Little Secrets Read online

  Peg didn’t have an answer for that, at least not one that came out of her mouth. Ginny’s sister’s thoughts rolled over her face in a series of twitches and glances that required a lifetime of interpretation to understand. Fortunately, Ginny’d known her sister for her entire life. Peg didn’t believe Sean was trying to drive Ginny crazy, but she didn’t quite believe Ginny’s stories, either.

  Ginny frowned and got up to dump her cooling cocoa in the sink. “I don’t care if you believe me or not. I’m telling you, weird things are going on in this house.”

  “Maybe you should have Father Simon come over.”

  Ginny turned, brows raised. “What? Why… Oh, Peg. Really? Look, I know you’re trying to get me back into the fold and all that, but this is a really crappy way of doing it.”

  Peg had the grace to look guilty, but then defiant. “It wouldn’t kill you to get a little religion.”

  “I don’t go to church. Period. Why on earth would Father Simon come over to investigate my missing mug?”

  “He’d just come over to talk to you, that’s all. If you and Sean are having issues…”

  “I’m not taking marital advice from a man who’s not only not married, but will never be married and in fact has never, in all likelihood, ever even had sex,” Ginny added. “And besides that, it’s not his business if Sean and I are having problems. I didn’t say we were having problems!”

  She rinsed her mug and put it in the dishwasher, refusing to look at Peg. Her sister’s mug scraped on the table. Then her chair skidded on the floor.

  “It was just a suggestion,” Peg said.

  Ginny turned, not wanting to fight with her sister. “I know.”

  “I’m not saying you’re having problems. Just that it wouldn’t be a surprise if you were. I mean, this is a stressful time. A move, new house, you’re not working. The baby,” Peg said quietly. “I wouldn’t be surprised at all if it was affecting your sleep or making you susceptible to strange ideas.”

  “Did Sean tell you that? That I haven’t been sleeping?”

  Peg looked caught. “He said he was worried.”

  “I’m fine. And it’s not my lack of sleep, I’m not imagining these things, and we aren’t having any problems.” Ginny scowled. “I can’t believe you’re going to believe him over me anyway.”

  “Because you think he’s gaslighting you? Oh, Ginny. Really? Sean?”

  Ginny stabbed a finger in the air. “I don’t want to believe it, no! But knowing he went and talked to you behind my back about how crazy I am only makes that seem more likely, doesn’t it?”

  “I’d believe in a ghost before I’d believe your husband was trying to drive you crazy.”

  “Aha!” Ginny cried triumphantly. “Yes! You see what I’m talking about?”

  “I’d also believe you were crazy before I believed you had a ghost.” Peg smirked and took her cup to the dishwasher. She studied her sister up close, seriously. “Talk to Father Simon, Ginny. Do it as a favor to me.”

  “Do me a favor and stop trying to foist him on me.”

  Peg sighed and closed the dishwasher. “Fine, fine. Whatever. But don’t ask me to do that devil board with you, and get rid of it. Don’t have it in your house. Even if you think it can’t do anything bad, it’s a bad influence. And don’t do it by yourself!”

  “Oh, like in Witchboard?” Ginny hadn’t thought about that, she’d been focused on the idea that two people were required to use it.

  “I don’t know what that is, but it sounds bad. Promise me you won’t use it alone. That’s how the demonic influences get inside you. Promise me!”

  Peg seemed so serious that Ginny nodded. “I promise. Of course. Fine. I’ll toss it in the trash as soon as you leave. I promise, Peg.”

  Peg eyed her suspiciously, but then nodded. “Good. Call me later, okay?”

  “Fine. Yes.” Ginny ushered her sister to the door, accepted her hugs and more advice, because that was what her sister did. But when the door closed, she didn’t call her sister’s priest to come over for dinner, and she didn’t dump the Ouija board in the garbage either.

  It wasn’t the first time she’d broken a promise.

  Chapter Thirty

  Candles were supposed to be romantic, Ginny thought. But when the power went out and your husband had misplaced the rechargeable flashlight and blamed you for it, candlelight was only annoying. In the kitchen she’d lit a series of tea lights in every single holder she could find. In the living room she’d lit a couple of jar candles, and in the dining room, collected in the center of the old, scarred table on a porcelain platter, she’d lit three huge pillar candles. The scents—pine needles, vanilla, cinnamon and something called Misty Memories—warred with one another. With her stomach too.

  The light was pretty, golden and flickering over the old, polished wood. It hid all the flaws in the plaster, the dust in the grooves of the carved wood. It made shadows, though. Moving, deceitful shadows.

  Ginny looked at the board in front of her. She should put it away, get in the car and go anywhere until the power came back on. But she didn’t have the strength to face the Christmas mall crowds, frenzied by all the sales. She wasn’t hungry and didn’t want to sit by herself in a restaurant. And coffee shops had soured for her. Besides, Sean would be home in an hour or two and by then she’d be ready to eat. He could take her out to dinner if the electricity wasn’t back on. Buy her a new rechargeable flashlight. Hell, a generator, if this was the sort of thing that was going to keep happening.

  For now, she studied the board in front of her. Her fingers curled and pressed the cool plastic. She closed her eyes and drew a breath, anticipation tingling in her fingertips as she waited for the planchette to move.

  Nothing.

  Maybe she had to say something. Some sort of greeting? “Hello.”

  Still nothing. She inched her fingers toward her and the planchette moved easily enough on the little felt pads at the ends of its legs. No friction or resistance. Ginny moved it around in a circle, then a figure eight, but she could tell it was her making it go. Not spiritual forces.

  “Is there…anyone here?”

  For a second it seemed like the planchette twitched, but as she waited, breathless, nothing else happened. With a frown, Ginny sat back and stared at it. In the flickering light, the shadows beneath the planchette made it look like it was wiggling, just a little, but when she touched it, she could feel nothing.

  She tried again, letting her fingertips rest so lightly on the plastic she was almost not touching it at all.

  “Caroline? Caroline Miller. I’m talking to you.” Ginny hadn’t meant to let her voice drop so low and growly, but speaking at full volume seemed silly. She took a breath and held it for a second before letting it seep out through her nostrils. The smells of the melting wax made her want to sneeze.

  The Ouija board did nothing. Frustrated, Ginny thumped her fist on the table. The planchette jumped and skewed a little, the pointer facing her.

  “C’mon. I know there’s someone here. I know you’re in this house. Caroline,” Ginny said. “I have your suitcase. With your things in it. With your diary. I haven’t read it yet, out of respect, but maybe…maybe you want me to read it? Why did you put those things up there in the closet? Why didn’t you want anyone to find them?”

  That was a dumb question, she realized. Of course Caroline wouldn’t want anyone to find her box of secrets. Ginny wouldn’t have wanted anyone reading her diary when she was thirteen or fourteen either. She thought of her own little secrets. She wouldn’t want anyone knowing of them now, though hers had been much more easily hidden and erased.

  But not forgotten.

  “Do you want me to read this journal?” Ginny put her fingertips back on the planchette. “Will it tell me what happened to you?”

  The candles flickered as though someone had blown a b