Across the East River Bridge by McMurray Kate

Author:McMurray, Kate [McMurray, Kate]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, azw3, epub
Tags: LGBT Paranormal Suspense
Publisher: Loose Id LLC
Published: 2011-10-03T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

“This is nuts,” Finn said from behind Troy as they walked from the subway. “What the hell neighborhood is this, anyway?”

“Don’t worry, we’re still in Brooklyn. Welcome to Victorian Flatbush. Although, if anyone asks, this is Ditmas Park and before you tell me it’s a shithole neighborhood, may I point out that the houses lining the sidewalks here are multimillion-dollar homes.”

Troy loved this neighborhood. As he and Finn walked along Albemarle Road, he looked at the old Tudor-style houses. While in grad school, he’d held down a job as a guide for the Victorian Flatbush House Tours, so he knew a lot about who had lived in which houses, when they had been constructed, and what the architectural details meant. Most of the homes had been built in the 1890s and were beautifully maintained. Troy always thought walking through this part of Brooklyn was a little like taking a trip back in time.

“It almost doesn’t look like Brooklyn,” Finn said.

They were on their way to speak with an honest-to-God spiritualist, a woman Troy had found through a group of Civil War reenactors he knew. She billed herself as being a spiritualist of the Victorian mold, and made money conducting séances and speaking to the dead. Finn had argued, but Troy thought it was worth it to speak to the woman and see if she could offer any guidance. Maybe she was a fraud, but Troy figured it was no skin off his nose. She was seeing them as a favor. He figured it would be an interesting experience at least.

Besides, now that he knew ghosts were real, all sorts of things that had once seemed ridiculous now seemed possible.

He pulled from his pocket the piece of paper on which he’d written Maura Higham’s address. He found the house easily enough. Finn still trailed behind, his head down as if he were lost in his own thoughts. It occurred to Troy that this was maybe how he liked Finn best, when he was quiet and thoughtful and not so angry, when he was working out some puzzle in his head. Not that he didn’t enjoy a good verbal spar, just that the anger was getting tiring

Finn followed Troy up the stoop to the front door. Troy hit the buzzer. They were greeted by a slight woman in her fifties who looked to Troy a little like a cartoon witch.

“Ms. Higham?” Troy said.

“Yes.”

“I’m Troy Rafferty, and this is Christopher Finnegan. I called about the ghosts at the Brill House?”

“Yes, of course. Come in. And call me Maura.”

Maura led them to a parlor that looked like it had fallen right out of the mid-nineteenth century. She invited Troy and Finn to sit on a grandiose sofa upholstered in shiny blue brocade. When everyone was settled into a comfortable seat with a cup of tea, Maura said, “Now tell me about your ghosts.”

Troy explained about the cold spots in the Brill House. Finn interrupted to quietly recount his occasional brief bouts of nausea. Troy jumped back in and explained about books flying off shelves.

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