PREVIOUSLY:

After Emma's departure, Mia slowly pivoted, looking into each corner of the room, except for the one where the old lady waited. Grasping a worn rosary, she crawled beneath the comforter, pulled it up to her chin and fell asleep.

The woman holding vigil in the corner moved to the side of the bed and surveyed the tiny woman with delicate features and auburn hair that spilled across her pillow.

A second figure, even less substantial than herself, hovered at the foot of the bed. She's so frail, Margaret. How will she ever defeat Charles? His powers grow with the Brotherhood's assistance.

Margaret's figure shimmered, casting a light across the bedclothes. She's not the only one with The Gift, Catherine. There's another. Our efforts combined will send Charles Bellingham to hell once and forever.  

**********

Luke went in search of the Tipsy Butler's chef/owner, Bernadette. Following the scent of orange and spice, he found the Innkeeper standing in front of her industrial-grade stove, stirring a copper pot. The kitchen was an attractive blend of cherry wood cabinets, granite counter tops and decorative tiles reflecting a New England aesthetic. Recessed lighting beneath the cabinets supplemented the natural light streaming through a bank of windows along the room's west wall.

“Sweet. This is the kind of kitchen I want someday.”

Bernadette set her wooden spoon atop a ceramic holder and faced Luke. “I admit it's a wonderful space,” she said. “It took a few years to get just right, but the effort and expense were worth it. It's my favorite place to spend a cold, winter day.”

“I can see why. It's an awesome combination of function and beauty.”

“That's a wonderful description, Luke. I wonder if you'd mind posting that to our website?” Gesturing toward the adjacent seating area, she continued. “Providing you enjoy tomorrow morning's breakfast, that is.”

“Can't imagine I won't. I checked out your website and everyone agrees The Tipsy Butler has the best B&B breakfasts in the state of Maine.”

“Our guests are like family. I love enhancing their travel experience in my own small way.” Bernadette returned to stirring her pot. Luke surmised the movement was a way of deflecting his flattery.

“My normal routine is to prepare breakfast from scratch, but I'm trying a new recipe tomorrow -- orange creamsicle panna cotta. I don't want it to be a flop, so I'm making a practice batch.”

“I'd be glad to give you my opinion,” Luke's wide smile revealed a perfect row of white teeth. “My parents have been taking me to gourmet restaurants all my life. In fact, I came down here to pick your brain.”

“How so?”

“I'm determined to find the finest lobster roll in all of New England. If the ingredients of that pot taste as good as they smell, I'm certain I've come to the right source.”

Bernadette waved him forward. “You've got a deal. I adore a good lobster roll, and there's a local restaurant serving one that deserves to be at the top of everyone's list.”

***

Emma debated whether to lock the door of the room she shared with Mia. Part of her wanted to be sure her friend would remain undisturbed, but since the Team would be away for several hours, an unlocked door would allow the owners to gain quick access if necessary. Given Mia's propensity for attracting vampiric spirits seeking to drain her energy for their own purposes, Emma felt her concern was warranted.

Mia's capable of taking care of herself. I'm becoming as over-protective as Mike.

She shook off her anxiety, secured the door and headed downstairs where she met Luke as he was coming out of the kitchen.

“Have you seen Mike?”

“No. I've been helping Bernadette fine-tune the recipe for tomorrow's breakfast.” He waved a piece of paper in front of her face. “Plus, I got the low-down on promising local restaurants.”

Emma's reply held a stern edge. “Try to remember we're here because Mia received a concussion during a fall and not because of the food, Luke?”

Luke shoved the list into his jean's pocket. “Sorry. I sound like a selfish jerk, don't I?

“You need to slow down and think before you speak, Luke. Because, yes, you sound like a selfish jerk sometimes.”

“I do care, y'know? How's Mia doing?”

"She fell asleep pretty much as soon as her head hit the pillow. I don't know how she does it. Attacked by a demonic spirit in the morning and lights out just hours later.”

“She's amazing, but not superhuman.” Emma turned to where Mike spoke from the doorway of a small alcove. “How much danger are we putting her in by allowing her to continue with the investigation?”

“That's a question we need to consider,” Emma said. She grabbed Luke's arm, then Mike's, guiding both of them into the room off the foyer. Once they were all seated, she laid out the situation.

"Here's how I see it.” Her eyes darted from one man to the other. “Mia needs to express her abilities just as an artist needs to paint. Exercising her talent makes her whole.”

"She's been through enough today, Emma.” Mike protested. “And she doesn't always admit there are limits to what she can, or should do, in these situations. We all know she has a savior complex. Most of the time, it makes her extraordinarily compassionate. We, as her friends, must be vigilant for the danger she doesn't always recognize.”

Emma glanced at Luke and a knowing look passed between them. The attraction between the two older members, Mike and Mia, was becoming more obvious.

"Mike, you can't keep treating her like a precious heirloom that you place on a shelf for protection. Mia's capable of putting on her big-girl panties and getting the job done." Emma answered in her usual straightforward manner.

Shifting directions, Emma continued, "I've got notes with me about the Bellingham case. Something I saw on the desk in the caretaker's cottage piqued my interest, and I'd like to run an idea past you at dinner."

"Finally, back on track. Let's get a move on... my growling stomach could pass for a fog horn," Luke groused.

Damariscotta River Grill was the unanimous choice after Luke offered up the information the restaurant featured a lobster B.L.T. sandwich. The two men stood up to leave. Emma sat with her arms crossed and a determined set to her jaw. “I'm not going anywhere unless you promise to come back for Mia before we begin our investigation.”

Luke took a sudden interest in zipping up his jacket, leaving Mike on the hook to deal with Emma's ultimatum.

“If she's feeling up to it, you have my word that I won't prevent her from coming along.”

“Great,” Emma said. “Now, I'm ready to go.”

***

During the short wait for a table, Emma repeated her conversation with Jim Norris, contractor for the Bellingham Estate renovations.

"I could tell that he's still spooked by whatever he and his workers experienced out there. He left me with the impression, though, that he's determined to face his fear by going back."

"Don't get me wrong," Luke responded, "I'm glad the guy is willing to help us out, but the last thing we need is an amateur who'll piss his pants if he gets tapped on the shoulder by a ghost."

Their conversation was interrupted by the hostess who led them to their table. As soon as the waiter took their drink orders and moved away, Mike snapped the menu shut and addressed Luke.

"You can be an arrogant shit sometimes. I remember some of your early paranormal experiences and how all you wanted to do was get the hell out of whatever place we were investigating. Remember the headaches and nausea, Luke? Just as we accepted all of that without judgement, I would think you'd extend the same courtesy to others."

Luke slammed his elbows into the table and leaned forward to respond. Emma, feeling the open hostility that enveloped all of them, intervened. "Guys, listen to yourselves. I think Charles Bellingham's malevolence is affecting all of us. Here we are at each others' throats, and we haven't even really started the investigation."

The waiter returned with their drinks and took their food orders, and all three took the opportunity to get their emotions in check. Luke was the first to speak, "I'm sorry, Mike. This case just feels weird to me...like we're on the verge of opening one of those Russian nesting doll boxes, only to find more boxes to open. Anyway, I promise to play nice.”

“I think Emma may be onto something,” Mike acquiesced. “We need to consider that we're all being influenced by a potent demonic energy.” Turning to where she sat at his side, he asked, "What's the interesting information you alluded to?"

"I need to do further research to back up my hunch, but I think I know how Charles Bellingham made all his millions."

“I thought the money came from his rich daddy back in England,” Luke said.

“Some of it did. But the father was facing financial ruin due to litigation brought about by a series of deadly disasters.”

Emma placed a spoonful of clam chowder in her mouth and murmured with delight. “I'll never understand why anyone would turn down a bowl of this stuff."

Luke jiggled the ice cubes in his water glass. "Really, Emma? You're gonna make us wait for the details while you eat your soup?  

Napkin in hand, Emma dabbed the corners of her mouth. “Just having a bit of fun."

"A newspaper article that came out during the investigation hinted the following was the case: Charles Bellingham made his fortune from bootlegging... a lucrative, tax-free business venture, and one that would make him on par with the likes of Nucky Thompson and Al Capone. 

“Shit.” Luke sat back in his chair. “We've been thinking all along that bastard Charles Bellingham killed his wife in a fit of jealous rage. I wonder now if the murder might have served a dual purpose. What if his wife knew the truth and was going to leave him and join her French lover under the protection of the FEDS...”

“In exchange for information,” Emma finished. “Luke, you may have stumbled onto an angle the police never even considered!”


~~ to be continued ~~