his Green Lady, as in a household chatelaine returning after death to continue her domestic duties. But Dunasheen isn’t haunted by his wife.”
“Got it in one. Dunasheen’s haunted, Fergie’s not.” Alasdair inclined his head toward the portrait. “I’m thinking that’s why he’s so keen on seeing ghosts.”
“On believing in the supernatural. He wants to know that Emma’s not really gone.” The room fell silent, the dense wooden doors and stone walls muffling any sounds. Still, Jean lowered her voice. “I’m pretty sure I heard Seonaid MacDonald, the Green Lady, in the drawing room, right after you went after Tina. A kind of murmuring wail, just like in the stories.”
Alasdair nodded. “So she’s real, then, it’s that Fergie cannot sense her. Nothing peculiar about that, not to us, leastways.”
“But what is peculiar is that Dakota, the little girl, was insisting she saw a ghost when they drove up the driveway, which would have been about the same time.”
“Maybe she’s got the allergy, poor lass.”
“Or maybe she saw a person. There was a man in black standing in the parking area about six. Pritchard yelled at him to go away.”
“Thomson was going on about a hermit living nearby. Sounds to be the local character. Maybe it was him.”
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