Page 68 of Top Secret Vampire

I am so proud of you, my little Margaret May. You have a fire inside you, one that can never be dimmed, and I know that as you grow, you’ll become the remarkable woman I knew youcould be, strong, compassionate, and filled with the courage to live life fully.

Never forget, my love. You are, and always will be, everything to me. I carry you in my heart always, just as I hope you carry me in yours.

With all my love,

Your devoted mother,

Jolene

“Margaret is Jolene’s daughter,” I croaked, my eyes stinging with tears. “Jolene died here, perhaps from a fall or foul play, and since no one knew her daughter existed, they didn’t look for her. Margaret must’ve been scared and left the house, looking for her mom. I wonder . . .” I shook my head. “Do you think her grandmother adopted her? Margaret didn’t mention who raised her, but it wouldn’t surprise me. She had Jolene’s diary, though she didn’t share it with Margaret. I bet his mother discovered she had a granddaughter and took her in. I hope she loved her, that she did what she could to replace the mother Margaret lost.”

“It didn’t sound like she did.”

“I also hope she didn’t kill Jolene.”

“Let me see . . .” He closed his eyes. To seek the ghost? “Ah. She’s hovering near the fireplace.”

I looked that way but didn’t see her. And I wasn’t sure I wanted to see her.

“She looks sad, and she’s shaking her head,” he said. His voice deepened. “Your mother-in-law didn’t kill you? Ah, she’s shaking her head again.” He sighed. “Was it an accident? She’s nodding, so I believe it was.” A shudder ripped through him, and his gaze sought mine. “She disappeared.”

“That’s . . .” I wasn’t sure what it was. With shivers tracking through me, I sucked in a deep breath and shot it out. “We need to take the doll and note to Margaret.”

His smile rose. “I believe that’s what Jolene wants.”

We placed the note back inside, and he mistified us to the historical society. There, we found Margaret sitting at the desk, a book open in front of her, her magnifying glass in hand.

After she’d carefully tucked a bookmark between the pages and set everything to the side, I gently laid the doll on her desk, face down.

“So good of you two to stop by again,” Margaret said, a bemused expression on her face. “I’m afraid I haven’t discovered anything new about Jolene, but I’ve asked the librarians in the area to look at their collections in case they have something that might give further details into that time here in Mystic Harbor.”

“This doll is yours,” I said, my eyes stinging with tears again.

“Oh.” She frowned. “I don’t understand. Are you saying you’re giving me the doll? Please don’t think you must just because I mentioned I found her beautiful.”

“She belongs to you. She’s a gift from your mother.”

Margaret’s lips curled down. “The woman who raised me? She was older and she passed many years ago. She wasn’t my true mother, though I suppose she tried.”

“Jolene was your biological mother. Look.” I parted the fabric in the back, revealing the folded note. “I started thinking about the tear and wondered if the fabric had been purposefully cut. When I removed the stitches, we found a note inside. It was written by Jolene for her daughter, who she called Margaret May. That’s you.”

Margaret’s eyes shimmered with tears. “You believe Jolene Molson was my mother? It’s not possible. She had no children.” She frowned. “Although, you mentioned she said she was pregnant in her diary that I’m now exceedingly curious to read. The date of her demise would fit. If I was her daughter, and I’m not saying I think such a thing could be true, she would’ve died when I was only a couple years old.” She tugged out the note and gently spread the fabric wide.

Then, with her magnifying glass, she read, her lips moving as she skimmed through Jolene’s message. When she looked up, tears trickled down her face. “Shewasmy mother. No wonder I called myself Margaret May.” Lifting the doll, she hugged it to her chest, silent sobs shaking her shoulders.

I was crying.

Wolf was crying.

I rounded the desk and put my arms around her, holding this frail woman who’d finally discovered who she was, who’d soon be able to read Jolene’s diary and know that her parents had loved her deeply.

And that’s when I saw Jolene, a misty fragment of a woman standing near one of the bookcases, dressed in old-fashioned clothing. She smiled and touched her fingertips to her lips before holding them out to me and Margaret.

With a wink, she disappeared, and I suspected this was the one and only time I’d see a ghost.

Outside the historical society, we sat on a bench to compose ourselves, talking about this and that and nothing until our tears had dried.

I told him about seeing Jolene.

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