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  “Don’t know?” Murphy answered.

  “Hello,” Mia said from the floor. “Any of you gentlemen want to give a lady a hand.”

  Burt squatted down and pushed the hood off Mia and looked at her face. “Mrs. Martin, I never thought I’d see you again.” He drew her up off the ground and hugged her before releasing the surprised investigator.

  “Rule number one is…” Mia said, trying to push the wave of emotion away.

  “Never to investigate alone,” Burt said smiling. “How are you here?”

  Mia quickly explained while Murphy stood watch half in and out of the room’s closed door. “This is all so new to me,” Mia confessed. “I don’t know if you can survive the ley line if we try to extract you now. I think the inn protects you in some way. Although, I’m worried that you are headed for hypothermia. The average temperature of the ley line in wintery conditions is in the low forties.”

  “I can see my body is cold, but I can’t feel it,” Burt told her. “I’ve been through so much.”

  “Bring us up to speed,” Mia requested as she closed the window behind her.

  Burt described the welcoming façade the inn had the first night he encountered it and how he seemed to be caught in a time loop of some kind. “It waffles between summer and winter. The two ladies here seem to accept that it can be winter and summer at the same time.”

  “From our research, they’ve been here for some time. If they survived the push into the ley line, they would have starved to death long ago,” Mia said. “You’re dealing with ghosts. It’s common for those folks to be confused, if not crazy.”

  “Hey,” Murphy said from the door. “Not all of us.”

  “Sorry, Murph,” Mia apologized. “There’s no one saner than you,” she said, giving Burt a covert wink and a nod.

  “Paul,” Murphy reminded her.

  “Fuck me and leave me a rose, I forgot about Paul. Murph, see if you can locate him and bring him up here,” Mia requested.

  “Who’s Paul?” Burt asked.

  “Millie’s husband,” Mia answered.

  “He’d be so old by now. How’d he survive the ley line?”

  “Oh, he’s dead, a ghost that has been haunting the Tear Drop Tavern since the Dew Drop Inn disappeared,” Mia said and enlightened him on the bar and the empty lot it faced.

  Burt watched through the window as two forms floated up through the roof over the porch. Murphy, who was dressed in a clean suit of clothes, seemed shabby next to the Wisconsin farmer dressed in his black suit of mourning. The time differences between these gentlemen’s deaths was over a hundred years, yet, aside from Murphy’s bowler hat, there wasn’t that much difference in fashion. The difference was money. He raised the window and invited the spirits in.

  Paul moved through the window and headed for the door.

  “Careful,” Mia warned. “I’m not sure what you’re going to find out there.”

  He stopped and weighed her words. “Millie, I must see her.”

  “I’m supposed to have coffee brought up,” Burt said. “She, usually, is the one tasked with that chore.”

  True to his word, there was a light tap on the door. “Just a minute,” Burt called. He motioned for the others to hide in the bathroom. Burt walked over to the door and opened it. Millie stood there balancing what appeared to be a tray heaped with cookies and a pot of coffee.

  “Come on in. Please set it over there.” He pointed to the table across the room.

  Millie moved to the table, and Burt closed the door.

  She looked back at him oddly. “You’re pretty chipper. Where has Mr. Grumpy gone?” she asked, setting down the tray.

  “Millie?” Paul’s soft voice came from behind her.

  She turned around and said, “Paul, I didn’t know you knew Mr. Hicks.”

  He rushed to her and was pleased to be able to hold his wife in his arms again. To Millie, it had only been a few hours since they last parted. To Paul, it had been a lifetime. Mia and Murphy moved around the embracing couple and stood with Burt by the door.

  “Perhaps we should leave them to become reacquainted,” Mia suggested.

  Burt opened the door to his room and looked up and down the hall before stepping out. Mia and Murphy followed him, and the three of them ventured down the hall towards the stairs.

  “Millie seems to be a ghost, but the other one is something else,” Burt warned. “I wouldn’t be surprised to see her toss the two of you out, so be careful.”

  Burt stopped at the upper landing of the stairs. “Last time I tried to descend, the stairs disappeared.”

  Mia nodded to Murphy who started down the stairs first, stopped and turned around.

  “Go ahead. If the stairs disappear, he’ll catch you,” Mia promised.

  Burt tentatively touched the tread with one foot, and it held. He proceeded down the steps one at a time with Mia watching his back.

  They successfully navigated the stairs when Mrs. Brewster appeared.

  “Can I help you?”

  “My wife and I were hoping you would have a vacancy for this evening,” Murphy said quickly.

  Burt moved into the parlor, hoping against hope that Mrs. Brewster did not see him.

  Mia pushed back her hood which morphed into a cloak and smiled as she patted her hair into place.

  Mrs. Brewster looked them up and down and asked, “Where is your luggage? I’ll not have any of that hanky-panky in my inn!”

  “We left it on the porch,” Mia said sweetly. “After all, it would be bad manners to assume you had a vacancy this late in the day.”

  Mia could see the innkeeper fighting with the inn itself for understanding of how the couple appeared in her lobby when the door had been locked.

  “A young woman, Millie I believe, met us on the porch. She didn’t think you had an empty room but suggested that we check with you. You are Mrs. Brewster?” Mia asked, letting her words draw out a little, giving them an air of snobbery.

  “Yes, I’m Amelia Brewster. Let me check the calendar.”

  Mia ever so subtly morphed her clothing to a dress of quality. She chose Chanel as it was in fashion no matter when it was made or worn. She mentally thanked her godfather Ralph for his constant chatter about fashion. Some of it sunk in.

  “I don’t understand what you’re telling me!” Millie said, bursting into tears. “I’m not dead. You’re not dead. That Mr. Hicks has used hypnotism on you! Mother said he was a person to be wary of. He is always lying.”

  “Millie, the Dew Drop Inn disappeared over forty years ago. I died not long after you did. We’re dead. I’ve come to collect you so we can meet our maker together.”

  “What about mother?”

  “She can come too. We have to leave the Dew Drop together. You and I don’t belong here. We have to also help Mr. Hicks to his freedom. He’s of flesh and blood, and staying here is killing him.”

  Millie paled and confessed, “I have noticed that he seems rather cold, and he is hungry right after I feed him.”

  “Humans can’t live on pure energy. They need to ingest it and turn it into something they can live on,” he explained. “Mia explained it to me. Their friend, Burt… Mr. Hicks is dying, and they need our help.”

  “This is so much to take in,” Millie said, pushing her hands through her hair again and again in nervous frustration.

  Paul caught her by the wrists and gently pulled them away from her. “Can you please take a leap of faith and believe me?”

  She looked at her handsome husband standing there with five o’clock shadow in his funeral suit and considered the tale he told her. She nodded her head and let herself be pulled into his arms. She laid her head on his strong shoulder and listened to the plan the PEEPs team had come up with.

  ~

  Mike tested out his mic several times for Cid. Audrey filled the outer pockets of the fur with water and granola bars. The deep inner pockets held mini cameras and other recording devices. They would carry a valise into th
e B&B that was filled with food, water and blankets to keep them and Burt alive if they too became prisoners of the Fata Morgana.

  “It’s funny how real bits of the paranormal are exposed through fiction,” Audrey commented. “For example there’s a lot of information to be gleaned from Walter Moers’s character Professor Abdullah Nightingale and his writings about Fata Morganas. Even though it’s fiction, the writer must have pulled the information from something real.”

  Mike looked over at her. “I’m not following you.”

  “It’s as if the writer is connected to the ether in some way,” she explained. “The explanation of these mirages varies from culture to culture, but the fact that many seem to have similar stories of FMs is telling. There are other things too. Take salt and ghosts for instance; how’d we figure that one out?”

  “Salt?” Mike questioned and then answered himself, “Ah, like how we know about ghosts being hurt by salt. I’m sure somewhere it was used successfully, and it was recorded. Perhaps a writer picked up on it. Either the writer read about it somewhere or had a memory of it being mentioned by someone.”

  “You, sir, are a realist, like Ted and Cid,” Audrey claimed.

  “And for a good Catholic, you are awfully happy with superstition.”

  Audrey gave him a wry look. “Superstition goes hand-in-hand with most religions. We have to suspend belief and have faith. I’m comfortable with my faith and believing in magic.”

  “You’re a unique woman, Audrey,” Mike said. “Now, let’s get out there and rescue Burt. Cid, we are ready when you are.”

  Cid, who had been listening in on their conversation, responded. “According to Burt’s calculations, the inn should appear within a fifty foot radius on the north side of the road any time now.”

  Mike put the van into gear and began driving slowly.

  Audrey gazed out of the window. “I see a light up ahead.” She pointed. “There!”

  The light became many lights, and as they approached, a beautifully painted sign on the edge of the road declared, Dew Drop Inn.

  Mike pulled into a gravel lot and parked his car beside a 1970 Chevrolet Impala. Playing the role of the attentive husband, he got out and walked around to open the door for Audrey. The two of them took a moment and looked at the two story clapboard inn. Yellow light poured from the windows on both stories. As they approached, the front door opened.

  Chapter Six

  Maggie’s head lifted, and she sniffed the air. Cid looked at her and asked, “What is it? Tell me, what do you smell?”

  “If that dog talks, I’m going to look for accommodations at Belleview,” Ted announced.

  “She does talk. You just have to be smart enough to interpret it,” Cid argued.

  The speakers crackled, bringing the two techs back to task. Mike reported, “The door is open. We’re going in. Wish us luck.”

  “Go ahead, but don’t break your cover whatever you do,” Cid warned. “If this thing swallowed Burt, it wasn’t for his good looks. It was because it smelled a rat.”

  “Understood,” Mike said.

  Maggie got up and lifted her head and sniffed the air again. It was just at the edges of her scent cone, but she smelled the chubby man they called Burt. She also smelled bacon. The truck had driven past several farmhouses before they stopped, and her nose told her that someone inside of one of them was having a late night snack of bacon. Given her choice, Maggie would rather smell bacon than Burt, but the cooking man and the tinkering man were insistent.

  Mike grabbed Audrey’s hand. She squeezed his to tell him that she was ready. They climbed the stairs together. The wooden steps were free of snow, and they radiated an unexpected warmth. It was as if they had been bathed in sunlight. Audrey admired the sparkling panes of glass that reflected their images as they passed by the windows on the way to the open door. She saw snatches of a beautiful, if not dated, interior. The inn emitted an air of comfort and welcome that she found appealing.

  Mrs. Brewster looked up from her calendar to the open door. “Excuse me, it seems like we have more guests,” she said, moving around the desk. “Wait here, and I’ll see if I can find you a suitable room Mr. and Mrs.…”

  “Murphy. Stephen and Mia Murphy,” Murphy filled in.

  “Murphy, are you related to the Murphys from Appleton?” Mrs. Brewster asked.

  “Could be, my family tree is quite large,” Murphy informed her.

  Mrs. Brewster nodded absently as she walked to greet the couple that had entered the lobby through the front door.

  Burt witnessed the exchange from his hiding spot in the front parlor. He hoped that the distraction was enough to take the hostess’s watchful eye off of him and his desire to leave. He marveled at how Mia was able to change her image so quickly. He did feel a bit put off by how well Stephen Murphy cleaned up. His fleeting memories of the farmer were more of dust and axe. He never really noticed the handsome face and striking eyes of the ghost. Murphy still had his axe, but he cleverly moved it behind him, always keeping it out of Mrs. Brewster’s direct line of sight.

  The woman’s heels clicked on the polished wood floor as she walked forward to greet her unexpected guests.

  “Welcome to the Dew Drop Inn,” she said. “How can I be of service to you?”

  Mike took off his hat as he crossed the threshold. “We seem to be lost. I had reservations at an establishment in Hillside, but we seem to have taken a wrong turn.”

  “Hillside? I’m not sure I can help you with directions, but I can offer you a room for the night. Maybe after a good night’s rest and a filling breakfast you’ll be able to resume your journey,” she suggested.

  Mike turned and asked Audrey, “What do you think, dear?”

  Audrey pushed the hood of the fur jacket off her head. Her auburn curls bounced around before settling. “I’m tired, darling. I’m sure our room has been given away by now. We should have been there hours ago,” she said, irritated.

  “Remember it was you that was in charge of directions,” Mike’s voice had an edge to it.

  Mrs. Brewster clapped her hands. “Now, now, we all get lost. How about a nice cup of tea?”

  Audrey smiled at the woman. “That and a room would be wonderful.”

  “So then it’s agreed,” she confirmed, looking at Mike.

  He nodded.

  “Follow me,” she instructed. “I have another couple to finish checking in. It won’t take me but a few moments.”

  Mike and Audrey looked around the entry hall as they followed the stout well-dressed hostess to where a young couple stood waiting. The sight of Mia and Murphy took both of them by surprise. This was the first time either of them had seen Murphy, and Mia in her posh attire was intimidating. Both of them dropped their jaws and had their mouths hanging open.

  Mia moved quickly towards the couple. “Mia Murphy,” she said, drawing out the syllables. “So nice to meet you,” she said, holding out her hand. With the other hand she was motioning that now was the time for Burt to make his exit.

  Burt rushed out from behind the greenery and ran as fast as he could toward the open door.

  Mrs. Brewster, seated at the desk, looked up from her registration card with irritation at the noise Burt’s pounding feet made as he passed the group assembled at the desk. She started to rise when Murphy set his axe on the desk with a thump. Startled by the weapon, she stammered, “I don’t allow… whatchamacallits… Axes! I don’t allow axes inside my inn!”

  Burt stood once again on the top step of the inn. A few snowflakes danced as they whirled in the cold night breeze. Two lights of an approaching truck blinded him a moment, and he took another step and fell.

  “It’s a family heirloom,” Mia said dryly. “Surely you could make an exception?”

  “Family heirloom?” Mrs. Brewster questioned. “An axe?” She looked at the age of the thing and pursed her lips. After a short while she answered, “Fine, just don’t set it on any of the antiques.” She rose. “Excuse me a moment.�
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  They watched as the woman walked quickly toward the door and out onto the porch. She looked around with a puzzled expression and smiled as she saw Audrey’s valise setting by one of the Adirondack chairs. She picked it up and walked back into the entry hall, closing the door behind her. “Whose is this?”

  “Mine,” Audrey said sweetly. “Dear, take that from the woman. It must weigh a ton. Shoes,” she said as if that would explain the weight.

  “One can never have enough shoes,” Mia agreed in her adopted nasal tone.

  Maggie barked excitedly. They were pulling into the lot of what appeared to be a Bed and Breakfast. It disappeared in a flash of light, blinding Cid who was at the wheel. He braked as quickly as he could, taking into consideration that Ted was hanging on for dear life in the back of the truck while he kept Mia’s body safe.

  “Cid to Ted, over.”

  “Ted here, barely,” Ted commented as he got to his feet.

  “The Dew Drop has disappeared, but I saw it with my own two eyes,” Cid said, opening his door. “Shit!”

  “Explain shit,” Ted asked.

  “Maggie just jumped over me and out of the truck. She’s running out into the field. I’ve got the truck’s lights on, but aside from hearing her bark, I can’t see her.

  Maggie caught the scent before Cid had turned the engine off. She knew the cuddly man was out there; she could smell him. She took her opportunity when the door was opened and jumped past the cooking man. She stopped a moment and put her nose to the air and sniffed. She moved right, and the scent fell off. She took a few tentative steps to the left, and the air was filled the scent of sweat and fear. She took off running, ignoring calls for her to return.

  Burt gulped air trying to breath. He fell hard. It wasn’t 50 yards, but it was a few feet until he hit the ground, the fall pushing the air out of his lungs. He hurt and was cold, so very cold. He opened his eyes, but aside from two beams of lights in the distance, he couldn’t see anything. He heard a steady crunch of small footfalls headed his way. He tried to raise an arm, but both were trapped under his exhausted body. “Here,” he managed to croak.