Barbara Michaels - The Walker in Shadows

"A big, arrogant guy," Mark continued. "A bully."

"Now, really, Mark," his exasperated mother exclaimed.

"No, look where he wrote his name. Edward's was stuck away in a corner."

"Like he was shy," Kathy contributed, getting into the spirit of the thing.

"Not necessarily." Mark frowned thoughtfully. "He figured like I did-he wanted his name to survive, so he put it in a place where people wouldn't be so apt to notice it. He was more… calculating. Sensible. But Turnbull stood straight up and splashed his name for the world to see-daring them to obliterate it."

"Mark, what are you trying to say?" Pat demanded.

"It's clear enough, I think," Josef replied, before Mark could speak. "Mark thinks he has identified the ghost."

His voice was rich with sarcasm.

"Yes, I do," Mark said defiantly. "It was his room. He probably died in battle, fighting for a losing cause-a cause his cousins despised. Cocky, arrogant, still hating… Peter Turnbull has come back."

For the sake of peace Pat concluded it would be best to separate Josef and Mark for a few hours. She had intended to go to New Market to look for the secondhand bookstore the antique dealer had mentioned, and she managed to persuade Josef to go with her.

It was a gray, cloudy day; the close, muggy air was a foretaste of a Washington summer. Like everything else in her aged Volkswagen, the air-conditioning was functioning erratically. Slumped in the seat beside her, his long legs bent at an uncomfortable angle, Josef was silent for the first few miles. Pat let him sulk.

Finally he sighed deeply and straightened up, with a sudden movement that brought his head into abrupt contact with the roof.

"I'm sorry," Pat said. "This car isn't built for tall people. That's why I bought it; to keep Mark from driving it."

"I should have offered to take my car." Josef rubbed his head and tried to find a place to put his feet. "I was preoccupied. Your son has gotten me to a point where I'm forgetting my manners."

"I guess we'd better have it out," Pat said.

"Wasn't that the purpose of this expedition?"

"Partly. But I really do want to see what we can find in that bookstore."

"You don't mean you really believe all this-this-"

"Well, at least I'm not dismissing it out of hand because of my personal prejudices."

"What prejudices are those?" Josef asked, his voice chill.

"Against Mark. What did you think I meant?" He started to answer, but Pat, aghast at the direction in which they were going, cut him off. She had no more desire than he to go into the other emotional problems that distorted their friendship. "I don't blame you for being skeptical. You can slap Mark down as often as you like when his theories get out of hand; he's young, and he gets carried away. But if you think he's inventing all this in order to-well, to get closer to Kathy-"

" 'Invent' is not the word. I do think he is capitalizing on a most unpleasant situation."

"That's honest." Pat kept her eyes on the road. For a moment they were silent. She could have left it there, and she was tempted to do so. But things rankled in her mind, and she had learned that this was not a healthy situation. "One thing you said," she went on. "About Mark going to the local college-"

"I think I understand that now. I was unjust, and I apologize."

"Schools like that fill a need, and fill it well. Just because a boy or girl goes to a junior college doesn't mean they aren't-"

"I said I was sorry."

"Did you say that to Mark?"

"Damn it, Pat, there is a limit!"

"To what? Justice?" Pat gave him a sidelong look. His profile resembled the stony contours of a Toltec statue- lower lip protruding, brows lowering. "All I'm saying is that Mark is no monster. He isn't trying to-er-"

"Seduce my daughter?" Unexpectedly, Josef's rigid features relaxed. "I'd think he was abnormal if he didn't."

"Then it must be Kathy you don't trust," Pat said.

Immediately she knew she had made a grave misstep. His whole body went rigid.

Oh, damn, Pat thought wretchedly. So that's it. I guess I should have known. Why would a woman leave a man like him-attractive, intelligent, comfortably well off- unless she fell in love with someone else? Well, but there are other reasons, lots of them. He's also arrogant, dogmatic, something of a snob-not easy to live with. Damn, why did I have to say that? Shall I drop the subject, or try to explain?…

"What is it you hope to find in New Market?" Josef asked.

He had raised the No Trespassing sign; and there was no way she could bypass it. Her own position was too vulnerable.

"Nothing in particular," she answered. "I thought we might find some books on local history."

"It's worth a try. I confess I'm becoming curious about the Turnbulls. The people I bought the house from were named Stanton. Does that imply, perhaps, that the Turnbull family died out?"

"Maybe they just sold the house. Or… Wasn't there an older sister? She could have married a man named Stanton."

They continued to speculate-fruitless speculation, since they had so little evidence, but it got them over the bad moment. By the time they reached New Market they were conversing without strain. However, Pat had not forgotten her faux pas.

New Market, advertised as the antiques capital of Maryland, has a single street lined with lovely old houses. The majority of them have been converted into antique shops. Since this particular trade caters to the weekend shopper, the town was crowded, and Pat had to go some distance before she found a parking space. They walked back toward the center of town and the bookstore.

The building was constructed of pale, rough stone. The front door stood open; from the interior came the musty smell of old paper and worn leather bindings.

Josef went immediately to the nearest shelf and began browsing. His absorbed expression told Pat that he belonged to the same breed as Jerry-the book fanatics. Not being of that breed herself, she looked around the dusty room. Shelves lined the walls, stretching all the way to the ceiling. Books filled the shelves and overflowed into untidy heaps on the floor. A desk in the middle of the room was also piled high. The shop was very quiet. A few other browsers stood like statues, pouring over one esoteric volume or another.

Then a head appeared behind the heaped-up desk in the center of the room. Pat stared, amazed, as it rose, and rose, and rose. The man must have been over six and a half feet tall. Drooping white cavalry-style mustache, long white hair, and an old-fashioned string tie and high collar converted him into an image out of the past: a gentleman of the Old South. She was not at all surprised when he addressed her in courtly terms.

"May Ah be of some assistance, ma'am?"

"Uh-thank you. I'm looking for books about the Civil War."

The mustache quivered.

"You refer, ma'am, to the War Between the States?"

Josef, who was behind the irate Confederate, turned to stare. His mouth curved into a grin. Pat resisted the impulse to shake a fist at him.

"Yes," she said meekly.

"Two of the rooms of this h'yere house, ma'am, are filled with volumes on that subject. Mah more rare and expensive volumes repose behind glass on shelves in the regions above stairs. May Ah ask what partic'lar aspect of that epic struggle interests you?"

Josef had abandoned all pretense of interest in his book. Pat felt sure that without his malicious enjoyment of her discomfiture she would never have been able to reply.

" Maryland," she said. "The Poolesville area in particular."

"Not much goin' on there," said the relic of the Old South. "Unless it's Captain 'Lige White…"

"The Turnbulls," Pat said. "And the Bateses. I live in the old Bates house."