Page 29 of Last Resort

Ben sipped his coffee, enjoying the hint of gingerbread flavoring. “St. Expeditus by the Sea, right?” The old Victorian complex had been a hotel before being purchased by a little-known group of consecrated monster hunters, Episcopalian priests and nuns who put their knowledge of the occult to work in the real world solving supernatural problems.

Monty nodded. “It’s never actually been a convent, although that’s the cover. It’s more like a halfway house for ghosts who aren’t sure whether they’re ready to cross over. The spirits have unfinished business, and the staff help them find peace before they move on.”

“What’s Jon think of all that?”

Monty chuckled. “Jon and Sister Frankie have an agreement. He shepherds lost souls to the convent, and she doesn’t try to recruit him.”

Right on cue, a spoon skidded across the counter and into the sink, touched by invisible hands.

“Very dramatic, Jon,” Monty said with a fond smile.

Ben could make out Jon’s faint form, which grew nearly solid as Monty lent the ghost some of his energy. Jon Richards had been a movie stuntman before he had been murdered nearly seventy years ago on the beach near the lighthouse.

He knew a little of the ghost’s story from what Monty had told him. Jon hadn’t wanted to leave until he brought his killers to justice, and while he bided his time, he had been able to save several lives on the beach. When Jon met Monty, sparks flew, and the two of them fell in love—a real, if unconventional, partnership.

“I won’t pretend to understand the convent’s work, but I take it that she’s got a ghost with a guilty conscience?”

Monty nodded, taking a gulp of his drink despite how hot it was. “Sometimes ghosts need to unburden themselves of the secrets they couldn’t let go of in life. That can be difficult, especially if keeping the secret had been a really big deal. You’d think that being dead would change how people think about those things, but it’s less of a difference than most people would believe.”

“Anything I need to know before we go?” Ben finished his coffee and set the cup aside.

“Sister Frankie and I can help if the ghost needs extra energy to be seen and heard. I know you’ve got abilities, but I don’t know how strong the ghost is. If they’ve got a long story to tell, some extra ‘umph’ can make the process easier.”

“That will definitely help.”

Monty took his last swallow and then carried both their cups to the sink. The water turned on to rinse them without Monty touching the faucet.

“Now you’re just showing off,” he teased Jon.

“The only other thing I’d tell you is that, no matter what the ghost tells us, don’t react badly,” Monty warned. “That could set the ghost back on its journey. Try to stay unemotional, even if the information is upsetting.”

“Do you know what the ghost is going to say?”

Monty shook his head. “No. But it can’t be anything good involving a murder.”

Ben stood. “Let’s see what’s important enough for a message from beyond the grave.”

Despite the short distance to the convent, Ben’s teeth were chattering from the cold wind by the time they reached the sprawling compound of white clapboard buildings. As they entered the gates, Ben felt a frisson of energy from the presence of dozens of spirits. Nothing about the vibe felt dangerous or malicious, but even at a distance, he sensed their unrest.

Monty opened the door into the large foyer, and they stepped inside.

“I’m glad you’re here.” Sister Frankie hurried to greet them. “Good to see you both. Please, come with me.”

Sister Frankie was a tall, lanky woman who might have been any age between late thirties and early fifties. Her sandy blond hair, shaved on one side, fell chin-length on the other. She wore a sweater over jeans, and the edges of a colorful tattoo peeked from beneath her sleeve.

The convent was simply furnished but not austere. Instead of the overdone Victorian furnishings that Ben expected based on the outside of the building, the pieces were more Shaker-inspired with clean, simple lines. Naturalist watercolors and botanical drawings provided restful accents.

They followed her into a small parlor with two wing chairs and a sofa. Sister Frankie took a seat in one of the chairs and motioned Ben and Monty to the couch.

“Sophia? Are you here? I’ve brought the guests you requested,” Frankie called out to the empty room.

Ben felt the energy shift as a gray haze formed in the center of the parlor. He glanced at Monty, and the medium’s eyes were closed, with an expression on his face of intense concentration. He wondered how the experience differed for Monty.

“I’ll help her be seen and heard,” Monty said quietly. “That way you can focus on what she has to tell us.”

The ghost took shape, an older woman who looked to be in her seventies with short pale hair and a slender build. “I’m Sophia Calasso,” she said, looking shy but determined. “I was once in love with Tom Raines, long ago. He disappeared, and I lost track of him until his soul passed on just a few days ago.”

“Why did you stay, Sophia?” Sister Frankie asked in a gentle tone.

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