded as the ideal place to serve as a hospital for Confederate soldiers. While no battles were fought on this particular stretch of land, a lot of the troops who had been wounded in Richmond and areas west ended up here…or at least, those who were well enough to travel. Many couldn’t make it this far…but for those who could, it was a place they could recuperate peacefully, away from the front lines.”

  Jenny’s mind became flooded with thoughts as Zack asked, “Did any of the soldiers die here?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so,” Jessica replied. “Even though these young men weren’t mortally wounded on the battlefield, infection was a real problem back then. And disease. A lot of those boys who survived their original injuries came here only to die from some other cause.”

  And suddenly the suspect pool is huge, Jenny thought.

  “In fact,” Jessica continued, “there’s a cemetery just on the other side of those trees. A lot of soldiers are buried out there.”

  Zack and Jenny glanced at each other. “Do you mind if we take a look at it?” Jenny posed.

  “No, not at all,” Jessica replied as they walked toward the large patch of trees. “Just follow me. Anyway, to answer your question from before, the house became empty again for a while after the war, until the Sheffield family bought it in 1872. It remained in their family for generations before they finally sold it in 1965 to another family, the Lewises. In 1997 the house went up for sale again, but by this time it needed some serious TLC. As you can imagine, a one-hundred-sixty year old house had a lot of things that needed repair and upgrading.

  “And that’s where I come in,” Jessica added with a proud smile. “I was able to get the permits needed to convert the building to an inn. I also got it put on the registry of historical buildings in Virginia, which has really helped get the word out. With its ties to the Civil War, the inn has definitely been an attraction for history buffs. Like I said, I’ve been able to do a respectable business, even with it being out here in the middle of nowhere. But, honestly, I’m afraid that if people find out that it’s potentially haunted, I’m going to be hard-pressed to get anybody to stay here at all.”

  “I would think that some people would actually be interested in staying here because it’s haunted,” Zack noted. “I’m sure there’s a segment of the population who would think that was cool.”

  “I’ve considered that…but I’m afraid of the type of guests who would want to stay at a haunted inn. I certainly don’t need any animal sacrifices on my property, or any other disturbing ritual that might be associated with the occult.”

  While Jenny listened, she noticed some small, white headstones appearing through the trees. As they became closer, the numbers seemed to multiply. By the time they arrived, Jenny was able to see about seventy grave sites.

  “Here it is, obviously,” Jessica said as they arrived.

  Jenny squatted down to look at the writing on the headstone closest to her: Joseph Thatcher, 1841-1861. Jenny lowered her eyes as she realized she’d already outlived this soldier by seven years. It didn’t seem right. Moving on to the next stone, she noticed the age of the victim had been twenty-three. A third headstone caused her to say, “My God. This kid was only seventeen.”

  “I know,” Jessica said. “They were just boys. It’s such a shame.”

  Actively pushing that thought out of her head, Jenny focused on the sensation she was feeling inside—or more accurately, the lack of sensation. Standing back up she announced, “I’m not really getting any more of a contact out here than I did in the house. In fact,” she added, “if anything, it’s less.”

  Jessica gave Jenny a sideways glance before noting, “I’ve never really experienced anything out here, although what goes on in the house is mostly unexplained gusts of wind. If the wind blows out here, that wouldn’t seem out of the ordinary.”

  “Well, I don’t quite feel the same energy out here.”

  “Energy?” Jessica asked.

  Glancing up to look at Jessica, she said, “Yes. Energy. It’s l
ike I was nervous or excited about something in the main house.” She looked back at the stones. “But not here.”

  “Isn’t that normal, though?” Zack asked. “I mean, don’t you usually have the feelings where the people lived—or even died—but not where they were laid to rest?”

  Jenny wrapped her arms around herself as the evening chill set in. “Yes, that’s true. But If I were looking at his tombstone, I would think I’d get some kind of inkling that I was on the right track.”

  Zack turned to Jessica. “Is this everyone who died here? What about the original family? Or the Sheffields? Or even some of the slaves?”

  “The original family is buried in a plot a few miles from here,” Jessica explained. “The same applies to the Sheffields, although it’s a different cemetery. To be honest, I’m not aware of any slave burials on the property.” Her voice became grim. “Unfortunately, I don’t think any records were kept of that kind of thing; the slaves weren’t held in high enough regard for their deaths to be documented.”

  Jenny closed her eyes.

  “How about the soldiers?” Zack continued. “Is it possible that this isn’t everybody?” He gestured toward the patch of headstones. “Could some of the Confederates who died here be buried somewhere else?”

  With wide eyes, Jessica shook her head. “I don’t think so. I imagine they would put all of the deceased in one place.”

  They all exchanged silent glances, deducing nothing. “Well, I know this is shocking,” Jenny began, “but I’m getting chilly. Do you mind if we head back inside?”

  “Of course not,” Jessica said, and the three returned the way they had come.

  Zack touched the television that hung on the wall in the Statesman Room. “This thing looks out of place, don’t you think? They had tube TVs back then, not flat screens.”

  Jenny looked at him, desperately hoping he was joking.

  “Kidding,” he said with feigned defensiveness. “Jeez, I’m not that dense.”

  “You just said it with such conviction,” Jenny replied. “It’s hard to tell if you’re joking sometimes.”

  “That’s part of my comedic genius.” Zack grabbed the remote and flopped onto the bed, propping pillows behind him on the headboard. Crossing his legs, he turned on the television and rested one arm behind his head.

  Seeing him lie there sparked something in Jenny’s mind. A brief image flashed before her eyes, only for a second. The room appeared different, looking more like the Carriage Room she’d seen on her tour. Candles burned in a chandelier from the ceiling, as well as in sticks on the nightstand. A black-haired man was lying in bed, writhing and moaning as if in horrible pain. Almost as soon as the flash appeared, it was gone.

  “Wow,” Jenny declared. “That was disturbing.”

  “What was?”

  Jenny described her vision to Zack, prompting him to ask, “Are we staying in the wrong room? Should we actually be in the Carriage Room?”

  She opened the suitcase and pulled out her pajamas. “It doesn’t seem like it matters. Apparently, I don’t have to be in that very room to get a vision from it.” She slipped out of her clothes.

  “Do you think it was a soldier?”

  Jenny shook her head. “I can’t say. The image was too fleeting.”

  “Well, hopefully there will be more visions to come.”

  Comfortable in her pajamas, Jenny climbed into bed next to Zack, feeling his warmth, looking at the fire that burned behind the glass. “I have to admit, this is really nice, despite the fact that we’re here on business.”

  “It is nice,” Zack agreed, “but I’m having a difficult time relaxing. I can’t help but feel that any minute some crazed ghost carrying an axe is going to jump out and cut our heads off.”

  “Ghosts can’t carry axes.”

  “They can in my mind,” Zack said, “and that’s all that matters.” He rolled over onto his side to face Jenny. “You know what I want you to do? I want you to remind me of this when our son is a toddler and claims to be afraid of the boogey man in the closet. Even though you and I know there isn’t anything in his closet, if he believes it, then it’s real to him. I don’t just want to dismiss it and tell him he’s being silly. He’s going to be genuinely scared, and I want to take it seriously.”

  Jenny smiled warmly. “Sure thing. When she cries because she’s scared, I’ll remind you of this.”

  Flipping onto his back, Zack said, “Do you know what this whole thing reminds me of? Scooby Doo. I seriously feel like we should have shown up in a psychedelic van with a talking dog.”

  “You think?”

  “It especially became true when Jessica started alluding to the fact that this ghost could ruin her business.” He got an evil grin on his face. “I almost said Zoinks when we first saw the cemetery, but somehow I didn’t think Jessica would find that very funny.”

  “Probably not.” Jenny’s smile rivaled Zack’s. “I do have to admit that you look a lot like Shaggy.”

  “You know what? I do.” He seemed to contemplate that for a moment. “But you don’t look like either Daphne or Thelma.” He held up his hand. “Now don’t be threatened by this, but I had a huge crush on Daphne when I was little. She was pretty hot.”

  “Well if I remember correctly, Fred was pretty strapping himself.”

  At that moment a gust of wind rushed through the room, causing the curtains to move and the flames in the fireplace to flicker.

  “Holy shit,” Zack said sitting up. “Did you feel that?”

  “Feel it?” Jenny replied. “I did more than feel it.”

  Zack’s eyes widened. “What does that mean?”

  “I heard it.” She sat up to look squarely at Zack. “As the wind blew by, I heard a name spoken in a whisper.”

  “What did it say?”

  Jenny tucked her hair behind her ear. “It simply said, ‘Andrew.’”

  Chapter 2

  Zack hopped out of bed in a single motion. “Holy mother of God,” he proclaimed. “I’m completely freaked out about this.”

  “It’s okay; it’s gone,” Jenny said calmly.

  “How do you know?”

  “The wave is over,” she explained. “It was just a short one.”

  After taking a few breaths, Zack seemed to calm down.

  “If it makes you feel any better, the voice didn’t sound angry…or hateful…and I don’t think we’re in any danger.” She paused for a moment before noting, “Maybe all of these wind gusts have just been him trying to communicate, but so far no one’s been able to hear him.”

  “I guess,” Zack conceded, sitting back down on the bed. He scratched his head as he added, “So all he said was ‘Andrew?’”

  “Yup. That was it,” Jenny replied. “Did you happen to notice any Andrews on the headstones outside?”

  “No, but I wasn’t particularly looking for one, either. We’ll have to go back out in the morning and see if we can find any.”

  “Andrew,” Jenny muttered. “Somehow I think that was a pretty popular name back then. We might find more than one.”

  Zack shrugged. “At least it will give us a start.”

  “True.”

  “Hey, do you think we should go tell Jessica about this?”

  Jenny glanced at the clock; it was nearly eleven. “Maybe we should wait until the morning. It’s late, and I’m not sure if she’s the one who’s up with the birds making breakfast.”

  Leaning back in the bed, Zack let out a deep exhale. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to sleep tonight after that.”

  Jenny laughed. “The funny thing is that I’m used to it by now. This contact was only different because it had wind associated with it, but other than that it’s the same stuff I’ve been dealing with for months now. And nobody got shot or beaten up or choked or drowned in this contact…it was actually quite lovely as far as visions go.”

  “Well, I’m new at this, and—lovely or not—it scared the crap out of me.”

  Pa
tting Zack’s arm, she noted, “Hopefully we’ll be able to figure out who this Andrew guy is tomorrow, we can do a little research on him, and maybe we can see what he wants. With any luck, tomorrow at this time Andrew will be a thing of the past.”

  “Here’s one,” Zack said, pointing to a headstone. “Andrew McDermott.”

  Jenny walked over to where he was standing. “It looks like he was twenty-four when he died.” She shook her head. “He was older than a lot of these other guys, but still very young.” She wrote his name and the years of his birth and death on a notepad, and they continued to read the other stones.

  They were able to find one other possibility, Andrew Owens, who was twenty-two when the war claimed him. No other soldiers shared the same name.

  As they walked back toward the main house, Jenny posed, “How much do you know about the Civil War?”

  “Not as much as I should if I’m going to call myself an American,” Zack confessed.

  “Me neither. I mean, I learned briefly about it in school, but I know painfully little about specific battles and when they took place.”

  “It looks like research time, doesn’t it?”

  “Yup. Sure does.” Jenny looked at her notes. “McDermott died in 1865, and Owens in 1862. I guess there were local battles around that time?”

  Zack shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  As they headed back to the house, they encountered an older couple walking arm-in-arm out toward the graveyard. The white-haired man used a walking stick and wore a flannel shirt; the woman was in jeans and a sweater and seemed to be relying on the man for stability as they trudged through the grounds.

  “Excuse me,” Zack said to them, catching Jenny by surprise.

  The woman flashed a friendly smile. “Yes?”

  “Y’all wouldn’t happen to be history buffs, would you?”

  Jenny admired Zack’s ability to approach total strangers and strike up a conversation, although she found his sudden use of the word y’all to be a bit curious.