The Mystery Writer
A writer meets an interesting woman
Despite the cold night I slept with the window open. It was too tempting to fall asleep to the sound of the water.
Though now that I’d shrugged off the two quilts I was under that decision didn’t seem so smart and now I was forced to close it.
The small room was cold. Mostly because of my preference for the sound of the surf at night, but also I knew Mary lowered the heat in the building to try and keep the costs down.
The spartanly furnished room had all I needed, a bed, and a desk. The furniture was old but beautiful. Made by hand by Mary’s father, a carpenter of local renown.
And of course, the window. The window sat perfectly over the desk in such a way that it would add the perfect ambience to a lazy day of writing. It had everything, a little bit of forest, a little slice of beach, and the water lapping gently at the shore.
But the writing could wait, I had to get up and move around a little before praying to the typewriter gods.
I gathered my things, a leather bound notebook, some pens, my computer, and a jacket, and piled it into a leather knapsack that had been my constant companion throughout my career.
The stairs creaked as I made my way down them on my way to the little cafe attached to the Inn. Besides a place to sleep, the cafe also had the best food on the little island. Mary’s mother owned the Inn originally, but Mary opened the cafe to try to expand the business as it got harder to compete with the bigger hotels.
A small, nearly white haired woman came around the corner as I nestled into a corner table.
“Sleep well?” Mary asked.
“Always.”
“Would you like anything for breakfast?” she asked.
“Just coffee please.”
“You sure? How about some toast at least. I just got some good stuff from the Farmer’s Market.”
“Well, if you insist.”
She came back with toast made from bread she’d baked that morning and a generous helping of apple butter. I thanked her and asked, “When’s Lawrence coming back?”
“Oh he’ll still be gone at least a week.”
Lawrence went deer hunting in the UP every year. Since tourist season was over Mary could easily handle the few patrons at the cafe.
“Do you need any help today?” Mary and Lawrence let me stay as a long term guest. I got a cheap place to live in summer, and they got a tenant in the fall and winter when they weren’t any guests at all. I also helped out with some odd jobs here and there.
“Oh no dear,” she said, “There’s a couple things to do but I’ll take care of it. During the slow season it’s hard to keep busy.”
I munched on toast while reading the local paper. There wasn’t much news on this little island, especially at this time of year, but it was still nice to see what was going on. I’ve always been a fan of small towns. Most of my writer friends flocked to the big cities in search of stories, but I’ve found my share of interesting characters in the little little hamlets that dot the Midwest. I took my plate to the kitchen where I found Mary prepping for dinner.
“I’m going for a walk. Can I leave my stuff at the table?”
“Yeah. I’ll have to give up your spot if there’s a rush though,” she said laughing.
“Expecting a big lunch crowd?”
“Oh ya, maybe two or three if we’re lucky. Have fun dear. And take a jacket. It’s cold out there,” her northern Michigan accent making the last word sound closer to “dare” than there.
“Way ahead of you,” I said, holding the jacket.
She was right though. It was chilly. That late Autumn sneaky kind of cold. But it was pleasant in its own way. The grass turned brown, the sky was gray, and the trees were all bare. Not to mention the wind coming off the water had a bite to it.
But it felt good. I’ll never be able to explain my love for this time of year. Maybe it’s because I’m a writer. It’s perfect writing weather. It’s the kind of weather where you want to be hunkered down next to a fire working on a story. It helped that it had a gothic ambiance I try to capture in my books.
I wandered around the streets, waved to a couple people on bicycles. I walked down by the beach for a minute before the wind drove me away from the shore.
Finally, I headed back to the Inn where I found a concerned looking Mary.
“Oh Jack,” she said, “We’re out of a couple things. I’ve got to make a run to the store. Would you mind watching things around here? I don’t expect many people but there’s a fire going in the fireplace and I didn’t want to put it out.”
“Of course. Take your time.”
“Thank you. Help yourself to anything. There’s fresh coffee and I just made some pumpkin bread.”
“Then you can definitely take your time.”
Mary left and I had the place to myself.
While I wished for more business for Mary, the abandoned cafe made the perfect writing place. The fire crackled and I sat at the corner table with a notebook and pen writing a new scene. Of course the pumpkin bread with a generous spread of maple butter helped greatly.
I was roused from my work when the bell over the door jingled. I got up expecting to see Mary, but it was a young woman.
“Hello,” she said looking a bit confused.
“Can I get you something?”
“I thought this was Mary’s place. Am I in the wrong spot?” she asked.
“No, no I’m just watching things until the owner gets back. Are you hungry or do you need a room?”
“Well I guess the room can wait. I really wanted to see Mary. Could I get some coffee?”
“Sure,” I said, pouring a cup.
She took her coat off and sat down at one of the tables.
“Do you work here?”
“No, I live upstairs actually.”
“You live in a hotel?”
“Yeah. When I first got here I stayed here until I could find a more permanent spot, but Mary and Lawrence never kicked me out. I think they like having someone around in the winter.”
“Oh I’m sure they do.”
“So you know Mary?”
“I do. I grew up here.”
“Oh wow. That must have been fun.”
“Yeah, for the most part. What do you do…?”
“Oh sorry, I’m Jack.”
“Beth.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise. So what are you doing in a place like this? You don’t look like you’re from around here.”
“Should I take that personally?”
“That depends.”
“So what brings you up here?”
“I had some time off work and wanted to do a little traveling.”
“What kind of work?”
“Oh you know regular stuff. Some office work. Things like that. What do you do?”
“I’m a writer.”
“Anything I’ve heard of?”
“I doubt it.”
“You never know. I’ve got a lot of free time.”
“I write a lot of mysteries.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Ever solved any?”
“Couple. But mostly just fictional ones.”
“So what do you write? Books? Articles? Let me guess poetry, right?”
“Haha I’ve written poetry but it was so bad the pen went on strike after.”
“Is that what you were working on when I came in?”
“Oh no. I was working on a new book.”
“New book? So there are other books?”
“Yes.”
“And these books, might I have come across them in a bookstore?”
“Possibly.”
“You’re really going to make me work for this aren’t you?”
“I mean there aren’t many people to talk to around here. I’ve got to make it as interesting as possible.”
“You think I need help being interesting?” she asked, smirking.
“I doubt you need help with anything.”
“Oh good answer,” she said. “Now tell me writer boy,” she rested her chin on her hands “Name a book.”
I named one for her. I also felt it getting colder. I checked the fire but it was still going strong.
She perked up, “I’ve heard of that one.”
“Oh really?”
“Oh really? Oh really. Hi I’m Jack. You mean Jackson Gray.”
“I’m aware what my full name is.”
“You’re like a big shot.”
“Hardly.”
“Are you kidding? You wrote Michigan Winter, Motown Crown, not to mention North Country. That was one of the best books I’ve ever read, very Daniel Woodrell-ish.”
“Oh now you’re just being silly.”
“Please. If I knew a big shot was hiding out up here. I might have come back a lot sooner.”
“Oh really why?”
“I’ll let your imagination handle that one,” she said, winking.
I nearly gulped. Now the room was suddenly getting hotter.
“What are you doing up here?” she asked.
“Looking for stories. For mysteries.”
“Well I got a mystery I’d let you investigate.”
I was sitting there trying to figure out if that was innuendo or not when Mary came through the door.
“Thanks for watching the store Jack,” she said, “Oh who’s this?” she asked when she noticed the woman sitting across the table.
“Oh my god, Elizabeth” Mary dropped the bags. Several jars smashed on the floor.
She looked back at me, “Told you I had a mystery.”
Then it clicked. Mary had a daughter named Elizabeth. The only problem was they found Elizabeth’s body in Lake Michigan three years ago when she drowned in a boating accident.
“I’ve always wanted to write a ghost story,” was all I could say.
A minute later, I came back downstairs after taking Mary to one of the rooms.
“Is she okay?” Beth asked.
“She’s fine,” I said, “She’s resting.”
“I didn’t mean to scare her that bad.”
“Well she thought you were dead.”
“I am dead.”
“You know what I meant.”
“I just thought no matter what she’d freak out, so I thought it was best to just get it over with.”
“Why did you wait so long?”
“Well it took a while to stay like this.”
“What do you mean?”
“For the whole first year I barely existed. I would just appear randomly. I couldn’t control it at all. I must haven’t scared at least a hundred people half to death.”
“Interesting.”
“I couldn’t see my mother like that. I didn’t want her thinking I was haunting her. Took forever to stay like this. Took even longer to be able to interact with the world. Now for the most part I can pass for a normal person.”
“How’d you learn?”
“Have you seen the movie Ghost?”
“Seriously?”
“No,” she laughed, “Trial and error mostly.”
“Is that how you were able to hold the coffee cup and move the chair?”
“Yeah.”
“How did you drink the coffee?”
“I didn’t. I just pretended. I can’t really eat anything. It just falls away. Which is fine, I can’t taste it anyway.”
“Bummer.”
“Right?”
She looked at me for a second.
“You’re taking this awfully well.”
“I’m a writer. I deal with weird stuff all the time.”
“There’s a difference between writing about a ghost and seeing one.”
“Well you’re the expert.”
Her eyes narrowed, “I’m not the first one you’ve seen am I?”
“No just the prettiest.”
“Awwww, if I could blush I would. So I’m not your first?”
“First what?”
“First ghost.”
“No. I saw one once when I was younger.”
“Do tell,” she said leaning forward in the seat.
“I was still in high school. My brother and I were exploring an old barn near our family’s cabin. It was way out in the woods on this abandoned farm. I saw a woman in the barn. It was so strange. She was just staring at me.”
“Hmmmm.”
“She wasn’t like you.”
“Not as pretty?”
“Well no,” I said, “But, like she couldn’t talk. She walked a little. And she was transparent. You’d never mistake her for a real person.”
“Did you mistake me for a living person?”
“Obviously. I made coffee for a ghost. Though I did notice that the temperature dropped. I thought it was a draft.”
“No it was me. That’s something I can’t get rid of. It used to be a lot worse. I talked to one guy for an afternoon and he was shivering by the end.”
“Haha, didn’t want to end the conversation did he?”
“Nope he was willing to brave hypothermia apparently.”
“I don’t blame him.”
“That was good.”
“Thank you.”
“You are remarkably smooth when speaking to the paranormal.”
“Perhaps I’m just smooth in general, you’d never know.”
“Wouldn’t I? Maybe I’ve been keeping tabs on you.”
“Oh you were spying on me?”
“Perhaps.”
“In that case you’re welcome.”
“Oh Jesus, you’re impossible,” she said laughing. It was a nice laugh but hollow sounding, the laugh of someone that couldn’t experience joy anymore and was doing her best to fake it.
“How long have you known my parents?” she asked.
“Two years. Everything was booked when I traveled here. They had the only open room on the island. And I just kind of never left. They seemed happy for the company.”
“I’m sure. They haven’t been too sad?”
“They were still pretty down when I got here, which is understandable. But they’ve been getting better. They both work a lot. Too much really.”
“God, they should be relaxing. I guess they don’t have a choice with how slow everything is.”
“They work to keep busy. The Inn doesn’t need money.”
“Oh really?” she said looking around the empty cafe.
“Can you keep a secret?”
“You mean other than being a ghost?”
“Yeah dumb question I guess.”
“Everyone’s allowed one occasionally.”
“Last year they were about to lose the place. Your parents wouldn’t take any money from me.”
“Sounds like them.”
“So they became the recipients of the Northern Michigan Small Business Hotel and Hospitality Grant.”
“Ahhh and does this association really exist?”
“It does. He’s sitting right across from you.”
“Oh now that’s clever.”
“Though I think they caught on. That’s why I get free food. We keep the charade going.”
“I’m sure they’re thankful.”
“Well I get to eat my weight in baked goods so I call it even.”
“Good. I’m glad to know they’re taken care of. It makes it easier.”
“I’m sure seeing you will help.”
“It might but I might just make things worse. I’m stuck like this. They’ll get older and move on knowing their daughter is stuck here. No family. No kids. Just a whisper in the wind.”
“Is there anything we can do?”
“From what I can tell. Spirits tend to linger if something happened to them when they died. There’s something keeping me here.”
“As in?”
“I’m pretty sure someone killed me.”
“Pretty sure?”
“That’s the thing. I remember most of my life, but the last few days are pretty blurry. Almost everything else came back, but I don’t remember anything about how it happened. I just remember the water.”
“That makes sense. They found you in Lake Michigan.”
“Did they ever say how I got there?”
“No. Your parents said there was an investigation but there was no evidence and nothing to go on so it never went anywhere. But-”
“But what?”
“The rumor was your boyfriend had something to do with it.”
“Oh my god Kyle.”
“Yeah.”
“Is he still here?”
“No. He left the island. He was shunned by everyone. They all assumed he had something to do with it.”
“I haven’t been able to find him.”
“You can find people?”
“I can sense their energy. Like I was able to find my parents. But Kyle’s presence was different. I couldn’t remember his name until you said something.”
“That’s probably a sign.”
“Maybe.”
“Your parents didn’t like him.”
“I know that’s why they always kept a room open here for me.”
Then it dawned on me, “The room I’m staying in. It was still open even in Summer.”
“Bingo.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No worries.”
I got my notebook out. “So what do you remember about the day?”
“Not much,” she looked at the notebook, “You’re going to play detective now?”
“I do write mysteries for a living.”
“But have you solved one?”
“One. Remember the ghost I mentioned.”
“Yes.”
“I did some digging later when I got older and first started writing. I put enough together that I wrote an article saying that her husband killed her. It must have helped because I’ve gone back to the barn and she’s no longer there. That article eventually became my first book.”
“Michigan Winter. It did sound awfully real when I read it. So you think you can do it again?” she said getting up.
“I can try.”
“I’m going to need more than that.”
“I’ll figure it out. I’ll do it for Lawrence and Mary.”
“But not for me?”
“I hardly know you,” I said smiling.
“I know but I’m very pretty. It usually makes guys do things for me,” she said comically, fluttering her eyelashes.
“Yes but they usually have something else in mind. I don’t think that’s an option for ghosts,” I said.
“I know,” she said “But you’d be surprised what I can still do.”
She kissed me on the cheek. It was like the winter wind brushing against my face.
“Where do we start?” she asked.
“Your boyfriend’s house. That’s where you were living right?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s go.”
We walked the half mile to her old house. The fog was coming in off the lake enveloping the small island. It added an additional spooky element to our travel. That and my ghost companion.
We made it to her old house. It was a nice sized old Victorian home down the road from any of the others.
“I haven’t seen this in so long.”
“No one comes here anymore. They were never able to sell the house.”
“I know how I’m getting in but what about you?”
“Easy,” I said, giving the door a hard shove with my shoulder. It was so old that the wood gave way around the lock.
“I’m not gonna lie that was kinda hot.”
“Whatever floats your boat.”
“That’s really not nice to say to someone who drowned.”
“Sorry.”
“Relax if you don’t have a sense of humor about it you’ll go crazy.”
“How do I know you’re not already crazy?”
“You’re the one talking to a ghost. You could be the one going crazy.”
“Fair enough.”
We walked through the old house. Everything was covered in three years’ worth of dust.
“Your parents took most of your stuff to their house,” I said.
“I’m not really looking for my stuff. I’m just trying to remember.”
She was looking at an old picture when we heard the stairs creak.
“Oh my god,” I said.
“What?” she asked.
“Beth, you’re not the only ghost on this island.”
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🐸 sorry didn’t the frog lol
I'd love to see ghosts if they fixed themselves up a bit. You know, not scary. Maybe did something with their hair. Wore something other than transparent white. Yeah, I like that idea.