“Concerned. Here, you do the next one.” She stepped back so Hayley could take over. “And angry, too. Nobody slaps at my boy—except me. And if I get the opportunity, I’ll tell her so, in no uncertain terms. That’
s good,” she said with a nod as Hayley worked. “This kind of hardwood cutting needs a dry rooting medium or you get rot.”
“She may have gotten that sickle and the rope out of the carriage house. I mean all those years ago. Maybe she tried to use them and someone stopped her.”
“There are a lot of maybes, Hayley. Since Beatrice didn’t mention Amelia again in any of her journals, we may never know all of it.”
“And if we don’t we may never get her out. Roz, there are people, paranormal experts, who you can hire to clean houses.” She glanced up, knitted her brows. “I don’t know why you smile at that. It’s not such a strange idea.”
“I just had an image of a bunch of people running around the house armed with buckets and brooms, and that ray gun sort of thing Bill Murray used in Ghostbusters.”
“Proton streams—and I have no idea why I know that. But really, Roz, it’s a fringe science and all that, but there are serious and legitimate studies. Maybe we need outside help.”
“If it comes to that, we’ll see about it.”
“I looked up some sites on the Internet.”
“Hayley.”
“I know, I know, just a contingency.”
They both looked over as the door opened. Mitch came in, and something about the look on his face had Hayley holding her breath.
“I think I found her. How soon can you wrap things up here and come home?”
“An hour,” Roz decided. “But for God’s sake, Mitchell, don’t leave it at that. Who was she?”
“Her name was Amelia Connor. Amelia Ellen Connor, born in Memphis, May 12, 1868. No death certificate on record.”
“How did you—”
“I’ll get into all that at home.” He flashed her a wide grin. “Rally your troops, Rosalind. See you there.”
“Well, for heaven’s sake,” she muttered when he walked out. “Isn’t that just like a man? I’ll finish up here, Hayley. You go tell Harper and Stella to finish up whatever they’re doing. Let me think,” she said as she pressed fingers to her temple. “Stella can get in touch with Logan if she wants him there, and she’ll need to leave Ruby in charge, see that she closes today. Looks like we’re taking off a couple hours early.”
AMELIA ELLEN CONNOR. Hayley closed her eyes and thought the name as she stood just inside the foyer of Harper House. Nothing happened, no ghostly revelations or appearances, no sweep of sudden knowledge. She felt a little foolish because she’d been sure something would happen if she concentrated on the name while standing inside the house.
She tried saying it out loud, quietly, but got the same results. She’d wanted to be found, Hayley thought. She’d wanted to be acknowledged. All right then.
“Amelia Ellen Connor,” she said aloud. “I’m acknowledging you as the mother of Reginald Edward Harper.”
But there was nothing but silence in answer, and the scent of David’s lemon oil and Roz’s summer roses.
Deciding she’d keep the failed experiment to herself, she headed to the library.
Roz and Mitch were already there, with Mitch hammering away at his laptop.
“Says he wants to get some things down while they’re fresh in his mind,” Roz told her with some exasperation whipping around the edges of her voice. “Stella’s in the kitchen with David. Her boys are with their grandparents today. Logan’ll be along when he’s along. I imagine the same goes for Harper.”
“He said he’d come. He just had to finish . . .” She lifted her shoulder. “Whatever.”
“Have a seat.” Roz waved a hand. “Dr. Carnegie seems determined to keep us in suspense.”
“Iced tea and lemon cookies,” David announced and he wheeled in a cart just ahead of Stella. “You cracked him yet?” He nodded toward Mitch.
“No, but it’s not going to take much more to push me to do just that. Mitch!”
“Five minutes.”