2 A Reason for Murder Read Online Free PDF Page B

bristled at being called a skeptic, but tried to keep my tone even. "Actually, I'm not a skeptic, but I'm a journalist and I was wondering if I could ask you some questions?"
    The air grew decidedly cold then, as did Gavin's voice. "What sort of journalist? From the Newcastle Herald ? Maitland Mercury ? Or one of the tabloids? Are you one of those horrid exposé journalists?"
    "No actually, I write for a paranormal magazine and I'm here to do a story on Morpeth ghosts."
    That did the trick. Gavin was suddenly helpful. "Wonderful! Did you know I'm about to sign a book contract? I'm happy to help. Would you like me to email you photos for the article? I have a very good photo of me standing right next to St. James Church with a big orb rising out of the cemetery. You have my card, don't you? Call me anytime; I'm only too happy to help."
    Clearly. This was free advertising of the very best kind. I did my best to sound eager, but failed. "Melissa and I have to leave now but I'll call you for more information on the ghosts."
    Gavin grasped my hand with both of his. "Yes, please do. May I have your card? What was your name again?"
    I could almost see dollar signs flashing in his eyes.
     

"There are two means of refuge from the miseries of life: music and cats."
(Albert Schweitzer)
    Chapter Six .
     
    The mist had fully descended by the time we reached the park in front of the bridge over the Hunter River. There were only two other people, a man and a woman, on the tour. In the dim light they appeared to be in their fifties and were either badly botoxed or were truly frozen stiff. We introduced ourselves and then stood silently waiting for Scotty, the tour guide.
    At 11 p.m. he suddenly appeared as if on cue, holding a hurricane lamp and dressed in historical clothing. I figured it was historical clothing, but I knew nothing about such things. It certainly wasn't the latest trend, especially the paisley patterned necktie. Who wears a brown, knee-length coat and a high-necked shirt these days? I wondered if he'd grown the long, bushy beard just to add to the effect.
    I had expected a "Welcome to the Ghost Tour" or some such words of exhortation, but Scotty simply grunted, "Follow me," in a heavy Scottish accent. I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the weather. The guy completely gave me the creeps. Something wasn't quite right.
    I tucked my flashlight under my arm, grasped my pen, and launched into questioning. "Scotty, how long have you lived in this area?"
    "Long time." The words came out as little more than harsh grunts.
    Unperturbed, I pressed on. "Are there many sightings of ghosts in Morpeth? Have you yourself seen any?"
    Scotty stopped and turned to look at me. He held the hurricane lamp up to my face. I felt unnerved, so steely was his gaze. A chill overcame me; the hairs stood up on the back of my neck. I felt a premonition of danger, but it passed as quickly as it had come.
    "Are you a detective?"
    I was unsure as to whether or not he was being sarcastic, so shook my head and fell back into stride with Melissa.
    After a few minutes we turned into Green Street and stopped again outside the settlers' cottage. Any fears that the dour Scotty would prove to be a boring tour guide were at once put to rest. "This was one of the first cottages in Morpeth. It was owned by Eliza Campbell. Her husband owned one of the pubs, and every night, Eliza was frightened for the safety of her children. She had seventeen children, but some died. The drunks used to gather outside the cottage at night. There was just that thin wall there between them and the pub." Scotty gestured in a sweeping motion to the left. "Eliza was happy all day, but once the sun went down, she was terrified all night waiting for her husband to come home."
    "I didn't know he could speak more than three words at once," Melissa whispered in my ear.
    I elbowed her. " Shuuush !" Again I questioned Scotty. "Was it Eliza's son, Stephen, who drowned in the well behind