Chapter 8

The next Monday, Hal traipsed into Mysti’s shop with a man in tow. She no longer walked on crutches but gingerly and slowly maneuvered around her store. She wore only one shoe on her left foot and a wildly colored striped sock over the ace bandage on her right.

“Uncle Hal?” She glared at him. “How may I help you?” Her eyes darted to the extremely good-looking man behind her uncle. Blonde and bronze-skinned, he could easily be a swimsuit model or GQ. He shifted a large black bag on his shoulder and had a clipboard tucked under his arm. She mentally gave herself a slight shake to pull her attention back to Hal.

“Mystery Stonestar, I’d like to introduce you to Lucas Hart.” Hal placed one hand behind the man as if he were presenting his prize pig at the fair. A prize pig with a California tan and camera bag and clipboard, that is. “Lucas, this is my niece, I told you about, Mystery Stonestar.”

Mysti’s brows rose on her forehead. Suddenly, now he called her by her legal and proper name. He had never done so before. He, like so many of the Gladstones, insisted on continuing to call her Nancy. He had to be up to something. Something big.

Lucas shifted his load.

“Mystery,” Hal nearly panted. “My man Lucas, here—”

Mysti watched the man’s slight and subtle reaction to Hal’s overzealous affection for him.

“—is with the television show, ‘Paranormal Encounters.’ He’s the Scouting Director.”

Ah, now Mysti knew who this stranger was. Let the games begin. Only was she the gladiator or the lion?

“And he’s here now to scope things out and determine what all they will investigate when they come back in October.” Hal slapped Lucas on the back, nearly causing him to choke. “Isn’t that right, Lucas.”

Lucas smiled. “Yes. Mr. Glad—Hal, I—.” He nodded, obviously conceding to Uncle Hal’s insistence on calling him Hal.

“And—” Hal interrupted anything else the man might have said. “I told him about your special gifts. He said he’d definitely like to meet with you and interview you, I believe. The investigation team’s gonna need your expertise, for sure, to find Grandpa Harold’s, I mean The Phantom Horse and Rider’s hot spots. Isn’t that right, Lucas?”

Lucas nodded. “Well, I said, you would be worth speaking to. I can’t guarantee we will include you in the investigation.”

“Oh, nonsense, my boy! Trust me, once you get a gander at my nieces’ mystical talents, you’re gonna want her advising your paranormal team. I promise you that.”

Lucas sighed. “Anyway, Miss Stonestar, It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He extended his hand and shook hers. He had a firm grip. “Is there someplace we can sit down and visit?”

“Yes, yes you two visit.” Uncle Hal winked at Mysti. “And I’ll go tend to some of my Mayoral duties. Mystery, hun, you just text me when Lucas is ready to move on to his next interview, and I’ll run right over to pick him up.” He mouthed behind Lucas’s back, Remember what I told you! He shot fake pistols at her with index fingers and thumbs high in the air.

“Uh, I’m sure you’re busy, H-Hal.” Lucas glanced over his shoulder. “I can walk or get a ride.” His eyes pleaded with Mysti.

“Of course. Don’t worry about it, Uncle Hal.” Mysti pulled out a wire-framed chair and motioned for Lucas to sit. “May I make you some tea?”

“Oh yeah!” Hal stepped away from the door he was about to exit to speak to them again. “You’re gonna want somma her tea, Lucas. Some of her best magic is performed in those teas of hers.”

Mysti waved a sharp hand at Hal and mouthed, Stop!

“Well, okay.” Lucas shifted his black bag. “Do you mind if I take some pictures?”

“I’m not sure,” Mysti answered truthfully. She set the kettle on the one burner and started the flame.

“I understand. How about this, I’ll get my camera out and set it here on the table. If I feel there is something I’d like to take a picture of, I’ll ask first.”

Mysti nodded and eased herself into the chair beside him. “That sounds fair.” He was nice. For some reason, she trusted him to do what he said.

He pulled out a small spiral flip-over pad and dug around in his bag, then pulled out a pen. He sat the clipboard with form-looking pages under the clip on the table next to his Nikon camera. Flipping several pages over on his little notepad, he placed it on the table and poised his pen, ready to write.

“So, tell me. What do you know about this Phantom Horse and Rider?”

Mysti stared at him. Just saying the words caused a sensation in her stomach, as if she were rising in an elevator but suddenly stopped, and then plummeted to the ground floor.

She jumped up and fiddled with tea bags and calming additions. Rosehip, Lemon Balm, American passionflower. She hesitated. Not too much. She didn’t want to melt under the table while Lucas tried to interview her, and he’d think she’d slipped him a mickey! She chuckled to herself. So just rosehip and chamomile. That should do it. She turned back to Lucas. He had not stopped waiting for her answer.

“Oh. I’m sorry.” She brought the teapot to the table and two cups. Pouring his and then hers. “Well, I personally, have never seen Grandpa Harold. That’s what we’ve always called this Phantom.”

Lucas frowned and scribbled something on his pad. Then he nodded.

“But my sister says” —Mysti swallowed— “she saw him while she was lost in the woods when we were five and seven. She claims he chased her through the trees until she ended up at the bridge. Did Uncle Hal show you Phantom Horse Bridge?”

Lucas scribbled and then looked up. “Huh. Oh, I noticed it when I pulled in, but I haven’t walked out on it yet.”

Mysti nodded and sipped her tea.

“And, who is your sister?” Lucas’s eyes met hers.

“Samantha Gladstone. She’s a schoolteacher. I could call her if you want. She’d be available after four o’clock, maybe.”

“Sure. I, um, think Hal has her lined up for an interview.” He pulled a piece of paper out of his shirt pocket and looked it over. “I’ll be here a week, so there’s time. Now, you have never actually witnessed this Phantom?”

Mysti stared at the man. “Did Uncle Hal explain who Grandpa Harold is? I mean was?”

“Yes,” Lucas stopped writing. Flipped back a few pages and read, “Uh, original Harold Gladstone and horse named Thor. Witnessed a, uh, Minuette Vaughner fall in the river. Horse and rider drowned while saving her life. Now his spirit returns whenever someone is in need or trouble.”

“Well—” A visceral memory washed over Mysti’s senses of the moment she saw the apparition of a white-maned black horse across the river, and the sound of Sammy crying, running through the covered bridge. Had Mysti seen Grandpa Harold? Could she rely on her seven-year-old mind? Uncle Hal would want her to tell it as if she positively saw it, so...

“Well, that’s the story.” She paused. Dare she do this?

“Okay, I saw ... the horse,” she admitted. “We all did. My cousins, Harry and Leanne. Just before my sister ran across the bridge. We just stared at the alabaster mane, it ... glowed like a thousand fireflies.” Her heart pounded against her ribs. She couldn’t believe she was telling a stranger this. She’d never told anybody about this. Not even her parents, and certainly never Sammy!

“Really?” Lucas scratched on his pad. “And you were five years old?”

“No, I was seven, Sammy was five.”

“I see.” Scratch, scratch. “And ... have you seen this horse or rider since?”

Mysti paused. “ ... No.”

He lifted his head and studied her. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Okay. Well, I’d like to see this bridge, but I’d rather see it without—”

Mysti laughed. “Without Mayor Hal?”

“Well,” Luca folded his notepad and tossed the pen back in the black bag. “I prefer to form my own opinion. Your Uncle Hal is quite ... zealous.”

“Zealous! That’s a good way to word it.” Mysti gathered their tea cups and set them on the cupboard. “So, you want me to point you in that direction?”

“No.” Lucas hefted the bag onto his shoulder. “I was hoping you could take me there.”

Mysti froze. “Me?”

“Do you mind?”

“Yeah,” Mysti clasped her hands to still the tremble. “I-I don’t—I only have a bicycle. I—”

“Oh. Well, isn’t it walking distance from here?”

Mysti touched her throat. Her Ham Chakra threatened to suffocate her completely. “I—”