The Artist by Joanna MacOwl

Author:Joanna MacOwl [MacOwl, Joanna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2013-10-21T21:00:00+00:00

Maddie and Ian met for breakfast at Zaza’s Café the next morning before he opened the bookstore. She was up at five trying to decide how much to tell him, and by the time she sat across from him she was tired of parsing bits of information. She told him almost everything. She left out Ophelia’s sexual appetites and she would wait to tell him about the ghost at the top of the stairs after Layne’s fall. She would fill in the blanks later if he took the rest of it in stride. Researchers like Ian were in the same species as detectives. She needed his expertise. She gave him a linear account of events, starting with the sculpture fiasco and her decision to leave New York. She ended with the crux of the matter that she’d presented to Michael first.

Ian smeared more butter on his waffles, cut them into small squares, and drizzled syrup over the little stacks. He took a bite and looked at her. He washed it down with coffee.

“I know it sounds farfetched, believe me.” She shredded the corners of her napkin. She was asking a writer of non-fiction, a history geek, to join her merry band of ghostbusters. He was still eating. Not talking. She should’ve told him less. They would remember her as the kook from New York. “Look, Ian, I understand if you don’t—”

“No, no, I’m fascinated. We’ve been hearing about your house since we came here.”

Maddie nodded and tried to look calm. Her whole body relaxed.

“I shouldn’t say ‘we.’ I am interested and open to hearing about it.” He smiled and his eyes brightened. “Brad’s not a believer in such things. If you want advice on the money end, he’s your man.”

“Good to know. I’ll call him if and when Ophelia and Catherine leave.”

“In that history book I’m writing I actually have a sub-section on Juniper Knot’s reputation as a ghost mecca. I think certain houses, areas, or towns are hosts for ghosts, not to mention some caves, forests, clearings, and mountaintops.”

“Same with people, in a way. If a place feels like a wrong fit, like something’s off, it could be a metaphysical dissonance.”

“Absolutely.” Ian nodded. “I’m fascinated that these ghosts of yours have names and a blood relation to you and Michael. Where do you want me to start?”

“I need a genealogy on Catherine Flynn if there’s anything out there. I suspect it won’t be your everyday Internet search and she has a pretty common name. I’ll email you what little I have on her.”

“Your grandmother,” he said.

“I want to know if she came from witches.”

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