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"Miracles"


Chapter 1
Miracles - Chap 1

By Begin Again

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
"Oh God, Lydia, where are you? Answer the phone." With trembling hands, Margaret redialed her best friend's number, but the call went to voicemail again.

At the beep, she sobbed into the phone, "Lydia, he's going to kill me. I've got to hide. Tell Detective Donatelli —" She gasped as a light appeared in the fog behind her. "To find Eleanor." The line went dead. The signal was lost in the heavy fog.

She'd taken the back roads, praying they would conceal her, but the isolation amplified her fear. The morning fog was thick and hung close to the ground.

Margaret gripped the wheel, crushing the note with her white knuckles. Fear owned her — from her tear-stained eyes, the sickly taste in her mouth, her dry lips, to the wild pounding against her chest.

Running — it had been her first thought, but she knew she wouldn't escape. Even in prison, he would find her.

Her heart raced as she replayed the words on the note in her mind — "Death Awaits You." She didn't need a signature to know who had sent it. Only one person was capable of such cruelty — the man she'd loved, only to learn how deep his betrayal ran.

Tears blurred her vision. "Why, John?" she cried, her voice cracking. "Was everything a lie?"

In her mind, she felt him — his touch, his lips on hers. His overwhelming presence, which once made her feel so secure, now twisted her insides with dread. Then came the memory of Megan's disappearance, her little girl gone without a trace. The panic, the desperation, the hours spent searching, pleading for John's help. But he had vanished when she needed him most.

Nothing, not even the years that passed or the bars that separated them, had lessened the agony. John's betrayal had shattered her world once. And now, it seemed, he was determined to destroy what was left.

Margaret pressed harder on the gas pedal, her body shaking with fear and fury. There would be no turning back. She had to find Eleanor — before John found her.

As if he'd heard her, his face floated in the roadway as she stared through the windshield. She blinked, but he was still there. A scream — her scream — echoed throughout the car.

She blinked again, but there he was — laughing — taunting her. John Doyle — ex-judge, ex-lover, criminal extraordinaire. He'd vowed revenge against anyone who had helped destroy his career and put him behind bars. Today, that promise began with her.

To John Doyle, being convicted of kidnapping, human trafficking, and art theft meant nothing. He'd maintained what counted — power, wealth, and friends in high places, even from behind the concrete walls of Joliet State Prison.

She knew he was coming from the moment she'd opened the envelope. She'd wasted no time. She'd tossed clothes in an overnight bag, grabbed cash from the safe, and jumped in her car. She didn't know where she was going but knew she had to get as far away as possible. However, a thought nagged at her — she was positive nowhere would be far enough.

Her eyes shifted from the windshield to the rearview mirror. She sighed, relieved no one was behind her. She hoped her decision to stay off the main highway and take the back roads would keep her under his radar.

Yet, seconds later, a light glowed in the darkness. Her eyes moved from the mirror to the road and then returned. The ghostly light plowed through the fog, emerging as two headlights speeding toward her, closing the gap between it and Margaret's car.

"No, it can't be." Her breath caught as her heart slammed against her chest. "Calm down, Margaret. It's just someone else on the road." But she knew she was wrong.

The dark-colored SUV behind her barreled forward. Tears blurred her vision. She knew he was coming, and she couldn't escape. She peered into the gray mist, praying for an approaching car, a light in a farmhouse, or a barn.

The driver swerved and nudged the bumper, rocking Margaret's car as it lurched forward. The tires left the road, and she pulled on the wheel, struggling to return the vehicle to the road.

"Please, stop!" She choked on her words, knowing they were meaningless. The driver had a mission — to end her life.

The SUV slammed her bumper again. Shaking violently, Margaret gripped the wheel tighter, yanking it to the left as she fought to keep the car straight.

"Please —" Tears spilled down her cheeks. She desperately pleaded, "Someone — help me."

The driver maneuvered his vehicle alongside Margaret's car. Her head snapped toward it, fear gripping her, as she saw him laughing, enjoying the moment as if it were a game. His vehicle swerved sharply into her car. The sound of crunching metal against metal echoed, sending chills down her spine. Her car fish-tailed wildly.

She yanked the wheel again, but the car spun out of control this time. Gravel sprayed as the front wheels left the road, sending the vehicle careening into the ditch, through the wooden fence, and down the steep embankment.

"Eleanor!" she screamed. "Help me!" A vision of her sister flashed before her eyes as if to comfort her.

The front of the car shot upward and then slammed into the tree with a violent crunch. The sound was deafening — metal crumpling, glass shattering, and then the airbag exploded into her face, stealing her breath before darkness enveloped her.

Outside, flames flickered from the crumpled engine, and the smell of gasoline hung in the air. The other driver pulled to the side of the road, admiring his handy work — his mission accomplished.

*****

An autumn chill — a gentle breeze — drifted across the room as Eleanor prepared for John Doyle's parole hearing. In the dim morning light, her body faded, shimmered, and materialized again.

She gazed into the mirror, checking her hair, when suddenly something gripped her — a vision so real that it was as if she were in the passenger seat of Margaret's car.

An electrical current — a sharp, piercing jolt — ricocheted through her being, flooding her thoughts. The sound of screeching tires, a car being forced off the road, the cruel laughter of the unknown driver, and the brutal thud washed over her. Margaret's fear coursed through Eleanor's body.

Her sister's twisted body flashed before her eyes as she cried in agony. Eleanor screamed in vain, "Margaret."

*****

In an instant, Eleanor was no longer in her bedroom but at the scene of the violent crash. Her shimmering body appeared from the edge of the flames, flickering like a candle in the wind before fully materializing.

Panic clawed at her throat as she screamed her sister's name. "Margaret."

Disbelief — pain — and anger surged through her body. The mangled vehicle lay against the tree, flames spitting and sputtering around the hood. Black smoke billowed into the sky, curling like long gnarled tendrils. Inside the car, Margaret's lifeless body slumped against the airbag, sprinkled with shattered glass.

The acrid scent of burning rubber filled her nostrils, but all she could think of was her sister — trapped, scared, and alone.

Eleanor whispered, "Hold on, Margaret. I'm here!"
 
Yet, her ghostly instincts told her she might be too late.


Chapter 2
Miracles - Chap 2

By Begin Again

"Oh dear Lord, what was that?"
 
Seconds later, Peter raced from the barn, smelling the burning rubber and hearing the sound of the crunching metal. His boots pounded against the gravel drive as he sprinted toward the road, where flames were already licking at the sides of the car.

From the corner of his eye, he spotted a figure standing in the road, barely a hundred feet away, just watching. Relief flooded him —someone else was here!

He waved his arms, yelling for help, but instead of coming to his aid, the figure turned, climbed into his waiting car, and sped off. Peter's shout caught in his throat as he stood there, dumbfounded, watching the glow of red taillights disappear around the bend.

"Danged fool. Why wouldn't he help?" Peter muttered under his breath. Yanking off his flannel shirt, he raced toward the burning inferno, wrapping his hand because everything was too hot to touch. He raised his arm, shielding his face from the heat.

"Lord, this woman needs help. I can't do this alone."

Miraculously, another driver pulled to the side of the road, and a stranger hurried toward Peter, shouting, "You need to get back. It's going to explode!"

Peter nodded but turned back to Margaret's car. "I can't just leave her in there to burn. We've got to try."

"Is she alive?" The stranger asked, gasping for air after running toward Peter.

"I don't know, but there's not much time." Peter wiped his forehead and stared at the flames.

The stranger hesitated before moving closer. "Okay, pull on the handle, and I'll try to pull, too." Nothing happened.

He shook his head. "It's not budging. I'm sorry, but I don't think we can save her."

Suddenly, a woman's voice spoke, "I can help."

Both men froze, startled to hear another voice. They turned to see a woman standing directly behind them. Peter looked at the stranger. "It's worth a try, right?"

Another loud pop echoed under the hood, sending flames shooting higher and forcing the men to step back. Fear flashed through the stranger's eyes, and he shook his head. "I want to help, but that car could explode, and we'll all be dead."

Eleanor's voice was soothing. "We can do this, " she said, pressing her hand against his arm. "Please, try again, Leonard. She's my sister."

Leonard's eyes widened. "Do I know you?"

Eleanor smiled. "I think I saw a picture of you with your mother."

Leonard nodded, still unsure how the woman knew who he was; after all, his mother had passed away ten years ago. Before he could question her further, Peter shouted, "If we are going to do this, it's now or never!"

Both men felt a surge of adrenaline as they strained against the car door. Eleanor placed her hands on each man's shoulder, allowing her energy to flow through them. Her body trembled and shimmered. Her face was etched with exhaustion, but she refused to stop, risking everything to rescue Margaret.

The door groaned but didn't budge. Both men exchanged glances, debating one last attempt.

Eleanor inhaled sharply, her gaze fixed on the car. Quivering, she whispered, "Margaret, I'm here." Her expression softened, a glimmer of determination sparking in her weary smile. "One more time — I know you can do it."

Peter and Leonard nodded, each grasping the door handle and pulling with everything they had. A sudden surge of warmth and strength coursed through them. They heard the eerie sound of screeching metal as the door fell away.

Eleanor's form wavered and faded as she collapsed onto the ground, drained. She watched helplessly as the two men pulled her sister's lifeless body from the car. Flames flickered around the edge of Margaret's clothing, and her body was limp. Peter cradled her in his arms and raced up the hill away from the burning wreckage. Leonard trailed close behind.

As they reached the crest of the hill, Peter laid Margaret on the ground, and the stranger raced to his car for a blanket, yelling, "I'll call 911."

An explosive BOOM rocked the ground, and flames roared upward in a plume of red and orange.

Eleanor, weak and barely visible, struggled to move away from the heat of the fire. She whispered, pleading to an unseen force, "Please, give me the strength to reach her. She needs me."

A calm enveloped her invisible body, and her aura shimmered back into view. She gasped for air, feeling her strength return. In seconds, she was kneeling at Margaret's side.

Peter backed away. He watched in disbelief and awe as the woman who wasn't there before now cradled Margaret in her arms. He couldn't make sense of it.

"Margaret, can you hear me?" Eleanor's voice cracked. "It's Eleanor."

Margaret's eyelids fluttered, and for one heart-wrenching moment, their eyes met. Though she couldn't speak, Margaret's gaze held the warmth of unspoken words.

Eleanor's voice softened as she whispered, "I love you." She felt Margaret take her last breath and slip away. A tear rolled down her cheek, and she squeezed her sister's hand. "Until we meet again, sis."

As she released Margaret's hand, she noticed a crumpled piece of paper tucked in her sister's shirt pocket. She pulled it free. The edges were singed, and a corner flaked away as she unfolded it. Her hands trembled as she read, each word a jagged cut to her heart.

"Death Awaits You!"

Eleanor gasped as horror spread across her face. She knew instantly who had written it. The soot-stained letterhead was still recognizable — the unmistakable seal of Joliet Prison. She also knew this was only the beginning. John Doyle was coming for all of them.

A wave of guilt surged through her. She should have known he wouldn't rest, even behind bars, until he exacted his vengeance. Her fingers clenched the note as her sorrow ignited into a simmering rage.

The flames of the wreck behind her mirrored the fire burning within her soul. Doyle had started this war, and she was ready to finish it.

"This isn't over, Margaret. I swear to you, I'll stop him."

She stood and walked away, slowly fading into the black smoke.

As the sirens approached, both men stared into the black clouds, shaking their heads. Leonard wiped off the lens of his glasses, stammering as he spoke, "Did — she — just disappear?"

Peter shook his head, wiping the sweat from his face. "I'm glad you're here because I would never have believed it."

"She even knew my name."

Their conversation was curtailed as the EMTs rushed to the scene, but both men knew they hadn't been there alone.

*****

Freedom!

John Doyle's triumphant roar echoed in his mind as he stood before the parole board. His body was rigid, though he appeared outwardly calm. He believed his time at Joliet State Prison was ending, confident that he would soon be released —his plan for revenge had already taken its first steps.

Power, manipulation, and wealth had served him well in life as a judge, and even in the darkness of prison, he maintained control. No one in the room knew how many strings he still pulled or how many lives he influenced.

He had built an empire from the shadows, his influence untouchable — even behind bars. When he entered the hearing room, he noticed Detective Donatelli and FBI Agent Garth Woodman standing at the back. The absence of Eleanor brought him a smile, knowing that Margaret's accident would have unfolded by now.

The parole board members sat in a semicircle, their faces devoid of expression as they rifled through the documents. Doyle could see the subtle twitches of discomfort on their faces and reveled in them. One member glanced at the clock repeatedly — they wanted him gone. They feared him, and rightfully so.

The chairman cleared his throat, looking at Doyle through thin glasses. "John Doyle, Inmate 214788, you've been incarcerated at Joliet State Prison for over a decade. Your record has been noted during your time here —" He paused again, exchanging glances with the other board members. Clearing his throat, he continued, "There have been complications."

Doyle smiled, confident that freedom was just moments away. He replied assuredly, "Rehabilitation has worked wonders."

The chairman's lips pressed together as he studied the papers before him. Other members shuffled their stacks of documents as well. Finally, the only woman on the panel said, "You were convicted of corruption, bribery, obstruction of justice, human trafficking, theft, and so much more."

Doyle remained composed, refusing to flinch at her accusations. "All allegations, I assure you. I've served my time for those —" He paused and stared at each board member. "Let's call them misunderstandings."

The woman stared at him, refusing to take the bait he offered. "We have concerns regarding your conduct during your incarceration."

John leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing. "Is that so?"

Someone in the crowd gasped at his audacity. A few others squirmed uncomfortably in their seats, worried that names might be revealed.

Unmoved, she continued, "Reports from staff and others indicate that you have maintained relationships with known criminals, using their influence within these walls."

Doyle's smile remained unchanged. He expected their little power plays. It was their way of reminding him they held the key to his freedom. However, he believed he was in control. "I believe keeping and making friends is a part of my rehabilitation — building networks of trust. Isn't that the doctrine we've been taught daily in our sessions?"

The parole board exchanged glances, a few murmurs, and shifted nervously in their chairs.

"John Doyle, after careful consideration —" The chairman swallowed hard and continued, "By an anonymous vote, the board has decided your parole —"

Doyle grinned and turned his head to look at the crowd. His eyes stopped on Detective Matthew Donatelli. He struggled to remain calm as his hatred for the man responsible for putting him in this hellhole stared back at him and smiled. Their eyes locked, neither blinking.

The chairman tapped his gavel against the table. "Mr. Doyle, your attention, please."

Mentally, Doyle visualized his hands around Donatelli's throat, reveling as he watched his twisted face as he gasped, taking his last breath. The sound of the gavel and the chairman's raised voice brought him back to the present. He turned around to face the board, confident freedom was seconds away.

The chairman scanned the crowd, connecting with Detective Donatelli. Without looking at the inmate before him, the chairman said, "At this time, by unanimous decision, the board has denied your petition for parole."

One word hung in the air. Deny?

Doyle's once-triumphant cry of "freedom" turned sour in his mind. A roar of rage surged through him as he glared at the board. He remained still — not a muscle moved, not even a twitch in his eye. Nothing showed the violent storm brewing beneath his calm exterior.

How dare they deny him parole?

The chairman's voice droned on — for the good of the community" and "further review in five years." Doyle didn't hear any of it. His mind raced, already calculating his next move.

They thought they had the upper hand and had stripped him of his freedom. They were fools. They had no idea that he was already steps ahead of them.

Doyle rose slowly, smoothing his prison uniform as if it were one of his tailored suits. His lips curled into a smile, but this one was far more sinister than before.

Turning to stare at Donatelli, he spoke quietly, "This isn't over." Not expecting a response, he turned and walked toward the door. Before leaving, he stopped with clenched fists at his side and glared at the board members, muttering, "You haven't seen the last of me.

The correctional officer led him from the hearing room into the hallway. "Your lawyer has arranged a meeting, Mr. Doyle."

John snarled, "Not that it matters. I've nothing to say to him."

"I think it will be worth your while." The guard nodded and led the way.

As they approached a door, the guard hesitated, glancing around before shifting his eyes upward and giving a slight nod to a hidden camera.

"Right here." The guard gestured to a small conference room. "You've got ten minutes, no more."

Doyle stepped inside, his anger simmering beneath the surface. As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, he leaned against the table, arms crossed tightly across his chest, glaring at his lawyer. "So, what's the plan?"

Before his lawyer could answer, the door opened. Doyle spun around, snarling, "It ain't been ten minutes. Get out!"

Vince Rossi, a well-known attorney for Gentlemen Jack and other high-ranking mobsters, entered the room. "A bit testy, are we?" he remarked. His Armani suit screamed money and power.

Doyle recognized him but didn't let his surprise show. "So kind of you to make a social call, Rossi."

Ignoring Doyle's attitude, Rossi continued, "I didn't expect you to be so — resourceful," There was a hint of admiration in his voice. "You've got the guard in your pocket."

Doyle smirked, his confidence returning. "Power doesn't disappear just because you're behind bars. The board thinks they can contain me, but they're mistaken. I'm more than just a number in their system."

Rossi nodded, the glint of something dark in his eyes. "The bosses want you back on your feet. They're invested in your connections, and they've sent me to ensure you don't screw this up. But there's more at stake. You know William escaped, right?"

Doyle's brow furrowed slightly, his interest piqued. "William? He bungled the pageant deal. What's he got to do with this? I thought he was in Germany."

Rossi leaned in, his voice low. "That's what everyone thought. But we have a tip-off that he's back. If he's here, he's a loose end you might want to consider."
 
The wheels spun in Doyle's brain before he spoke, "Actually, he'll fit in perfectly. I've got a few paintings to unload. They're worth plenty, and William can make the connections."

"Is he trustworthy? What if he's caught? Will he fold?"

Doyle's eyes sparked with malice as a cold smile crept across his lips. "He outsmarted the FBI and conned the German Consulate. He has qualities I can use. If he fails, he's always expendable."

Rossi checked the door to make sure they weren't overheard. "Just remember, Doyle, this game is dangerous. One wrong move, and it won't just be you who pays."

Doyle straightened, exuding confidence. "They've already made their first mistake by crossing me. I won't let them forget it."

Rossi nodded. "We just need to be careful. You don't want to tip them off."

Doyle leaned in closer, a sinister sneer forming on his lips. "Careful is not my style. I guarantee you — they're gonna suffer."

Author Notes Eleanor - ghost detective
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison


Chapter 3
Miracles - Chap 3

By Begin Again

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
The parole hearing hadn't gone as he'd expected, and the veiled threats from Rossi still annoyed him. He hadn't asked for anyone's help and wasn't letting them control his plans. As the guard led him through the familiar corridors, he stood tall, refusing to acknowledge defeat or the chains around his wrists. He was free to accomplish what he wanted — even behind bars.

"Welcome back, John!" shouted an inmate, setting off a chain of jeers and taunts along the walkway.

The news of the parole denial had traveled through the prison grapevine faster than a slippery pig on a slanted slope.

A few brave souls called out, "Did you miss us?" and one even muttered, "There's always next time." His cell door clanging shut echoed through the dimly lit corridor — a harsh reminder of his confinement.

He sighed, then splashed cold water onto his face — a privilege he knew was rare among the inmates, though it did little to soothe his frustration. He glanced up, water dripping from his chin, when he heard a voice.

"Hello, John. Too bad about the parole denial."

He froze. His back stiffened when he recognized her voice.

Digging deep, he composed himself and turned, water dripping from his chin and a smirk playing on his lips as he leaned against the cell bars. "Eleanor," he mocked, "I didn't think they let the dead roam free around here. Or is this just another one of your tricks?"

"Tricks? That's your game, not mine." Her voice was low and dangerous, a storm brewing behind her calm facade.

"Did you come to gloat?" He grinned. "Or did you have something else on your mind?" He smirked. "Too bad about Margaret's little accident."

Eleanor's form wavered, struggling to remain materialized as she held back a torrent of grief and rage. Her voice broke, her words nearly a whisper but fierce, "Every time I close my eyes, I see Margaret's lifeless face. I don't know how you did it, but I'm certain you're responsible for her death."

"You know nothing," he sneered, stepping closer. "Please accept my condolences."

Eleanor's fists clenched at her sides, her breath quickening. "You think you're funny?" She hissed. "You're a monster, John."

He laughed, splashing water from the basin in her direction. "Cool down before you drop dead. Oh wait — you're already dead." His laughter echoed down the hall.

"You're going to pay for what you've done." Unspoken threats hung in the silence. Before she could continue, she sensed a visitor.

The guard entered the cellblock. Eleanor heard the clanging of the door and his approaching footsteps. She knew she must leave. She gave Doyle one last icy stare. "Watch your step, John. I will always have my eyes on you."

Doyle glared at her and jeered, "Margaret was just the icing on the cake. If you're watching anyone, it better be those close to you because I intend to take all of them down."

Eleanor compressed a gasp — recognizing the threat for what it was — another dagger to her heart.

The guard reached his cell and gave a questioning glance at Doyle. "Everything alright, John?" he asked, glancing around the cell.

Doyle looked around the cell, noting that Eleanor had disappeared. "Just fine, Henry. Just spilled some water."

"I'll get someone in here to clean it up. Sorry to hear about the hearing today. How about I have the cook whip up a juicy T-bone?"

"That'll be great. I'll make sure you find a little something extra in your locker."

The guard nodded. "You're a good man, John." He walked away to complete his rounds.

Invisible but still in the cell, Eleanor muttered, "Maybe you'll choke on that steak. Too bad it can't be seasoned with poison."

Doyle chuckled. "You aren't going to get that lucky, sweetheart."

"Don't underestimate me, John. I could slip into that kitchen and do it myself, and no one would ever be the wiser." She smirked. "Think about it, John."

She melted into the shadows, leaving only a chilling silence and a promise that she was ready to fight.

*****

Jenna stirred and pulled the pillow over her head to block the sunlight filtering through the blinds. She moaned, "It can't be morning."

The rich aroma of coffee wafted into her bedroom. Still groggy from the sleepless night, she pulled herself to a sitting position, running her hands across her face to brush her hair out of the way. There was only one explanation for the smell of fresh coffee — Eleanor was here.

She stumbled down the hall to the kitchen. Eleanor was standing by the coffeemaker with a cup in hand. She gave it to her daughter, minus her customary smile. "You look like you might need this more than I do. Though my day hasn't started very well."

Regardless of her own struggles, Jenna knew something was wrong. "Mom, what's happening? I didn't expect to see you this morning."

Eleanor pressed her lips into a fine line and inhaled sharply. "You need to sit down, dear."

Jenna took the coffee from her mother and pulled out one of the kitchen chairs. She watched Eleanor pour another cup of coffee, keeping her back to Jenna. "Mom, you didn't answer. What's wrong?"

Eleanor wiped her eyes as she turned around. "There was a car crash this morning. Margaret —" Eleanor sighed. "She's — gone."

"Gone?" Jenna's eyes widened. "Aunt Margaret? Mom, what happened?"

"Her car went off the road."

"Where? How did the accident happen?"

Eleanor closed her eyes, trying to control her emotions. "It wasn't an accident, Jenna."

"I don't understand. You said her car crashed."

"Someone ran her off the road."

"On purpose? Who would do such a thing?"

"Only one name comes to mind, I am afraid."

Jenna stared at Eleanor. "The Judge! But how? He's behind bars." Remembering the parole hearing, she gasped, "They didn't release him, did they?"

Eleanor shook her head. "No, his parole was denied, but I have no doubt that he was behind Margaret's death."

Jenna shook her head and watched her mom. "We all have reasons to hate him, but he is in jail."

"He is. I even visited him this morning."

"You went to the hearing."

"No, I went to his cell after saying goodbye to my sister."

"To his cell!" Jenna screamed, but then Eleanor's other words hit home. "Oh, Mom, you were at the accident. But how?"

"She called my name, and a vision flashed through my mind. I saw the crash." Tears rolled down her face. "I was there, but I couldn't save her."

Jenna jumped off the chair and wrapped Eleanor in her arms. "I'm so sorry." She squeezed a little tighter before stepping back. "But how can you be sure the Judge is behind it?"

"He laughed, Jenna. I could still see my sister's lifeless body cradled in my arms, and he laughed. He said that he was going to take down everyone who put him in that hellhole. That includes you, Matthew, Garth, and who knows who else he has a grudge against. Maybe the parole board, too."

Eleanor's cold, harsh words settled over both women.

Jenna shivered, clutching her coffee mug like a lifeline. "He threatened — all of us?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Her chest tightened. She forced a steadying breath, hoping Eleanor wouldn't notice her shaking hands. "Don't worry, Mom. We'll stay alert."

But Eleanor caught the shadow in Jenna's eyes and touched her shoulder gently. "Are you sure everything's alright?"

Jenna managed a tense smile. "I'm fine. Just a bit overwhelmed, I guess."

But Eleanor's eyes didn't leave her daughter's face. She had a mother's instinct, and it told her this wasn't just a bad night's sleep. She opened her mouth as if to say something but stopped, deciding to let Jenna come to her when she was ready.

"Alright," Eleanor said gently, though she couldn't hide her concern. "I'll be here if you want to talk."

Jenna murmured a quick "thanks" and retreated to her room, shutting the bathroom door behind her. She leaned against the door, her fingers curling around the doorknob as her mind drifted to the dark places she'd tried to bury.

As she stared into the mirror, vivid images of her nightmare surged back — the cold night air, her heart pounding, and the sound of footsteps echoing behind her.

A clatter from the kitchen — something falling to the floor —made her jump, and her breath quickened. Panic clawed at her throat as she recalled the sensation of strong hands gripping her arms. What if Doyle had something to do with the rape? The thought slashed through her like a knife.

She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting to suppress the memories. The echoes of her screams rang in her ears, but no sound escaped her lips.

She turned to the sink and splashed water on her face, gripping the edge as her breathing grew shallow. Staring at her reflection, she fought the rising panic, willing herself back to the present, away from the fear. It was easier to pretend the rape wasn't part of her reality.

As Jenna's reflection battled the flood of memories from the nightmare, she knew she had to pull herself together. The morning's news about Aunt Margaret was shocking, and the revelation that Doyle might be responsible was upsetting, but she had a business to run. Today, she hoped to make an important decision and hire a new assistant. "Get your act together! You can't change anything, so move forward. Isn't that what Mom would say?"

She reached for her phone and searched her contacts until she found Rebecca's name. She had met Rebecca at a networking event a few weeks ago. The woman had recently moved to town. Jenna had been intrigued by her energy and enthusiasm, sensing a kindred spirit in the newcomer.

With a deep breath, Jenna tapped the screen to call Rebecca, hoping she could turn her chaotic emotions into something productive. As the phone rang, she glanced at the kitchen, where her mother stood at the counter, pouring herself another cup of coffee, her face clouded with concern.

"Hello?" Rebecca's voice came through bubbly and upbeat.

"Hi, Rebecca. It's Jenna. I hope I'm not catching you at a bad time."

"Not at all. I'm just getting settled in. How are you?"

Jenna hesitated, knowing she didn't want to unload her worries on Rebecca, who was still trying to find her footing in a new place. "I'm okay, but I could use your help. I've got a few events coming up, and I'm looking to hire someone. I remembered our conversation about event planning and thought you might be interested."

"That sounds exciting! I'd love to help out. What do you need?"

Jenna felt a spark of enthusiasm return, pushing aside the heaviness of the morning's news. "I have a wedding event next month, and with the holiday season approaching, I need someone to assist with the details. It could also be a great way to get to know the community."

"Absolutely! I'd love to be involved. Let's meet up and discuss it more."

Jenna nodded, even though Rebecca couldn't see her. "Perfect! How about tomorrow at The Rustic Cafe? It'll give us a chance to review everything, and you can tell me more about settling in."

"Sounds like a plan. I'm looking forward to it."

"Me too. I'll see you then." Jenna ended the call, feeling a renewed sense of purpose.

She returned to the kitchen, where Eleanor was sipping her coffee, her face still etched with worry. "Were you talking to someone?" Eleanor asked.

"Rebecca. I'm hiring her to help with the upcoming events."

Eleanor raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "The young woman you met at the last networking meeting, right? That sounds promising. Is she settling in well?"

"I think so. She seems enthusiastic about getting to know the area," Jenna replied, forcing a smile. "Plus, I think we both need something to focus on besides what happened to Aunt Margaret."

Eleanor's expression softened, and she nodded. "You're right. It's important to keep moving forward. I'm proud of you for taking this step, Jenna."

"Thanks, Mom. I'm just trying to keep things together."
 
 Jenna's phone buzzed again. A text from Rebecca appeared on the screen, and Jenna's heart skipped a beat as she read it: Have you ever heard of an Attorney named Phillip Henderson? I just received a registered letter, and he's requesting to meet with me. I can't imagine what it might be about."

Jenna frowned. "Mom, have you ever heard the name Phillip Henderson? Supposedly, he's an attorney in town requesting to meet with Rebecca. She has no idea what he would want with her."

Eleanor thought for a minute, scowling as she tried to recall something. "I might be wrong, but I think he's Ralph Henderson's brother. Helen did some work with Ralph at one time. Back then, they only dealt with wills and trusts."

"That doesn't make any sense. Rebecca doesn't have any living family."

"Well, I might be wrong, or maybe they have expanded their practice. She'll just have to contact them to find out, I guess. A simple phone call can't hurt."

"Yeah. Maybe she'll be surprised and discover a long-lost relative."

Eleanor smiled. "One never knows what's just around the corner." She sipped her coffee and let her mind wander backward in time, remembering how Jenna had unexpectedly come back into her life.

Author Notes Eleanor - ghost detective
Jenna - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widow (Allie)
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison


Chapter 4
Miracles - Chap 4

By Begin Again

 
 
 
 
Danni breezed through the cafe tables with her takeout order for herself and Matthew. She smiled when she spotted Jenna seated by the window.

"Jenna!" she called out, making her way over. Jenna glanced up from her coffee, her surprise quickly turning to a warm smile.

"So, how's it feel?" Jenna laughed.

"You mean to be legally visible to the world? It's awesome, Jenna. I am so grateful that Eleanor stepped up and told the council how I could be helpful just like her if allowed to be seen."
 
"I'm happy for you. You deserved the recognition."

Danni took a seat across from her, leaning in. "I just wanted to stop and say I'm so sorry about Margaret. That was a shock."

"Thank you, Danni," Jenna murmured, her expression softening. "Has Matthew spoken with Eleanor?"

"I don't believe so. He attended the parole hearing with Garth and didn't hear about it until he was back in town. I'm sure Eleanor is devastated about the accident."

"It wasn't an accident, Danni." Jenna shifted her gaze to the busy sidewalk, unable to believe John Doyle wielded so much power from behind bars.

Danni's eyebrows furrowed together. "I don't understand. Didn't her car crash outside of town?"

Jenna nodded, pressing her lips together, wondering what she should share.

"Jenna, don't leave me hanging. Why do you say it wasn't an accident?"

She sighed. "Because — my mother was there."

"Eleanor?" Danni's voice spiked. "I thought the initial report said Margaret was alone and lost control in the fog."

"On the surface, that statement is correct, I suppose. Margaret was alone."

"Then how did Eleanor —" Danni closed her eyes for a moment, then continued her thought, "Never mind." She paused. "She had a vision, didn't she?"

Jenna nodded. "She did and was transported to the scene in time to assist in removing Margaret's body from the car."

"It had to be devastating for her. Knowing that there's only so much she could do." Danni didn't want to push, but the detective in her wanted to know more about why Eleanor said it wasn't an accident. She trusted her and knew she wouldn't say anything unless she had facts. "What did Eleanor tell you?"

"I think I should let her give you and Matthew all the details, so I don't get anything wrong, but she did find a note —"

Danni's thoughts were spinning. "A suicide note?"

"No, no — a note on Joliet State Prison stationery."

Danni gasped, immediately understanding the importance of the note. "From Doyle?"

"Eleanor says it was. It said, "Death awaits you."

Danni gasped. "A threat, but how can she be sure that Doyle is the one behind it? All his mail is censored."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that, Danni. According to my mother, Doyle's living quarters might have changed, but his power and the ability to manipulate remain. He's —" Jenna inhaled sharply, her eyes glassy as she connected with Danni's eyes. "He's threatened to take anyone involved in his conviction down."

"From prison? When did he say this, and to who?"

"This morning to Eleanor." Jenna sipped her coffee, knowing Danni was analyzing every word and the next question would be how.

"Donatelli gets notified if Doyle has visitors, and except for his lawyer, no one was there yesterday or today."

Jenna managed a smile. "You're slipping, Danni. Is too much physical contact taking the edge off your brain? It's Eleanor we're talking about."

Danni gasped. "Duh! I really do have brain fog. She was at the prison, wasn't she?" The sudden realization of Eleanor's confrontation with Doyle was like a bolt of lightning, electrifying the conversation.

"Yes, in his cell." Jenna shivered. "She confronted him about Margaret, and he laughed."

"He's sick! And your mother — there's no one better than her. So Doyle was taunting her. Maybe it was just words."

"Mom doesn't think so. She says we are all in danger — me, Garth, and Matthew. She came to my house yesterday morning to warn me. I've never seen her so —"

"Worried? Concerned? Of course, she was, honey." Danni reached across the table, touching Jenna's hand. "Ghost or not, she's your mother and loves you deeply. She'd just lost her sister, confronted the man she believes is responsible, and not only delivered the shocking news to her daughter but told her that her life was in danger as well. That's a lot to swallow."

"I know, and it didn't help that I'd had a rough night."

Danni raised an eyebrow. "You sick?"

"Just some stomach thing. Nothing for you or my mother to worry about."

Danni tilted her head, scrutinizing her friend. "Speaking about worrying, Matthew is also at the top of that list." She softened her tone. "He hasn't heard from you in weeks. I thought things were going so well between you two. Mind me asking what happened?"

Jenna chuckled. "Would it stop you even if I did?"

"Probably not!"

Jenna looked down, her fingers tracing patterns on the side of her coffee mug. "I've just — I've been busy. And besides, I needed some time to — get myself together."

Danni's gaze softened. "Understandable, Jenna. Just don't shut out the people who care about you."

At that moment, the bell over the cafe door jingled, and Jenna glanced up, spotting Rebecca as she entered. Relief washed over her, naturally changing the conversation. She waved Rebecca over, motioning to the empty seat beside her.

"Rebecca, come meet a friend of mine," Jenna said as Rebecca reached the table. She gestured to Danni with a welcoming smile. "This is Danni, one of the best people you'll ever meet."

Rebecca smiled politely, extending her hand to Danni, who shook it with an effortless, natural grace. Jenna omitted the minor detail that Danni wasn't exactly among the living, a revelation best saved for later, if ever.

After a brief exchange, Danni looked at Jenna and said, "I'd better go. Enjoy your lunch, you two." She waved goodbye before heading out the door.

As soon as Danni left, Rebecca leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I've got news! I finally talked to the attorney, and he told me there's important information he needs to pass on." She shook her head, her brow furrowed. "I can't imagine what it could be, but I have an appointment on Friday."

Jenna's eyes sparkled with curiosity. "Well, maybe it's good news! Who knows? Maybe a distant relative left you some money."

Rebecca chuckled, trying to shake off the anxious knot in her stomach. "If only, except I don't believe I have any other relatives. My parents never mentioned anyone."

Jenna gave her a reassuring smile. "You'll know soon enough. Sometimes, the most unexpected things are just what we need."

"Now you sound like Santa Claus, Jenna. He's not leaving me a distant relative under the tree." Rebecca laughed. "At least, I don't think he is."

"I'm starving. Do you mind if we order and then talk?"

"No, of course not. I'm thrilled you are considering me for the position, Jenna. Moving to a new town, I thought job hunting would be a chore in a small town."

"I need help, and we hit it off so well at the networking seminar that I don't see why I'd want to look any further. If you are interested, the job is yours."

"I'm interested! I can't wait!" she said, picking up the menu. "Just let me know when I start."

"Would tomorrow be too soon?" Jenna smiled.

Rebecca laughed. "Heck, I'd start this afternoon if you wanted me to. But right now, let's order. I think my stomach is about to revolt."

*****

Jenna placed her order, eyeing the menu more enthusiastically than she felt. "It all sounds so good," she told Rebecca, smiling.

Rebecca chuckled. "Good, you need to eat. You've been burning the candle at both ends."

But the moment the plate arrived, the rich smell hit her, and a wave of nausea rolled over her. She pushed her chair back, hand over her mouth, as the nausea intensified.

Rebecca's smile faded to concern. "Jenna? Are you alright?"

"Yeah," Jenna murmured, swallowing hard. "I think... maybe something just didn't sit right."

Rebecca frowned. "You haven't eaten a bite. Let me take you home."

Jenna started to protest but nodded reluctantly, grateful for the escape. She waved to Maurice, the owner, making a circle with her hand around the tabletop, and he nodded. He would put the bill on her tab.

They were halfway to the door when Garth entered the cafe. His gaze immediately fell on Jenna, his expression softening as he approached them.

"Jenna," he greeted, enfolding her in his arms. "I'm so sorry to hear about Margaret. If there's anything I can do, please let me know."

He released her, and Jenna squeezed his hand. "Thank you, Garth. That means a lot."

She glanced behind, expecting to see Tango.

Garth chuckled. "My sidekick is parking the car." Turning to Rebecca, he removed his Stetson and smiled. "And who is this charming lady, Jenna?"

"Forgive my manners." A wave of nausea rocked her momentarily, and then she said, "Garth, this is my new assistant, Rebecca." Their eyes met, and a spark of interest shot through them.

Rebecca flushed slightly, but Garth returned his gaze to Jenna. "Are you alright?" he asked, concern etching his features. "You look a little pale."

"Just ate something that didn't agree with me," Jenna replied, trying to sound casual. But Rebecca had noticed Jenna hadn't touched her food.

"It was nice meeting you, Garth, but Jenna and I have another meeting to attend. Can't have my boss being late."

They quickly said their goodbyes and exited the cafe. Garth smiled as he watched them leave, murmuring, "A nice addition to the town."

*****

"Rebecca, you're the best!" Nestled beneath her down comforter, she smiled at her new assistant. "You didn't have to do all this."

Rebecca entered the bedroom, balancing a tray with a thermos of steaming tea, a mug, crackers, and a fresh box of Kleenex. "Isn't that what friends are for? It wasn't any trouble." Not familiar with Jenna's home, Rebecca glanced around the room. "Can't I get you anything else?"

"No, you've been awesome. I'll just get some sleep and be good as new in the morning. Thanks for the help, Rebecca."

"Before I leave, do you mind me asking about Garth?"

A smile crept across Jenna's face for the first time since they left the restaurant. "So, the Cowboy caught your attention, too. Most of the ladies can't resist his smile and sexy drawl."

"I imagine he's got several of them hanging on his arm, then."

"No, he plays it cool. He was married to the love of his life. Her name was Allie."

"You said was. What woman would toss that delicious fish back into the pond?"

"She didn't let go willingly. She died of cancer."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so cold."

"You couldn't have known. It's been almost two years, but he hasn't shown any interest in anyone, and he's had plenty of opportunities."

"Including you?" Rebecca teased.

"No, we're just good friends. I lost my heart to another lawman." Jenna turned away and became very quiet.

"Well, I better let you rest. I'm glad I could help and look forward to tomorrow." Rebecca smiled. "Thanks for the job. Now, get some sleep, and I will show myself out."

The cool pillowcase felt good against Jenna's cheek, and she closed her eyes, thinking about what Danni had said earlier about Matthew. She inhaled, gently letting the air escape her lips, and murmured, "I miss you too, Matthew."

Jenna drifted in the warmth of her dreams, a gentle smile on her lips. She was with Donatelli, his arms wrapped around her as they stood beneath a canopy of fragrant cherry blossoms. She felt safe, wrapped in this new love.

She could almost feel his hands against her back as they swayed together, dancing to a song only they could hear. As the memory faded, a more sinister thought replaced it — footsteps, panic, running, hands ripping at her clothes, dragging her deeper into the shadows, and then blackness.

Jenna bolted upright, screaming until she realized it was just a dream — a horrible memory she'd tried to forget. She collapsed against the bed, weeping until she drifted into an exhausted sleep.

Author Notes Eleanor - ghost detective
Jenna - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie)
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison


Chapter 5
Miracles - Chap 5

By Begin Again

The following morning, after several bouts of nausea, Jenna managed to make it to work, knowing that Rebecca would be there. Jenna needed a break after introducing her new assistant to the facility and generalizing how things worked.

She rubbed her temples as exhaustion settled in. "Rebecca, I hate to do this to you on your first day, but would you mind fielding calls for a bit? I just need to clear my head. I thought I'd spend some time with Eleanor."

Rebecca smiled reassuringly. "Of course, take as long as you need."

Jenna thanked her and soon found herself walking with Eleanor at the local art gallery. They wandered through the quiet, dimly lit halls, admiring the works displayed along the walls. For a moment, the worries of the past few days faded.

As Eleanor admired one of the new exhibits, Jenna asked, "Do you miss painting and living the secret life of CJ Grey?"

"Sometimes, I miss holding the brush and creating something special, but I don't miss being CJ. She was just a way of keeping my life with Charles secret from the world, especially after you came back into my life. I wouldn't jeopardize losing you again."

"As CJ, you were rich and famous, yet you chose to live a quiet, grandmotherly life — one John Doyle took away from you."

"I chose to live the life that brought me closer to you, Jenna. I was afraid to tell you the truth."

"Because you gave me up at birth? I understood."

"But I had no way of knowing for sure. I was content sharing your life, especially after your adopted parents died. The day you moved in next door was the best day I'd had since your birth." Eleanor wrapped her arm around Jenna's shoulder and squeezed her. "Even though I'd kept in touch with your family and experienced every significant moment of your life, it wasn't the same until I could physically sit and share a cup of coffee with you."

"Don't forget those pastries! I can still smell them as you pulled them from the oven."

"Discovering you loved art was amazing. Those days of sitting in the sunroom, dabbling with the paints, meant much more to me than the work of CJ Grey."

"But she made millions and donated to help so many others."

"I'm glad I could help others, but the money didn't mean anything. And when I saw your grief after my death, it was worse than dying."

Tears glistened in Jenna's eyes. "I couldn't imagine how I would live without you."

"Imagine how I felt when the council allowed me to right some wrongs. I jumped at the chance and have never looked back."

Jenna laughed. "At times, I think you enjoy life as a ghost far more than you did living."

"It has given me the chance to know you better and to make memories we missed out on. Of course, Charles would prefer I stayed in England, but those stuffy halls don't suit me. I must be where I am needed — with you, Matthew, Garth, and Danni."

"I saw Danni yesterday. She's on Cloud Nine after you convinced the council what an asset she would be to the police department if she could be visible like you."

"After those last few cases where she provided crucial information, she deserved it. I'm glad they agreed. She just needs to control some of her spontaneous thoughts." Both women laughed.

As they strolled through the gallery, Eleanor stopped abruptly and focused on a man carrying a painting into a storage area. She stood motionless, watching as the door swung shut.

"Jenna —" Eleanor's voice was barely a whisper. "I must be seeing things, but that was one of Charles's paintings. It's been so long. It couldn't be —" She trailed off as disbelief crossed her face.

"One of Charles' paintings? Maybe it was sold to someone."

"Not this one. He wouldn't have parted with it. It meant too much to him." A gleam lit up Eleanor's eyes as a memory of Charles teaching her to paint flickered across her mind.

"So, you think it's one of the stolen ones?" Jenna glanced around the studio. "Should I get the curator?"

Eleanor gave a slight laugh and shook her head. "No, it's just the loss of Margaret and missing Charles playing tricks with my imagination." She took Jenna's arm, and they continued through the gallery.

Yet, as they wandered, Jenna couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Eleanor's words than a passing whim. She glanced over her shoulder, wondering if the painting was a hidden piece of Eleanor's past.

*****

The day finally ended, leaving Jenna drained in both body and mind. She rested her head against her office chair, staring at the stars twinkling in the sky.

Rebecca peeked into the office, offering a smile. "Hey, boss!"

"How was day one as my much-needed assistant?" Jenna asked, mustering a tired grin.

Rebecca chuckled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Surprisingly uneventful, given everything. I think I might even survive this."

Jenna smiled, appreciating the lightness. "I'm glad to hear it. You did great today. I'm sorry. I dumped everything on you."

"Not a problem. That's what you hired me for, right?" Rebecca gave her a quick wave. "Goodnight, Jenna. Try to get some rest yourself."

As the office emptied, silence settled over the offices, and Jenna found peace in watching the shimmering stars.

Her eyelids grew heavy, and slowly, as if the stars were pulling her under, she slipped into a familiar dream.

She stood in Donatelli's bedroom with moonlight filtering through the blinds. His arms were wrapped around her, his lips pressed against her hair. Soft music played, and he hummed the tune in her ear. She felt so safe.

As she tipped her head, offering him her lips, the scene shifted suddenly, violently, as if the ground beneath her had fallen away. Shadows loomed — his shadow — the rapist. Malice filled his eyes. Fear pressed down on her chest. She was suffocating. Gasping for air, she tried to scream, but no sound came out, and her world went black.

Then, with a jolt, she was awake, drenched in sweat, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She clutched her chest, trying to calm the pounding. But nausea rose in her stomach, overwhelming her. She stumbled into the bathroom and sank to her knees, fighting the urge to cry. Losing the battle, she screamed.

The dream was over, but the fear lingered. She pulled her legs to her chest, feeling lost and alone. She needed to tell someone. Eleanor was dealing with Margaret's death. Would Danni understand? Who could she trust with something so personal?

She inhaled sharply, knowing the answer. Matthew was the only one she trusted, the only one who might understand. But would opening up risk everything they had? She didn't know, yet the need for someone to lean on was more potent than her fear.

*****

The following morning, Jenna purposely ran a few errands near the police precinct. She decided to stop in to see Matthew. If the opportunity felt right, she'd tell him about the assault. She knew he'd be angry that she'd waited so long to tell him, but in the end, he would be the one to understand her fear.

She didn't have a description of the man, and it was far too late for a hospital exam, but maybe he could help her deal with the nightmares.

They were growing worse, starting to bleed into her work and her everyday thoughts, leaving her on edge. Maybe he'd know of a support group — something like the meetings people went to for addictions, just a place where she didn't feel so alone in this. She couldn't keep letting this take control of her life.

As she entered the building, her steps quickened, and she headed for the bathroom. She pushed into a stall as her stomach heaved, barely managing to close the door as she vomited. Shaking, she pressed her hands against the sidewalls, trying to steady herself.

Danni recognized Jenna entering the building and hurried to catch up with her to share a few moments of girl talk.

Jenna heard footsteps entering the bathroom. She fought back another bout of vomiting, hoping the person would leave soon. She froze when Danni's voice broke through the silence. "Jenna? Are you okay?"

Jenna took a deep breath, steadying herself, and opened the stall door. Danni was standing there, a look of concern softening her features. She held out a wet paper towel. "You really should see a doctor."

Jenna managed a weak smile, trying to brush it off. "It's just...stomach problems. Probably something I ate."

Danni didn't look convinced but nodded. "If you say so. I didn't mean to intrude. Take care of yourself, okay?"

"Thanks, Danni. I'd hoped to see Matthew for a moment. Do you know if he's busy?"

"Just working on reports, I think. Nothing that couldn't be put on hold. Especially when it's a visit from you." Danni waved and hurried back to her office.

Washing her face and brushing her hair, Jenna felt better. She moved down the hall to Matthew's office, intending to surprise him and maybe get a moment of support. She knocked lightly and poked her head in. He was on the phone but held up a finger as he pressed the hold button. His expression was unreadable, but his voice had a cold edge she hadn't expected.

"You need something?" he asked flatly.

"Uh — no, I just thought I'd stop by to say hello."

"It's not a good time," he said curtly, his gaze hard. "I'm really busy. You should have called." He turned his back and returned to the phone call.

She felt the sting of his words and stepped back. "Right, sorry. Danni said — never mind, I'll catch you later."

Jenna left — her heart filled with disappointment. As she made her way to the exit, she passed Danni without a word, her vision blurred by her tears. Outside, she collapsed onto a bench as everything caught up to her. She wrapped her arms around herself and let the tears come.

Curious about what Matthew might have said to Jenna to upset her, Danni poked her head into his office. "Everything alright in here?"

Donatelli looked up and laughed at her expression. "I'm great! Shouldn't I be?"

Danni turned and looked down the hall and then back at him. "Did you see Jenna?"

The smile left his face, and he stared at the pen in his fingers, twirling it around.

"Matthew, what happened? She came to see you. Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Yeah, but I guess I let my feelings get in the way."

"Why? What did you say to her?"

Matthew cleared his throat and took a swallow of his cold coffee, stalling from giving Danni an answer.

"Donatelli, she left here in tears. What did you say?"

"I told her I was busy."

"Busy? Doing reports that I usually finish for you anyhow?" Danni shook her head in disbelief. "Way to go, Donatelli. You get your chance, and you blow it. Big time!"

"But —"

"I don't want to hear your lousy excuse. You're going to have to fix this, and soon."

She turned and headed back to her office, muttering, "And they say blondes are dumb! Sometimes, I wonder if men even have a brain."

*****

Back at the office, Jenna noticed a small bowl of soup with crackers waiting on her desk, but she barely made it to the bathroom before her stomach revolted again. She held onto the sink as the nausea twisted her insides. Rebecca's voice sounded from the hallway, her footsteps approaching. Jenna glanced up to see Rebecca's concerned reflection in the mirror.

"Jenna, are you sure you're okay?" Rebecca's voice was soft but persistent.

Jenna nodded weakly, wiping her mouth. "I'm fine. Just an upset stomach."

Rebecca bit her lip, clearly unconvinced. "I'll be right back."

Jenna nodded and mumbled, "I'll be right here." She closed the door behind her and leaned against the sink, waiting for the next wave to hit her.

When she convinced herself that it was safe to return to work, Jenna noticed a small, discreet box on her desk — a pregnancy test. Attached was a note from Rebecca — "I'm running out for a few things. As your friend, I am concerned. Toss the test or use it. I won't mention it again. Just take care of yourself."

Jenna stared at the test while her mind battled denial and then fear. After a few minutes, she worked up the courage, entered the bathroom, and took the test. Her hands shook as she waited for the result.

What if it was positive?

A wave of fear coursed through her body as she remembered the rape. No, it couldn't have happened, could it? Who was she fooling? She didn't even believe it was the stomach flu.

After five minutes, she returned to the bathroom and stood staring at the test lying on the sink counter.

Trembling, she closed her eyes, picked up the test, and set it down again.

"This is silly. I'm not pregnant. It's just the flu. Why do people always jump to conclusions when a woman is sick?"

She stared at her reflection in the mirror. "Just look at it, Jenna!"

She swallowed, bracing herself against a truth she wasn't ready to face.

Author Notes Eleanor - ghost detective
Jenna - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie)
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison
Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Donatelli
Rebecca - new girl in town and Jenna's assistant


Chapter 6
Miracles - Chap 6

By Begin Again

 
 
 
 
 
 
"Just do it!"
 
Jenna scolded herself, afraid to look at the test.

She took a deep breath, her heart pounding louder with each beat. She wasn't ready to face the answer, and conflicting emotions caught her in a whirlwind that her body already understood.

What if it's positive?

Images flashed across her mind of a night she'd tried so hard to bury. She ran her hand across her stomach and stared into the mirror.

A baby — a living, breathing human might be growing inside her.

She shivered with her next thought.

Can I carry and nurture a reminder of that moment that fills me with unspeakable dread? Will I blame the child and pass on my fears?

Her body went cold.
 
How could she even be thinking about these things?

She forced herself to think of Eleanor, the decisions she'd had to face, and her adopted mother—who had taken her in, loved her as her own, and taught her to be strong.
 
Would she even know how to find that strength now to make a choice like this? The idea felt like a boat anchor — one she wasn't sure she could carry.

Tears welled in her eyes, and she clenched her fists, steadying herself as best she could. She knew she'd have to look at the test eventually, to face whatever it held, but her mind was spinning with questions she couldn't answer.

Would she be able to keep and raise a child? Could she even bear to consider it?

None of the options seemed viable.

With a trembling hand, Jenna squeezed her eyes shut and reached for the test. "Do it, Jenna?"

A shock wave of uncertainty washed over her as she opened her eyes. It was positive. She was pregnant. Dropping the test, her hands pressed against her stomach, and she stared into the mirror. A pair of eyes filled with despair stared back at her.

The words tumbled from her mouth in a heartbreaking cry, "Oh, dear God in Heaven, why?"

She stumbled to her desk, clutching the test, unable to process what this meant, mumbling, "I'm pregnant." The words opened a floodgate of tears. Sitting alone in her office, she rocked back and forth, sobbing and muttering, "Why?"
 
*****

After seeing how pale and distraught Jenna had been earlier, Garth decided to stop in and check on her. As he neared her office, the sound of hysterical sobbing reached his ears, and he hurried toward it.

As he entered her office, his heart broke at the sight of Jenna, legs tucked to her chest, rocking back and forth with tears streaming down her face.

"Jenna!" He raced around the desk, pulling her into his arms. "Jenna, what's wrong? Talk to me."

Her hands clutched his shirt as she buried her face in his chest, unable to speak. With one arm, he held her while the other stroked her hair, and his lips whispered, "It's going to be alright, Jenna. Whatever it is, we'll get through this together."

Unable to hold back, Jenna leaned into him, letting the sobs come freely. He held her, offering silent comfort as she trembled in his embrace.



*****

Meanwhile, Donatelli's conscience gnawed at him, replaying the coldness with which he'd treated Jenna earlier. He felt torn between his pride and his feelings for her. Finally, the power of love won.

Deciding he needed to apologize, he stopped at a florist, picked up a bouquet of roses, and headed to her office, rehearsing what he'd say, hoping to make amends. His gut told him that the night they'd spent together had been far more than a one-night stand. Jenna was special.

As he neared her door, he stopped. His stomach did a major flip-flop. Through the window, he saw Jenna with Garth, his long-time rival, wrapped in his arms, her face pressed into his chest. His body stiffened as he watched the scene unfold - Garth's hands stroking Jenna's back and his lips so close to her.

Bitterness and jealousy reared their ugly heads, twisting his insides into knots. Without a word, he turned on his heels, tossing the roses into the trash bin as he stormed from the building. His anger clouded his mind, and he pulled out his phone, calling Danni.

He barked into the phone. "I won't be back."

Shocked, she asked, "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing that a few stiff drinks won't fix."

"Matthew, did you —"

"Danni, enough with the questions. I saw her in Garth's arms. I won't play that game again." Choking back his emotions, he muttered, "I need to be alone."

Without even a goodbye, he disconnected the call. With one last glance back at the building, he stripped off his tie and jacket, put on his Aviator glasses, and slid behind the wheel of his car, slamming his hands against the wheel before starting it.
 
White knuckled, he drove away, never realizing someone was shadowing his every move.

He needed to distance himself from the display of affection he'd just watched, but his mind wasn't about to accommodate him. The scene replayed over and over as he sped down the highway — destination unknown.

****

Several miles out of town, he pulled off the road, stopping outside "The Hideaway" — a rough-looking biker's bar that promised the anonymity he needed. He hadn't planned where he'd go — he'd just driven until he felt he was far enough from everyone and everything.

As he pushed through the heavy bar door, the smell of stale smoke and cheap whiskey hit him. A few locals glanced his way, sizing him up, but he kept his head down, sliding onto a barstool and nodding to the bartender.

Outside, the other car stopped across the street, the engine idling as the driver watched Donatelli disappear inside. He picked up his phone and made a call. "Yeah, he's here." the driver growled. A grin spread across his unshaven face. "The Gods are shining on us. I happen to know the bouncer and the bartender."

A voice at the other end asked, "Can you get this done?"

"If you need to ask, then I'm not your man. Get someone else."

"Don't get your jets fired up, Freddy. Doyle wants you."

The driver snarled, "If you know what's good for you, William, you won't call me that again. It's Frederick the Great. Understand?"

"Sure, I didn't mean anything by it. I'm just the messenger."

"Remember that when talking to me. I'm the muscle and the brains." He was tired of this mealy-mouthed errand boy on the other end of the line. He had business to take care of, but first, he wanted to be assured he'd get paid. "It'll cost, and I'm not talking about penny ante stuff. I'm expecting a big paycheck or one of those paintings he's been smuggling out of the country. Understood?"

"The Judge said to get it done, regardless of the cost. There's an extra 100Gs in it if you eliminate any witnesses."

"I know what I'm doing. There ain't going to be any witnesses." Frederick chuckled. "By the time I'm done with this guy, he'll wish he was dead, and for sure, he'll be behind bars." He chuckled. "Maybe even a cellmate buddy with the judge."
 
"Just get it done."

He clicked off, his grin on his face a dark promise of what would unfold.

*****

Frederick eased his car behind the abandoned shed, hiding it from the main road. He took a deep breath, glancing at the row of Harleys outside the Hideaway. The place was packed tonight, a roaring party for the town's wildest. Perfect for what he had in mind.

He slipped through the back door and was instantly greeted by Tony, who grinned and tossed a bar towel over his shoulder.

"Well, well, look who crawled in," Tony said with a chuckle. "What's the occasion, Frederick?"

Frederick leaned in, his tone low and casual. "Got a little job for you. See the guy at the end of the bar? He's a thorn in the Judge's backside if you know what I mean. I need you and the crew to make sure his night doesn't go quite as planned."

Tony's eyes lit up with recognition. "I thought I recognized him when he walked into this joint wearing those threads. Isn't he that hot-shot —"

Frederick's hand touched Tony's arm as he gave him a nod. "Less said, the better."

A gleam in Tony's eyes said he understood. "This could be interesting." He clapped a hand on Frederick's shoulder. "We're all ears. What's the play?"

"You better get Bruiser, too. We need this to go down like any other Friday night. Just a disagreement between two men that got out of hand."

Tony yelled across the room. "Hey, Bruiser, I need another case of the good stuff."

The bouncer nodded and headed toward Tony's office. Frederick was close behind. Inside the office, the bouncer slapped Frederick on the back. "You got some action going down?"

Frederick pulled a wad of money from his pocket and skimmed off five Ben Franklins. "You can count on a bonus if this goes down the way the Judge wants."

"The Judge? Man, this guy must have really messed up. What'd he do?"

"Does it matter?" Frederick snarled, "You in or not?"

"No problem, pal. It was a simple question, but if the Judge wants it done, let's make it happen."
 
"That's more like it! I knew I could count on you, Bruiser."

"Let me get this case of booze out to the bar, and you can fill us in."

After setting up another round of a shot and a beer for Crystal, Tony worked his way back to the end of the bar, where it was dimly lit. Frederick and Bruiser stood in the shadows.

"I want you to get him into a game of pool. We'll start slow, let him get comfortable, and then — well, let's just say we give him a little 'encouragement' to get rowdy."

Tony smirked. "Gotcha. A couple of beers in, and we'll get him thinking he's the best shot in the bar. Then we let him know otherwise."

Frederick turned to Crystal, who had sidled up to him with a smirk of her own. "And as for you, beautiful," he murmured, slipping an arm around her waist, "I've got something special."

She cocked her head, intrigued. He slipped her a small packet, keeping his voice low. "When he's distracted, drop this in his drink. Make sure he doesn't see you."

Crystal chuckled, tucking the packet into her back pocket. "Oh, I can handle that, Frederick. No problem."

"Good," Frederick said, giving her butt a friendly squeeze and slipping a Franklin between her cleavage. "Let's make it convincing. The more natural, the better."

Bruiser folded his arms, nodding with a grin. "Johnny's worn out his welcome around here, so I'll get him to challenge your guy to a game of pool. A few knocks to the head won't hurt him." They all laughed at his joke. 
 
Tony leaned across the bar and lowered his voice as he added, "By the looks of this guy, he's going to show off. If the guy's got an ego — he'll take the bait."

"Trust me. He's got a chip on his shoulder." Frederick's grin widened. "Once he's riled up, we let things get a little heated. A few words, a nudge, maybe even a shove. Just enough to get him fired up and ready to take a swing."

Tony gave a nod. "You know us, Frederick. He'll be putty in our hands."

Frederick leaned back, satisfied. "That's why I like you guys. Let's make this a night he won't forget." His smile turned cold, knowing that none of them would realize the full stakes of this setup until it was too late.
 
*****

After hammering several rounds of shots and chasing them with a bottle of beer, Donatelli began to mellow, especially after Crystal's added gift. His gaze fell on a battered pool table surrounded by rough-looking bikers. A man with a toothpick clenched between his teeth watched him with a smirk as if sizing him up for more than just a friendly game.

"You look like you could use a bit of luck tonight," Johnny said, motioning to the table. "Fancy a game?"

Donatelli hesitated, but the ache in his chest made him reckless. He sized up his challenger and answered, "Sure. Name your wager."

The man's eyes flicked to Donatelli's wrist. "That watch of yours. Looks like it's worth something."

Donatelli considered the suggestion, then slid off his Rolex and set it on the side of the table. "Pretty high stakes. Can you match it?"

Bruiser tossed six thousand on the table. A couple of other bikers tossed money on the table, too.

Donatelli sneered. "The watch is worth more."

"Guess if you're good enough, you won't have to worry about losing it, will you?"

Donatelli swallowed another shot, chased it with the beer cocktail Crystal had mixed, and shrugged. "Fine. One game. It should be child's play."

They chalked their cues and started the game, with Donatelli holding his own at first, his movements smooth and calculated. But as the game wore on, his aim wavered from the drinks, his shots growing sloppy. The biker grinned wider with each missed shot.

However, a hush fell over the crowd when Donatelli made a lucky shot, sinking two balls at once. His opponent's face darkened.

"That was a fluke," the man muttered, his tone souring. "No way you made that shot without cheating."

Donatelli rolled his eyes. "It's just a game. Can't handle losing?"

The man's face twisted in anger. "Call me a sore loser, will you?"

Without warning, he lunged at Donatelli, and the two crashed into the pool table, sending balls scattering. Other bikers joined in, fists flying as the bar erupted into chaos. Someone grabbed Donatelli's arm and twisted it, causing him to lose his balance and hit the floor. The fight surged around him. The tables were flipped. Bar stools tossed. Bones broken. During the mayhem, Crystal found the watch and pocketed it.

Disoriented, Donatelli struggled to stand as blows rained down. Before he knew it, strong arms were tossing him outside on the gravel. He stumbled to his car, barely able to hold himself upright. He collapsed into the driver's seat, his head heavy and his vision blurring.

He didn't see the figure watching from a nearby car — the one grinning as Donatelli's head slumped forward.

Author Notes Eleanor - ghost detective
Jenna - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie)
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison
Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Donatelli
Rebecca - new girl in town and Jenna's assistant
William - highly skilled crook


Chapter 7
Miracles - Chap 7

By Begin Again

It was early morning, and the sun was barely above the towering trees, but the river below looked like a shimmering silver ribbon. The gentle wind carried the scent of pine, and the faint sound of the rushing waterfall below added to the tranquil atmosphere.

Eleanor and Jenna stood, arm in arm, at the edge of the lookout point. Eleanor's hand shook as she held Margaret's urn.

"Jenna, I'm happy you are here, but if it's too much —"

"Never!" Jenna said firmly. "You shouldn't do this alone, Mom. Though I am surprised that no one else is here."

Eleanor sighed, brushing a loose strand of hair away. "Margaret didn't want the fuss. She requested that I do this and let the others move on with their life."

"I suppose, but they are her family."

"I know, but Margaret wanted it this way. I think Margaret regretted how her lifestyle and relationship with her children got off track — another regret thanks to the Judge."

"The accident —" Jenna paused and stared at the sky stretching before them and the glistening water in the distance, deciding not to go where her mind was headed. She sighed. "It's so peaceful here."

"Yes, it was Margaret's sanctuary. Whenever life got too heavy, she would come here and sit. She once told me that she felt closer to me here than anywhere. I never understood what she meant until now."

With trembling hands, Eleanor lifted the small urn and, in a voice barely above a whisper, said, "You're free now, Margaret. No more running, no more fear."

She tipped the urn, letting the ashes drift into the breeze. The gray dust floated over the cliff's edge, joining the earth, the water, and the sky. As the last of the ashes vanished into the air, an eagle appeared, gliding effortlessly above them, its wings spread wide, cutting through the sky with powerful grace.

Eleanor's eyes welled with tears. "She's at peace."

Jenna squeezed her arm. "Yes, she is."

The eagle circled once — twice — and then disappeared into the distance, leaving a calm stillness — a moment of closure and respect.

Pop!

A sharp gunshot crack echoed through the trees, shattering the peaceful moment. Eleanor and Jenna froze as the sound reverberated through the canyon.

Seconds later, Tango, Poppa, and Garth raced from the surrounding pine trees, guns raised, their faces tense as they scanned the area. Without a word, Garth lunged toward Jenna, pulling her toward her car while Tango and Poppa searched the area.

Eleanor's figure shimmered, faded, and reappeared at Garth's side. "What's happening? Why are you —" She stopped mid-sentence as Jenna leaned forward and retched.

"Jenna!" Eleanor wrapped her arm around her daughter's waist. "You're safe, honey. There's no need to get that upset."

Garth opened the car door, retrieved a water bottle, and handed it to Jenna. "Maybe you should sit down."

Jenna's gaze met his. "I'm fine. It was —"

Garth's expression hardened. "You need to tell her."

Jenna's eyes widened. Her gaze darted between Eleanor and Garth. Panic flashed across her face.

"Tell me what?" Eleanor's voice took on a sharp edge. She immediately turned toward her daughter. "Do you know something about why someone was shooting at us?" Worry was etched deep in her features. "Is it Doyle? Is that why you and the boys are here?"

"It's not about the gunshot." Garth's gaze shifted back from Eleanor to Jenna. "Tell her, Jenna." His instincts wanted both women tucked safely away, but the priority, for the moment, was Jenna coming clean. Eleanor would be the support she needed, but first, she had to tell her.

"What's going on, Garth? I demand someone tell me why we are being shot at during my sister's memorial and why Jenna is so affected by it."

Wiping her mouth with a napkin Garth had handed her, Jenna swallowed hard, gripping the water bottle tightly. The message from Garth's eyes was strong. "Mom," she choked as her voice cracked. "It's not the gunshot."

"Oh, Jenna, it's okay if it makes you nervous. I understand."

Jenna glanced at Garth, hoping he'd let her off the hook, but the scowl on his face wiped that thought away. "I'm pregnant. I was raped three months ago."

Eleanor's face transformed from concern to shock and then to fierce protectiveness. She rushed to Jenna's side, pulling her close. "My dear Jenna, you should have told me."
 
Jenna shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes. "I didn't know how. I thought I could handle it." She exhaled. "I didn't even know I was pregnant until yesterday. I took a test at the office."

Eleanor's glare was icy cold as she looked at Garth. "How could you have kept this from me? How many times have I been there for you?" Eleanor's arms dropped to her sides. "My daughter was suffering, and neither of you thought I should know."

The pain in Eleanor's words shot through Garth like a bullet. He'd loved her from the moment he set eyes on her — and learned she was a ghost. "Eleanor —"

Before he could continue, Tango and Poppa returned from searching the woods. Tango yelled, "The shooter was up on the hill further. Poppa saw the guy get into a car and hightail it down the road."

Garth shifted gears. "Did you get a description?"

Poppa shook his head. "Sorry, boss. He was too far away, but the car was a green Land Rover, not that helps much."

"You gave it your best shot. Eleanor and Jenna are safe, and that's what matters." He glanced at the women and then back to his men. "You two take the car and head back to the motel. I'll drive Jenna and Eleanor home."

The two men nodded and headed through the tall pines to where they'd hidden the car.

Eleanor stepped away, and her voice cut like a knife. "Take Jenna home. I can manage by myself."

"Eleanor, it's not what you think."

"Does Matthew know? Was keeping this from me really for Jenna's sake? Or was it your way of getting back at Matthew again?"

Jenna rounded the front of the car, moving toward her mother, her voice strained. "Let me explain —"

Eleanor's figure shimmered and disappeared, leaving Garth and Jenna staring at the empty space.


*****

Miriam's greeting was cheery despite her late night. "Good morning, Milo."

The rooster strutted across the barnyard, his chest puffed out and his bright red feathers gleaming in the morning light. He crowed as if answering Miriam and flapped his wings in a grand display of authority.

Miriam laughed and playfully threw some food towards him. Her hands, calloused and marked from a lifetime of labor, moved with a gentle, practiced touch. "Are you taking good care of the brood, Milo? Cuz I'm going to need a few extra eggs. We've got a visitor, but I suppose Willow already told you."

Milo let out another triumphant crow, turning in a tight circle before marching toward the hens as if to confirm that his duties were well in hand.

"Yes, yes, Milo, go wake up the girls." Her ethereal form shimmered in the morning light.

She straightened her back, stretching and twisting. She could feel the kinks in her bones from last night's ordeal and the lack of sleep. "Admit it, girl, you ain't young like you used to be. Those days of working the vineyards are distant memories."

Flashes of munching on a handful of delicious grapes beneath the shade umbrella, lulled by the sparkling Mediterranean Sea, and stealing forbidden kisses among the terraced vineyards danced through her head. But the dark cloud that followed, when the good of her family and their dreams replaced her hopes and desires, erased those memories.

Willow, her faithful mule and companion, nudged her from her thoughts, braying. His ears twitched at her every word. She patted him, brushing a few stray wisps of hay from his coat. "I know. It won't change a thing, will it?"

The mule's nose pushed against the pocket of her faded gingham dress in search of a carrot. Miriam rubbed his muzzle. "Looking for something, are you?" She laughed — a soft, musical tone. Adjusting the hand-knitted shawl around her shoulders, her thin, weathered hands reached into her pocket and emerged with Willow's expected treat. His mouth opened, exposing two rows of yellowing teeth as he chewed contently.

"Quite a night, wasn't it?" she murmured. "You did good, Willow. It's been a while since either of us has hauled anything in the old wagon, huh? Especially in the dark on the side of the cliff." She shook her head. "Don't know what to make of it, ole boy."

The mule stood quietly, his deep, patient eyes meeting hers as if he understood every word. She chuckled to herself. "I know — you think you're too old, but did we have a choice? I'm afraid this one needed us, whether or not he knew it. I was up till near dawn tending to him. Whether he'll make it is still in God's hands."

With the chickens pecking around her feet, her gaze drifted to the distant cliffs overlooking the lake. Still, thinking about it sent chills down her spine.

She'd seen it all. The house had been abandoned for years except for her ghostly spirit and the animals. There hadn't been a living soul here since the murder — her murder. She'd been accused, charged, and sentenced within hours of finding the body. They'd hung her from the oak tree and then cut her down — left there for the vultures.

Miriam's hand touched her throat, rubbing the scars. Some things were best left in the past. Her innocent spirit had roamed the big house for years, searching for answers but finding none. After discovering the tiny cottage on the far side of the land, she'd chosen it as her home, content with her animal friends, till last night.

A full moon and a blanket of stars lit up the sky. She'd heard the two cars turn around at the old gate and drive up the hill. Of course, as curious as the farm cats, she had to see what they were doing.

Two men, one in each car, had gotten out. Together, they'd carried something big and bulky to the ravine and dumped it. With all the tall weeds, she couldn't see what it was.

People regularly discarded unwanted items along the back roads, so she hadn't given it much thought until the men returned to the cars. The tall, bulky guy seemed to be the boss because he was giving the orders. She was too far away to hear what they said, but by the tone of his voice, he wasn't a happy man. Together, they'd pushed one of the cars across the tall grass. When they neared the cliff's edge, the bossy guy yelled to stop.

Miriam shivered as she let the scene play out in her mind. She still had trouble believing what happened, but she'd seen it with her own eyes. The tall guy had bent over, picked up something, probably a rock, and walked around the car and slammed it against his partner's head. The guy crumpled to the ground.

She almost fainted when she saw him put the guy inside the car and start pushing. The vehicle rocked back and forth at the cliff's edge before tipping and crashing below. The noise was horrendous when it hit the water below. The man stood there for a moment, almost as if admiring his handy work, and then he climbed into his car and drove away.

Once the car was gone, curiosity got the best of her. She'd hitched up Willow, and together, they'd traveled through the field and up the hill with a lantern to show the way. Not that either of them needed the light.

First, she found what they had dumped. She'd seen death before, but never like this.

She could tell he wasn't a farmer or biker because his clothes were made of fancy material, now ripped and torn. She hadn't been able to decipher if he was good-looking or not because his face was so bloody and distorted. Shuddering, she made the sign of the cross and turned to walk back to Willow when she heard a sound — like a wounded animal, low and guttural.

Moving closer, she reached down and touched him. In the cool air, she felt his breath against her fingers. "Willow! It's a miracle, for sure. He's alive."

With Willow's help, she hauled him back to the cottage, the two of them working in tandem. By the time the first light of morning touched the horizon, she'd laid the man in her bed, unconscious but alive, the mystery of the night still lingering in the air.

*****

Back inside the small cottage, Miriam stood by the window, gazing over the lake. She glanced back at the figure lying still on her bed. His face was distorted, swollen with bulges in places it shouldn't have been. His breathing was shallow, often not even audible.

She didn't know him and didn't know why they'd left him there. Or why she'd felt compelled to bring him back here. Yet, as she'd covered his wounds, laid him in her bed, and watched him drift in and out of consciousness, it had all felt strangely right, especially after she'd found the badge.

Author Notes Eleanor - ghost detective
Jenna - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie)
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison
Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Donatelli
Rebecca - new girl in town and Jenna's assistant
William - highly skilled crook
Miriam - a spirit from days gone by


Chapter 8
Miracles - Chap 8

By Begin Again

 
 
 
 
 
 
"Danni! Where's Matthew?" Eleanor's voice was sharp as it cut through the air. Her expression spoke volumes.

"Good morning, Eleanor." Danni took a slow sip of her coffee, then showing her annoyance with her boss, she added, "And to answer your question, your guess is as good as mine."

"What do you mean? Hasn't he come into work this morning?"

"Nope. And these phones haven't stopped ringing." Danni set her coffee down and glanced at the phone in Eleanor's hand, shaking her head. "Don't bother calling. I've tried at least ten times."

"When's the last time you heard from him?"

Danni sighed, her eyes darkening with a hint of guilt. "Yesterday. We had a fight."

"You and Donatelli? About what?"

"He's been grouchy lately, moping around because of Jenna — what with her not seeing him and all."

"Well, I guess she had her reasons, but she should have told him."

"Exactly! So, yesterday, she stopped by, and he blew her off. Tells her he's too busy."

"Maybe he was—" Eleanor said, trying not to take sides.
 
"Busy polishing his bruised pride." Danni leaned back in her chair, frustration mounting. "Anyway, she left in tears, and I climbed all over his case. I told him he better get his butt over to her office and make things right."

"And did he go?" Eleanor mused. Had he seen Garth?

"Yeah, he did. But it must not have gone well. I get this call — he's all snappy, saying he wasn't coming back to the office."

"Did he say what was wrong?"

"Something about finding her in Garth's arms. He said he wasn't doing it again. Told me he was going to drown his misery with a few stiff drinks." Danni's gaze grew distant, the memory still fresh. "I haven't heard from him since."

"Danni, something's wrong." Eleanor moved about the room, showing a side of her that rarely happened — nerves.

"You aren't telling me anything new. I'm visible to the world now and stuck in the office doing his job."

"No, Danni, I feel it. Something's wrong."

"Wrong, like real bad, wrong?" Danni swallowed hard. "Oh, Eleanor, you don't think —"

"I do, but I just don't know what yet." Eleanor sighed. "But first, I think I need to go to Jenna."

"Jenna? I thought the two of you did Margaret's memorial this morning. Everything went okay, right?" Danni chuckled. "Margaret didn't get the last laugh and blow her ashes in your face, did she?"

"Danni! What a horrid thing to say." Eleanor snapped.

"Whoa! Eleanor, I was just trying to make light of a sad situation. I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry, Danni. I guess even we can have regrets. I didn't realize how hard Margaret's death has been for me."

"You were with her at the end, Eleanor. She knows that, and it meant everything to her. You'll have that joyful reunion as soon as she transitions. Who knows, maybe she'll become one of us."

Eleanor smiled, but her eyes told Danni her thoughts were somewhere else.

"Go to her, Eleanor." Eleanor jumped when Danni touched her arm.

"What?" Eleanor sighed. Tears glistened in her eyes. "I've made a terrible mistake."

"I could feel it when you entered the room, but I thought it was because of Matthew. But it's Jenna, isn't it?"

"Yes, I owe her a big apology, but I don't know if she'll forgive me."

"Mothers aren't perfect, even ones as terrific as you. Go to her. She needs you."

"You know?" Eleanor's face had a look of surprise.

"Not really, but I am a detective, after all."

Eleanor laughed. "And a good one, too!"

"Thank you." Danni picked up the phone while she addressed her friend. "Go to Jenna. While you're busy making amends, I will make some calls and see if we can track down our wayward boy."
 
*****

Sitting beside the bed, Miriam watched the wounded man. She was surprised that she felt drawn to the stranger. Her fingers toyed with the edge of her apron as her thoughts darkened.

The bandages she'd applied were already dark with blood. Treating her animals' wounds had been simpler—this was different. She knew he needed more help than she could give. His breathing was shallow, with a slight wheeze each time he exhaled.

Her fingers brushed over his badge, tracing the letters as though they might offer answers. "What in heaven's name did you get yourself into, young man? Must've been mighty important to almost cost you your life." She dipped a cloth into the cool water basin and carefully wiped the dried blood from his cracked lips.

His eyelids fluttered, and his gaze met hers. Miriam leaned in, her voice soft and soothing. "Don't try to speak. You're safe here. Just rest."

His lips parted as if to respond, but no sound came. Instead, his eyes shifted, focusing somewhere beyond her shoulder, drawn to the light filtering through the small window. Beneath the bruises, she saw an unexpected glint of something — fear.

"Please," she urged. "Wake up."

She frowned, then murmured, almost to herself, "Who are you? What happened out there?"

His eyes flickered back to her, a haunted look settling over his face. When he finally spoke, his voice was weak, a mere whisper. "Who —"

Her breath caught. She picked up his badge, holding it close enough for him to see the letters etched in metal, hoping to awaken some memory. "I think this belongs to you."

Matthew's gaze remained distant and unreadable as he stared at the badge as if it were foreign and unfamiliar. Silence settled between them, neither knowing what to do, and then Matthew slipped back into a deep sleep.
 
*****

Rebecca entered Jenna's office, stopping short when she saw her sitting at her desk, clearly distressed.

"You took the test?" Rebecca murmured.

Jenna nodded, her hands trembling as she looked down at them.

"And?" Rebecca's voice was barely a whisper.

Jenna swallowed hard, lifting her gaze. "It was positive."

"Does anyone else know?"

"Garth — and my mom." Jenna's voice faltered, her eyes filling with tears.

Rebecca's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "You told Garth before Matthew?"

Jenna sighed, rubbing her temples. "I didn't plan to — Garth stopped by. He found me crying, and I just broke down."

"Oh no," Rebecca said softly, her eyes drifting to the roses she'd found in the trash. "These were tossed —"

Seeing the roses, Jenna broke, covering her face as a sob escaped her.

In the doorway, Eleanor appeared, her face softened with regret. "Jenna."

"Mom, please — not now." Jenna's voice was muffled through her hands.

Eleanor stepped closer, her tone gentle. "I came to say I was wrong — and I'm sorry."

Jenna looked up, and the walls around her emotions crumbled. She burst into tears, and Eleanor was at her side to hold her in an instant.

"I have to talk to Matthew," Jenna sniffled. "I don't want him hearing this from anyone else. I need him to know —"

Eleanor's face darkened. "I'm afraid that's going to have to wait."

Jenna pulled back, eyes wide with concern. "What do you mean? Did he say he didn't want to talk to me?"

"No, he didn't," Eleanor replied softly.

"Then why can't I see him? He saw me with Garth and probably assumed —" Jenna's voice broke. "Rebecca found roses in the trash. He must have come by to apologize and saw Garth holding me. He probably drew all the wrong conclusions. I need to explain what happened."

"Yes, you do," Eleanor said, her voice tinged with sorrow, "but — I don't know how to tell you —"

"Mom, just say it. What's happened?"

Eleanor took a steadying breath, meeting Jenna's gaze. "Matthew is missing. No one's heard from him since yesterday."

Jenna reached for her phone. "He can't be missing. I've got to talk to him."

"Don't bother. Danni and I have tried too many times to count. I even went by his place in case he was ignoring us, but his car wasn't there."

"That doesn't make any sense. Matthew wouldn't just take off. He's got to be somewhere, holed up, probably sleeping it off."

"Danni has an APB out on his car, but so far nothing. And she's got people checking hotels and motels. I also believe she said she would be contacting Garth to see if his crew might give us some help."

"This is all my fault. I should have told him months ago."

"Should of — could of. It won't change anything."

Rebecca tapped on the door. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I've got an appointment with the lawyer in fifteen minutes. I'll cancel if you need me to stay."

Jenna's tear-stained eyes looked at Rebecca. "No, Mom's here, and I'll be fine. Go — find out what he has to say."

"Okay, if you are sure."

Eleanor hugged Jenna tighter. "We're good. We need a little mother-daughter time anyhow."

Jenna smiled at her mother and nodded. "Yes, go, Rebecca. Maybe you're a millionaire or something."

"Yeah, right." Rebecca laughed. "He's probably got an old bill from my parents and wants me to pay it."

"I don't think so, Rebecca. I'm feeling some good vibes coming from you."

"That would be a first in a very long time. Well, I better go so I'm not late." She waved goodbye and hurried out of the office.
 
*****

"Good afternoon, Miss Stillwell." Phillip Henderson greeted Rebecca as she entered the offices. "My secretary is running an errand. I thought we might sit and talk in the library. It's much sunnier."

"Of course, that's fine by me." Rebecca couldn't imagine why she was here, and she had better things to do.

Phillip's office had a refined, old-world charm that was almost comforting, but today, it only amplified Rebecca's sense of unease. The library was lined with dark walnut shelves stacked with leather-bound volumes and the occasional gleam of gold lettering. Tall windows allowed sunlight to pour in, casting warm light over the polished mahogany table and the plush armchairs that seemed to invite conversation.

As she followed Phillip inside, Rebecca tried to keep her tone casual. "If this is about an outstanding bill."

Phillip held up a hand with a small smile. "No, no, nothing like that." He gestured for her to sit, settling across from her with a steady gaze.

"I don't understand," she began, smoothing a crease in her skirt. "My parents' estate was settled years ago. I don't see how —"

Phillip paused, carefully choosing his words. "Miss Stillwell, do you know of any family in Italy?"

Rebecca's brow furrowed. "No, I was an only child, and all of my relatives passed before I was born. My parents never mentioned anyone."

He glanced down at his notes, then back up at her, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You're referring to your adoptive parents, correct?"

Rebecca froze, the word catching her off guard. "Adopted?" She forced a small laugh, though her voice was tinged with nerves. "I'm not adopted. You must have the wrong person."

"You are Rebecca Stillwell," he continued gently, "and Patrick and Lucille Stillwell raised you?"

"Yes, they are my parents." She was starting to feel defensive, her heart pounding. Why was he asking her this?

Phillip slid a crisp document across the table, along with a few yellowed sheets that looked like they'd been carefully preserved over the years. "This is your birth certificate," he said quietly. "And a research paper — about your biological family. Your birth mother was Angela Giordano. She gave birth to twin daughters and placed both up for adoption."

Rebecca's breath caught. She barely managed a whisper. "This — this can't be. You've made a mistake." She stared at the birth certificate, her eyes fixed on the mother's name — Angela Giordano. Then she picked up the other birth certificate, which supposedly belonged to her sister, Alyssa Giordano.

She tried to remember — "Had there ever been an offhand comment, a forgotten photograph, something that hinted at this hidden family? Nothing came to mind, only mass confusion.

"You're telling me I was born Rebecca Giordano, and I have a twin sister?" Rebecca paused to breathe, then asked, "Where is she? Shouldn't she be here, too?"

"Unfortunately, she died of cancer two years ago. You are Trevor Cascio's only remaining ancestor."

Overwhelmed, Rebecca stood to leave. "Thank you, Mr. Henderson. Please excuse me, but I never expected any of this, and it's a lot to digest." She started toward the door.

"Wait! Please sit down. I know you've got many questions, and I hope our research might help you. But the adoption was only part of why I asked you to come here today."

"You mean there's more? I'm not sure I can handle any more surprise ancestors."

"I promise, I don't know of any more living ancestors, but you have inherited the family home."

"A home? I inherited property — here in this community?"

"Yes, at one time, it was considered quite the estate with vineyards — vines imported from Italy. I've not seen the property, and I'm told it's been abandoned for many years, but there is plenty of land."

Phillip placed the papers back in his folder and looked her in the eyes. "If you want answers, Ms. Stillwell, I'd suggest visiting the property. Sometimes, the past has ways of surfacing in unexpected places." He stood and extended his hand. "It's a lot to take in at one time. I'll have my secretary contact you, and we can transfer the deed and finalize a few other details next week. Maybe by that time, you'll have had a chance to visit the property."

Rebecca stood, her legs trembling. "Thank you for your time. You've certainly given me a lot to think about." She shook his hand and left the office.
 
Outside, she stood staring at the sky, asking, "How did this happen? I don't even know who I am."
 

Author Notes Eleanor - ghost detective
Jenna - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie)
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison
Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Donatelli
Rebecca - new girl in town and Jenna's assistant
William - highly skilled crook
Miriam - a spirit from days gone by
Phillip Henderson - Attorney - Wills and Trusts
Bruiser - the bouncer at the Hideway
Tony - the bartender
Crystal - the cocktail waitress
Trevor Cascio - deceased owner of the estate


Chapter 9
Miracles - chap 9

By Begin Again

As Rebecca left Phillip Henderson's office, she felt like she'd stepped into another life — someone else's. Her mind swirled as she tried to understand what had just happened. The words "Angela Giordano," "twin sister," and "inheritance" were bouncing through her mind like a pinball machine.

Adopted!
 
That one cut through her like a sharp blade. Her parents, Patrick and Lucille, were the only family she'd ever known, the ones who'd raised her, loved her, and shaped her entire world. She could still hear her mother's gentle laughter and feel her father's steady, reassuring presence. Yet, here was a history hidden from her, a world of vineyards and Italian ancestry she'd never known existed.

Why hadn't her parents shared any of this with her?

Phillip Henderson had delivered an unexpected message that shook her to the core. An estate? A vineyard? It felt like a story out of a book — except this was her life, her history. Nothing seemed real.

She stood on the sidewalk, clutching her purse with knuckles turning white, as her mind began to buzz with questions.

Who had Angela Giordano been? Why was she given away? And what secrets did that abandoned estate hold?

She needed time to think, and a walk in the park to clear her head seemed like a good idea.
 
*****
The mystery of the man Miriam had rescued remained unsolved. He drifted in and out of consciousness. Miriam watched over him, hoping his memory might return each time he awoke, but it never did.

Donatelli stirred, his eyelids heavy. Questions bounced through his mind.

What had happened? Where was he, and who was the woman tending to him? But most of all, who was he, and did that badge belong to him?

Light filtered into the room and across the bed as he attempted to sit up, only to fall back, pain radiating through his body.

Sensing his movements, Miriam hurried into the room. "Easy," her soft voice urged. "You're in no condition to be moving around." She checked the bandages and could see a few were bleeding again.

He squinted at her. His thoughts were a foggy, jumbled mess. "Who — who are you?" His voice was hoarse, and his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Miriam chuckled softly, her tone gentle yet cautious, considering the circumstances she'd seen unfold. 'You were hurt — badly. Me and Willow — that's my mule — we found you." She held up the badge. "With this."

Donatelli's gaze flicked to the badge, confusion etched into his features. "A detective?" he murmured as if the word should have meaning. He tried to sit up again, his stubbornness apparent, but collapsed back into the pillows with a grimace.

"Seems like you don't remember much," Miriam observed, a touch of sympathy in her voice. "I don't know who you are, but someone didn't want you to live to tell your story. I've been in your shoes."

"Don't need — anyone's help," he muttered, his jaw defiant even as exhaustion overtook him.

Miriam smiled. "If you say so, Mr. Tough Guy, but some might have a different opinion. But for now, resting is all you can do." She placed the badge on the table beside him. "Whoever you are, you're safe with me."

He stared at the badge as though willing it to unlock some buried memory. "I don't need — saving."

"Saving? I'm no missionary, son — just an old woman who pulled you out of a ditch and brought you here. Better than the other guy in the car, I'd say. But that's a story for another day."

As he drifted back into sleep, his hand unconsciously clenched the edge of the blanket. His mind was still struggling, though his body surrendered to the rest he needed.
*****

Having lost track of time, Rebecca was startled when her phone buzzed in her pocket. She fumbled for it and saw Jenna's name on the screen. She took a deep breath and answered, "Hi, Jenna. I'm so sorry time got away from me."

"I was getting concerned. Are you okay?"

Rebecca took a shaky breath, swallowing hard as she tried to deal with her tangled emotions since she left Henderson's office. "I found out something — it's huge." Her voice wavered. "I could use a friend. Could you meet me at my apartment?"

"Of course, Rebecca. Is it alright if my mom comes too?"

"Sure — I need the company."

"Hang in there. We'll be right there."

As Rebecca ended the call, her thoughts returned to Phillip Henderson's words: 'Sometimes the past has ways of surfacing in unexpected places.'

She still felt like she was caught in a dream, but one thing was becoming evident — if she wanted answers, she'd have to go to that estate and see for herself.

*****

When Rebecca made it home to her little apartment, her nerves tingled full tilt again. She was pacing the floor, clutching the papers from the lawyer while she waited for Jenna and Eleanor.

It seemed like an eternity, but minutes later, Jenna knocked on the door. As soon as Rebecca opened the door, she found herself sobbing in Jenna's arms.

"Rebecca, what happened at the lawyer's office? I can't believe you're this distraught." Jenna hugged her friend.

Rebecca stepped back, wiping her eyes, as she realized Garth and Eleanor were standing in the hallway. "Forgive me. Please come in."

As everyone filed into the apartment, Jenna spoke, "I hope you don't mind that Garth came too. He arrived as we were leaving and offered to drive since I haven't been feeling well."

Rebecca's eyes met Garth's, and she smiled. "Mind? Of course not. I'm happy to see him —" She choked and added, "Everyone. The more heads, the better, I hope."

"So let's sit down, and you can tell us what's upset you. Was it bad news?" Eleanor asked.

Rebecca took a deep breath before answering, "Not bad, I suppose, since I am now the owner of property in this community."

"Property! Well, that sounds like great news to me. Was this something your parents owned and failed to tell you about?"

"I don't know how to begin except to say I discovered I am adopted. Patrick and Lucille were my adoptive parents."

"And you had no idea?" Jenna gasped. "Why would they keep something like that from you?" Immediately, her eyes shifted to Eleanor. "That was dumb of me. There could be lots of reasons."

Garth had remained standing, but now he moved closer to Rebecca, standing behind her chair. "Not to play the bad guy here, because inheriting land is awesome, but was this guy sure of his findings? It's not a hoax, is it?"

Rebecca held up the envelope. "He gave me my birth certificate, copies of the adoption papers, and some other research. He said I'd get the deed next week."

Jenna couldn't contain her excitement. "So, did he tell you whether you had family here?"

"Unfortunately, my family was from Italy."

"Italy? That's strange, with property in Bayside. That's a long way away."

"You're right, Jenna. And what's even more surprising is I had a twin sister. Her name was Alyssa, but unfortunately, she passed away a few years ago."

"Oh, that's heartbreaking. So, is there any family living here or in Italy?"

"I don't know about cousins or aunts and uncles, but my mother and grandparents are dead. According to Mr. Henderson, my grandmother came to the U.S. to marry Trevor Cascio, a family friend. That's all I know now unless there is more information in the papers. I haven't read all of it yet."

Eleanor was intrigued, "An estate? That's wonderful! Do you know where it is?"

"I don't yet, but the lawyer is supposed to send me the details. Can you believe it? I didn't even know I had a family!"

"That's amazing news!" Garth added, a proud smile spreading across his face. "You deserve to find out more about your past."

Rebecca felt a rush of gratitude. "Thank you! I thought I was alone in the world. This changes everything."

Still processing the news, Jenna placed a hand on Rebecca's shoulder. "I'm so happy for you. We need to celebrate! Let's go out for lunch."

But just then, a wave of nausea hit Jenna, and she quickly turned away. "Actually, I'm not feeling great. Maybe it's the stress —"
 
Concerned, Rebecca scowled, "Or you're pregnant. You need to see a doctor."

"Are you okay?" Eleanor asked, her concern deepening.

Jenna took a deep breath. "I think I'll stay here for now if Rebecca doesn't mind. I don't want to ruin the celebration."

Rebecca's excitement dimmed slightly. "Are you sure? We could celebrate another day."

"Absolutely not! You and Garth should celebrate. I'll be fine here," Jenna insisted, forcing a smile. "Mom will stay with me."

Garth glanced at Jenna, then at Rebecca. "How about I take Rebecca out for lunch? You can rest here, Jenna."

"That sounds perfect!" Rebecca agreed, her spirits lifting again. "Thank you, Garth!"

Eleanor smiled at the two of them. "That sounds like a great plan. You two enjoy yourselves. We'll talk more when you get back."

As they prepared to leave, Rebecca felt the excitement building inside. She was on the brink of a new chapter in her life, or maybe it was Garth's hand against her back.
 
*****

The restaurant buzzed with people talking and the silverware clinking against plates. Sunlight streamed through the windows as Garth and Rebecca settled into a booth.

"Can you believe it? An estate!" Rebecca exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "I can't wait to see what it's like. What if it's a mansion? Or maybe a cottage in the countryside? Though that's probably silly since he did say it had been abandoned for a long time. It's probably a pile of rotten lumber."

Garth chuckled, enjoying her enthusiasm. "You'll have to invite us all over for a housewarming party," he replied. As he watched her animated expressions, a familiar tug at his heartstrings caught him off guard.

As Rebecca gestured enthusiastically, laughing at her ideas, Garth felt an unsettling guilt. He was mesmerized by her beauty and how she moved her hands, and her laughter echoed a sound he hadn't heard in years. It sent a rush of memories flooding back — images of Allie, her bright smile, and how she would twist her mouth when she teased him.

Caught in the moment, Garth stared at Rebecca, a wave of longing washing over him. She resembled Allie in more ways than one — her laughter, her hand gestures, even the way she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. The resemblance was uncanny, yet it felt like a betrayal, igniting a battle within him. Was all this just wishful thinking?

"Garth? Are you okay?" Rebecca's voice broke through his reverie.

"Uh, yeah. Sorry, just lost in thought," he replied, forcing a smile while struggling to shake off his conflicting emotions.

"You know, I've been told I'm a bit of a daydreamer," she said, a playful smile twisting her mouth just like Allie's used to. "I get caught up in my own little world sometimes."

Guilt washed over Garth at the sight of her smile. "I can see that. It's one of your many charms," he managed to say, but his voice faltered.

Rebecca chuckled, brushing off his reaction. "Well, I guess I'm just excited about everything. It feels like a whole new beginning."

"Yeah, it does," Garth replied, trying to steady his heart. He looked at her, really looked, and for a brief instant, he saw Allie in her eyes — a reflection of the past he thought he had long buried.

As they chatted, Garth's gaze wandered, drawn to the similarities between the two women. But he hesitated, not wanting to betray Allie's memory, feeling as though every smile he shared with Rebecca was a step further away from the love he once held.

"Thank you for coming with me today," Rebecca said, breaking through his thoughts. "I appreciate your support."

"Of course," Garth said, forcing a smile that felt genuine. "I'm happy to be here. You're family, after all."

Rebecca's eyes sparkled with joy at the word "family," and Garth's heart swelled again. As they continued to talk, he couldn't shake the feeling that every moment spent with Rebecca reminded him of the love he had lost.
But as he caught himself admiring her laughter, he couldn't help but wonder — was it possible to feel this way about someone new while still holding onto the love of the past?

Author Notes Eleanor - ghost detective
Jenna - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie)
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison
Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Donatelli
Rebecca - new girl in town and Jenna's assistant
William - highly skilled crook
Miriam - a spirit from days gone by
Phillip Henderson - Attorney - Wills and Trusts
Bruiser - the bouncer at the Hideway
Tony - the bartender
Crystal - the cocktail waitress
Trevor Cascio - deceased owner of the estate


Chapter 10
Miracles - Chap 10

By Begin Again

It's movie night at the State Prison, and most inmates have crammed themselves into an overpopulated theater, leaving Doyle and a few other inmates hanging out in their cells. Of course, none of the others have their own television and a comfortable chair to relax in while watching their favorite show.

In the flickering glow of the TV, Doyle's eyes were fixed on the screen, where Tony Soprano sat across from one of his underlings, his icy stare demanding obedience. The low rumble of Tony's voice filled the silence of the cell.

Doyle leaned forward in his chair, clutching the remote tightly in his hand as if the mere act of controlling the TV could bestow a semblance of power upon him.

"Show 'em who's boss, Tony." He shook the controller at the TV.

That's what it's all about — Control. Respect. Power.

Doyle watched the show as if he were part of it, his mind's eye projecting him into Tony's shoes — calm, unbothered. He could almost taste the rush of authority, the thrill of making people bend to his will.

As Tony handed out an order, Doyle's lips curled into a smirk.

I'd handle it like that. Not a single soul would get away with crossing me.

Involved in the TV world of Tony and the Sopranos, Doyle didn't hear the clink of the prison bars or the echo of footsteps in the hallway. Instead, he could almost smell the leather of Tony's office chair, a cigar in his hand, and feel the power he'd hold again once he was free.

"Judge!" a voice called from the door. "You've got a visitor."

He groaned but didn't look away from the screen. "Tell 'em to wait, Charlie. I'm busy."

The guard lowered his voice and leaned into the bars. "It's Rossi."

Doyle's expression shifted from amusement to irritation. "Rossi, huh? Since when did he start making late-night visits?"

"Got me, Judge. But you can't keep your fans waiting." Charlie slid the door open. "You'll have to catch this one on a rerun."

Doyle stood and straightened his uniform, chuckling. "You gotta always look good for 'em, Charlie."

Charlie laughed as Doyle stepped out in the hall, joking,  "You going to put the chains on?"

"Nah, we're only going down the hall. Besides, unless you have an escape plan to get through these cement walls, you'll stay with us tonight."

They both laughed and headed toward the conference room where Vince Rossi was waiting.

Charlie opened the door and let Doyle enter. "Just buzz when you're finished."

"Yeah, maybe I'll catch the end of my show." Doyle turned and grinned at his visitor. "This better be good. Tony Soprano and I were just getting to the good part."

Rossi stared at Doyle. His expression remained cool. "Someday, that attitude of yours is going to backfire. Not every inmate has the privileges you enjoy. My boss can make it all go away if he hears you've decided to be less than cooperative."

The grin slipped from Doyle's face, but he still leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. "I'm here, aren't I?"

Rossi raised an eyebrow. "Barely. Don't think Charlie's loyalty will last if a better offer comes his way. So, let's get one thing straight. You cooperate, and you keep your perks. Otherwise —" Rossi let the silence hang.

Doyle clenched his jaw and nodded. "Fine. What's the latest?"

Rossi shrugged. "The board said five more years, Doyle. These things take time. It's not exactly a quick fix."

Doyle snarled, "You're talking to the king of fixes. If your boss wants it done, it'll get done." This wasn't the news he'd expected to hear. He paced the room under Rossi's cool stare. Finally, he stopped, his voice cold, "I don't have time for games. I want to be there when they drag Donatelli in on murder charges. Tell me what you want, and I'll make it happen."

"See, here's the crux of the problem. You think you still run things, but you don't. You have the power to pull lots of strings in this town, but my boss works on a large scale."

"Even inside this pile of rock, I still run my town. People listen and do what I say."

"Like William? First, his drug scheme goes sour, and now you've got him pushing those art pieces again. Care to explain?"

"It takes money to get things done."

"Framing Donatelli was one thing — which, by the way, isn't happening yet. But I've been told you were behind not only the murder of Margaret Ashley, but the rape of a local businesswoman."

"Margaret forgot who she was in bed with. She got what she deserved."

"And the other woman? What could she have possibly done to you?"

"Word was that she's Donatelli's woman, or should I say was — maybe she'll pay him a few conjugal visits after she has the kid." He chuckled, amused by his own thoughts.

"You're disgusting." Rossi walked to the door and buzzed. "When your old friends start doubting you, you'll be out in the cold, Judge — and that could be a problem. Think about it." The door opened, and Rossi left without saying another word.

After Rossi walked away, Charlie entered the room. "Everything okay?"

"Sometimes when you want things done, you have to do it yourself. Give me your phone."

"My phone?" Charlie didn't like that idea. He'd been careful not to leave any direct links to the Judge — letting him use his phone would violate that rule.

"Yes, your phone. Unless you want those checks to stop coming in, you'll give me your phone. Now!"

Charlie pulled it from his pocket, and Doyle snatched it. He dialed the number and paced the floor while it rang.

Crystal answered. "Hideaway."

"Put Bruiser or Tony on the line," he snapped.

"Bruiser's off tonight and Tony's outside having a smoke."

"Listen, you don't know who you're talking to, but if you want to keep breathing, listen very carefully."

Crystal cringed. "Sure. I'm listening."

Doyle snarled, the irritation seeping through his words. "Tell them both that if this Donatelli mess doesn't start moving forward, they'll find themselves sleeping with the fishes. I want that car found, and I want Donatelli arrested. Clear?"

Before she could answer, he disconnected the call and handed the phone to Charlie. "Let's go. Maybe I can catch the last half hour of Tony kicking butt."
 
*****
Eleanor paused outside Danni's office door before tapping lightly. "Any news on Matthew?" she asked, her voice lined with worry.

Danni glanced up, meeting Eleanor's eyes briefly before returning to her files. "Nothing yet," she said quietly. "We're still waiting on leads."

"How can he just disappear? You'd think the APB would have turned up something on his car by now."

"I know. It's like he just vanished. And we don't even know where he went that day. All he said was that he needed a few stiff drinks."

"I'm sure you've checked all his usual spots, but maybe the search should expand. It's a big task, though."

Danni sighed, frustration flickering in her eyes. "Do you know how many bars are in this area, Eleanor? We need a better lead than that."

Eleanor nodded, pensive. "I still can't understand why I'm not picking up any vibes from him. Usually, I'd sense something — he'd be thinking about a case or someone he knows, and I'd catch a hint. But there's been nothing."

Danni bit her lip, clearly holding back darker thoughts. "You don't think —"

"No," Eleanor interrupted. "Don't even go there. He's out there, and we're going to find him."

Danni nodded, seeming to draw strength from Eleanor's conviction. Then Eleanor softened her tone, shifting gears. "By the way, do you know Jenna's new assistant? Have you met her?"

Danni's expression lightened slightly. "Yeah, I ran into her while picking up lunch for Donatelli and me — right before he went missing." She trailed off, momentarily lost in thought, before snapping back. Eleanor noticed the shift, but let it pass.

"Anyway," Danni continued, "what were you going to say?"

Eleanor leaned in, lowering her voice. "Rebecca just found out she's adopted, and her birth mother was Angela Giordano. Turns out Rebecca's inherited some property in town."

Danni raised her eyebrows. "No idea until now? She must be reeling."

"She is. We were going to lunch to celebrate, but Jenna got sick again."

"That's a shame. Rebecca must be thrilled, though."

"Garth was there when she shared the news, so the two of them went off to celebrate."

"Garth and Rebecca — hope he talks about something other than Allie."

"Me too," Eleanor said with a smile. "Rebecca and Allie actually have some similarities."

Danni shrugged. "Donatelli found Jenna. Maybe Garth will get lucky, too. He just needs to give someone a chance."

"Curiosity's got the best of me, though," Eleanor mused. "Why did her parents keep the adoption a secret? And no one left to explain it to her — how sad."

"Did the lawyer give her any details?"

"Not many, but she'll find out more about the property soon. It's supposedly an abandoned estate."

"An abandoned estate, huh? That could be the old place, about three miles out off the highway. It's been empty for years. Heard there was a lynching, and folks say it's haunted."

Eleanor chuckled. "Let's hope it's no one we know."

"There's not much out that way," Danni replied. "Just an old biker bar and some cliffs the kids like to party by. Those backroads are dangerous, though. I'm surprised more people haven't driven off them."

"Think that might be the place?"

"I'd bet on it. And I heard it used to have a vineyard. Giordano sounds Italian, right?"

"It's a good lead," Eleanor agreed. "Rebecca mentioned vineyards, too. Her birth family came from Italy."

"If I can, I'll check the files for anything on that lynching. It's eerie, though. And hanging was always a crime, right?"

Eleanor chuckled, feigning exasperation. "Yes, Danni, even in ancient history, it was a crime. You surprise me sometimes with the things you say."

Danni rolled her eyes, but Eleanor's thoughts were already drifting. The mystery of Rebecca's family and the eerie estate swirled in her mind.

"Eleanor —are you alright?"

Eleanor snapped back. "Oh, sorry, Danni. I guess my mind wandered. I'd better get back to Jenna. Let me know if you dig up anything on Rebecca's family or that estate."

"Will do."

With a final nod, Eleanor left the precinct, her mind fixed on a new destination.

Author Notes Eleanor - ghost detective
Jenna - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie)
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison
Vince Rossi - mob lawyer
Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Donatelli
Rebecca - new girl in town and Jenna's assistant
William - highly skilled crook
Miriam - a spirit from days gone by
Phillip Henderson - Attorney - Wills and Trusts
Bruiser - the bouncer at the Hideway
Tony - the bartender
Crystal - the cocktail waitress
Trevor Cascio - deceased owner of the estate


Chapter 11
Miracles - Chap 11

By Begin Again

"Woman, did you have to pick the hottest day of the year to explore?" Eleanor chastised herself.

Having spotted a building that interested her, she had paused her journey and found herself resting under the sprawling branches of a gnarled tree. Its shade was a welcoming respite.

Her initial thought was that she'd found a refreshing spot in the shade, but the loud, crude voices changed that opinion. Her gaze settled on the rough-looking group and their bikes in the parking lot across the road.
Three men, laughing and jeering, surrounded a young woman wearing an off-the-shoulder peasant blouse and jeans. Her blonde hair fell around her shoulders. The focus of their attention was a fourth man with broad shoulders and muscular arms sporting scars from previous battles.

"Come on, Bruiser, give the pretty little lady a goodbye kiss," one shouted, grinning.

"You're begging for it, aren't you, sweet thing?" Another guy wagged his tongue when he spoke to her.

Crystal turned away, uncomfortable, but Bruiser's hand clamped onto her shoulder, holding her in place. Eleanor felt a surge of anger rise inside her. She tensed, watching as Bruiser yanked her toward him. His mouth twisted into a cruel smile.

"The boys think you want some of this." His eyes traveled across her heaving breasts. "Do you think you're worthy of Bruiser's attention?"

Her voice was barely audible as she pleaded, "Let me go, please. I've got to get back to work."

"Take her, man!" another man hooted. "Show her who's boss."

The men erupted in laughter as Bruiser shoved Crystal against the outside wall of the bar, ignoring her weak protests. He forced a brutal, ugly kiss against her lips, his fingers digging into her sun-kissed arms. The men cheered louder when she whimpered, slapping their knees in amusement.

Crystal's eyes welled with tears. Her face flushed with shame as she struggled, helpless, against Bruiser's grip.
As Eleanor looked on, a knot of fury and frustration tightened in her chest. She wanted to intervene and make him stop, but knew this wasn't the right time.

Bruiser laughed as he finally released her, shoving her backward. She stumbled, clutching her blouse in a desperate attempt to cover herself as Bruiser callously tore the front fabric open.

"Might as well share the view with my friends!" he sneered.

The men roared with laughter again, their taunting fading as they climbed onto their bikes, revving their engines with a wild sense of victory. One by one, they roared out of the parking lot, leaving Crystal alone, holding her torn blouse together, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Eleanor clenched her fists from her hidden spot beneath the tree, her mind racing. She knew this was only a glimpse of the cruelty in this place, and she felt a fierce resolve building within her.

She watched as Crystal disappeared around the building. A strange sensation tightened her chest as she moved closer to the bar. She felt as if some unknown power was pulling her, but why? Was she meant to intervene and speak with Crystal?

As she moved across the gravel lot, she stopped. A chill ran through her bones. Someone or something was trying to tell her something.

A jagged rock, partially buried, caught her attention. It wasn't anything special, just a chuck of limestone. Bending down, she picked it up, rolling it between her fingers. Then she saw it — bits of dark stain embedded in the grain, invisible to the mortal eye.

Another chill shot through her. It was blood — Donatelli's blood.

Her senses flared. Clutching the rock in her hand, she dug deep into her inner soul, searching for something to tell her what had happened.

A whirlwind of fragmented images flashed through her mind — Donatelli's badge, his bloody face, shouting, and a brutal blow.

She gasped as she saw him slumped over the steering wheel. "Oh, Matthew, what happened to you?"

The rough edges of the rock dug into her skin as she slid it into her pocket. She knew whoever was responsible would regret ever crossing Detective Donatelli or her.

With one last glance toward the bar, Eleanor turned her back on it and headed toward the road. The game had changed, and she wasn't about to let his blood go unavenged. Like a bloodhound, she was on the search for more clues.

Eleanor spotted what appeared to be a small general store a few hundred feet away. It was a relic from another time, with faded, peeling paint on its wooden siding and a rusty, single-pump gas station out front, the kind that creaked as it counted the gallons. A small, hand-painted sign hung crookedly by the door, declaring it OPEN, though the hours were anybody's guess. Inside, shelves sagged with dust-covered items — canned goods, some faded snacks, and a jumble of essentials long past their prime.

Behind the counter sat an old man, his face weathered like leather, with deep lines from sun, wind, and years of watching the world go by. He barely glanced up as the occasional biker pulled in for gas, familiar enough with their kind but surprised by any other visitor who wandered his way.

The bell above the door jingled as Eleanor stepped inside. The sharp-eyed man looked her over with curiosity that quickly turned to concern. She picked up a bottle of water, twisting the cap open as she approached the counter.

He glanced outside, eyes narrowing. "Don't see a car, and you don't look like the type to be hitchhiking."

Eleanor gave a quick smile. "My car broke down about half a mile back," she offered. "I called a tow service. They're on their way."

The old man frowned, rubbing his chin. "Well, you're lucky you stopped here, not the place down the road. That bar's no place for a lady like yourself."

Eleanor tilted her head, intrigued by his tone. "Oh, you mean the Hideaway? I noticed it a little ways back. Doesn't seem like a friendly spot?"

The man shook his head, lowering his voice. "Not friendly and not safe. Trouble seems to stick to that place like tar. Fights, folks going missing — bad things happen to people who get too comfortable over there."

"I think a friend of mine was there the other night."

The old man turned away, opening the cash register. "That bottle of water will be a buck."

Eleanor nodded and fished a dollar from her pocket. "I'm actually on my way up to the old estate. Do you know much about it?"

A shadow passed over the old man's face. He hesitated, his gaze turning distant. "The abandoned mansion —" he murmured. "Yeah, everyone around these parts knows something, whether it's true or not. It's been empty for years now, boarded up and left to rot." He cleared his throat, glancing out the window as if making sure no one was listening. "My granddad couldn't believe what the townsfolk did to the girl who lived there. That was a long time ago, of course. They were all excited — the biggest party this town had seen in ages. And yet —"

Just then, the low rumble of motorcycles filled the air, interrupting the moment. Two bikers pulled up, one heading straight to the pump while the other strode into the store, grabbing a few items off the shelf.

Eleanor could sense the tension in the old man as he shifted uncomfortably. As the second biker sauntered back outside, Eleanor silently slipped away, letting the man behind the counter blink in confusion at her sudden disappearance.

*****

Moments later, Eleanor stood outside the imposing rusted gate, blocking the weed-covered gravel drive leading to the estate. The grand entrance was barely discernible, and the gardens were a chaotic mix of wild weeds, forgotten rose bushes, and scattered wildflowers.

Driven by curiosity, she navigated through the overgrowth to the house. The mansion's once magnificent beauty was now a poignant sight, hidden beneath layers of chipped and faded paint, broken windowpanes, and decaying boards.

Scanning the surrounding countryside, Eleanor could see the towering cliffs that Danni had mentioned and a body of water with the sun reflecting across its surface. She could easily imagine how beautiful the setting had once been.

Desiring to explore further, Eleanor vanished and reappeared inside. Her astonishment was unmistakable as she took in the interior. Instead of the expected cobwebs and dust, she found herself in a preserved world — a pristine parlor, curtains that looked freshly drawn, a faint scent of lavender lingering in the air. Everything was immaculate, untouched by time, a stark contrast to the worn-down exterior.

How was this possible?

She moved from room to room, amazed by the priceless antique furniture, the wood shining as if recently buffed. Eleanor couldn't resist touching the delicate pieces of china and tiny figurines. The paintings — definitely works of art by an artist who loved his work — were scenes of a seaside village clinging to the sides of rugged cliffs. She wondered if it might be where Rebecca's family once lived.

She sensed she was no longer alone as she neared the sitting room. Someone was watching her.

Eleanor held her hands out, palms open in a gesture of peace. "I don't mean any harm." She looked around the room. "I can sense that you've been through something traumatic. Maybe I can help."

There was a faint rustling behind her near the fireplace. Eleanor turned to face the figure as she emerged. Her eyes were guarded and uncertain. She hovered near the doorway to ensure her escape if necessary.

"Why are you in my house?" Her voice was a mere whisper, not threatening, just questioning.

"I didn't mean to trespass. I apologize. I didn't know anyone was here. My name is Eleanor, and my friend, Rebecca, has inherited the property."

The woman gasped and turned away, her trembling hands resting against her chest.

"Are you okay? I didn't mean to upset you. You said it was your house — are you afraid —"

"Afraid?" She turned back to face Eleanor. Tears glistened in her eyes. "No, I'm not afraid. This home — my home — has been waiting for a long time for her to come home."

"Are you talking about Rebecca? Do you know her?"

The woman held out her frail hand to Eleanor. "My name is Miriam Cascio — the wife of Trevor Cascio."

"The man who was murdered?"

Miriam shuddered but stood her ground. She slowly untied the scarf she wore and pulled it away, exposing the rope burns around her throat. "It was our wedding day, and those hateful men accused me and hanged me from the tree out back. I never had a chance."

Without thinking, Eleanor moved across the room, wanting to comfort her. As her fingers brushed Miriam's hand, a jolt of recognition passed through her. This hand had touched Donatelli. His presence was faint but undeniable.

Eleanor withdrew her hand slowly, eyes narrowing slightly. "I'm — sorry for what happened to you. Is that why your spirit still lives here, waiting for answers?"

Miriam nodded. "It was a very long time ago. I've learned to live with the hand I was dealt. I don't expect to right a wrong, nor do I want anyone's pity."

Sensing that Miriam was withdrawing from her, she chose her words carefully. "I'm looking for a friend. Is it possible you've seen a stranger seeking shelter somewhere nearby?"

Miriam's expression shifted, and her wariness intensified. "No. No one's been here. "

Eleanor held her gaze, sensing the guarded tension in her answer. She nodded, choosing not to press — yet. "Alright," she said softly, turning toward the door. "I'll be back another time, Miriam, if that's alright?"

Miriam gave a slight nod, her eyes never leaving Eleanor. As Eleanor slipped out the door, she couldn't shake the feeling that Donatelli was here, hidden somewhere in the shadows of this house or close by, just out of reach.
 
She gazed across the fields. "Matthew, where are you?"

Author Notes Eleanor - ghost detective
Jenna - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie)
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison
Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Donatelli
Rebecca - new girl in town and Jenna's assistant
William - highly skilled crook
Miriam - a spirit from days gone by
Phillip Henderson - Attorney - Wills and Trusts
Bruiser - the bouncer at the Hideway
Tony - the bartender
Crystal - the cocktail waitress
Trevor Cascio - deceased owner of the estate


Chapter 12
Miracles - Chap 12

By Begin Again

 
 
 
 
Matthew stirred, tossing the covers aside and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. His body was recovering, but his mind remained a fog, leaving him with so many questions.

Where was he, and how did he get here? Who had beaten him and left him to die? But the biggest question was who he was and what the badge meant to him.

Miriam entered quietly, carrying a simple tray of carrot sticks, fruit, and a sandwich. She smiled when she saw him in an upright position. "You must feel better."

Matthew nodded and reached for the sandwich, taking several big bites.

"Your appetite seems to be back. I'll have to make you something more substantial for dinner." She sat down in the rocker and moved it closer to him. "I need to share something with you. A woman was here today."

Matthew raised his gaze toward her, his eyebrow furrowing. "A woman?"

"She said she was searching for a friend. She wanted to know if I'd seen anyone." Miriam hesitated, watching him closely.

"What did you tell her?"

"I told her no." Miriam's eyes looked fearful. "But — she's like me."

"Like you?" Matthew looked confused.

"Yes. I am not of this world," Miriam said softly. "And neither is she."

A wave of alarm crossed his face. "Wait! Am I dead — and I just don't know it yet?"

Miriam laughed, a gentle sound that held a touch of sympathy. "No, you were almost dead, but you're still of this world."
 
"Phew! You got me scared for a minute."

She paused, weighing her words. "The woman was kind. I almost told her about you — but I changed my mind. She's coming back, though. And she mentioned that someone had inherited the old mansion."

Donatelli's curiosity was piqued. "A mansion? "

"Yes, it sits up on the hill, near the road. It was a grand house."

"Who lived there? And where are they now?"

Miriam stood and walked toward the window, brushing the curtain aside to stare at the field. "It was my home, or at least it was meant to be our family home. My husband was murdered on our wedding day."

Matthew's eyes filled with compassion as he watched Miriam tremble. He sensed she was fighting demons that had lived with her for a long time. He didn't know why, but somewhere deep in his thoughts, a voice was telling him that he should solve the crime. His eyes shifted to the badge on the table.
 
Did it belong to him? Is that why he felt compelled to reach out to her, or did he feel he owed her his life?

"Miriam, do you think this woman means to harm you?"

"No, she seemed genuinely kind. She said her name was Eleanor."

The name struck him, sending an inexplicable shiver down his spine. He murmured it aloud. "Eleanor —"

Miriam tilted her head, studying him. "Does she mean something to you?"

Donatelli closed his eyes, searching the empty spaces of his memory. He couldn't recall why, but something deep within told him that she did, but he shook his head. "No, nothing comes to mind."
 
*****

After leaving the mansion, Eleanor walked down the dirt path leading to the top of the cliff. As she neared the grassy area, she recognized ruts left by tires, most likely a car, leading to the cliff's edge. Her chest tightened as she moved closer.
 
Had someone been driving too fast on the curve and driven off the road, failing to stop? Was it Matthew?
 
She walked closer to the edge, gazing at the churning waves below. "Matthew," she whispered, her voice carried away by the wind. "Can you feel me? Whatever's wrong — I can help."

She closed her eyes, reaching out with every ounce of her spirit, hoping he would sense her and respond somehow. But only the waves crashed below, indifferent to her plea.

As she turned to leave, a glint in the grass caught her eye. She froze, feeling her heart lurch. Half-hidden by the wild grasses lay a pair of Aviator glasses, weathered but unmistakably his. She picked them up with trembling hands, her fingers touching the cool metal. She held them close to her heart, feeling a surge of warmth and sorrow.

"Matthew..." she breathed, her heart breaking from the surge of sorrow she felt.

A sudden, raw, and unrelenting chill sliced through her as she clutched the Aviator glasses to her chest. It wasn't the wind or the sea air, but something more profound — an electric surge that seemed to cut straight to her soul. Her eyes widened, her breath catching.

Almost like a whisper, she heard it far away — "Eleanor."

The sound of her name sent a shiver through her entire body. It was his voice — she was certain of it. She staggered, pressing a hand to her heart, feeling his presence so strongly it was as if he were standing beside her, calling out from the edges of memory and pain.

"Matthew," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper but with all her strength. "I hear you. Where are you? Give me a sign."

The moment lingered, a fragile connection bridging the living and the unknown. In that heartbeat, Eleanor believed he was reaching out, too.
 
*****

Hours later, Eleanor sat in Matthew's office, struggling with the fact that he was missing and there was a strong possibility he could be dead. Time after time, she tried to envision what would have brought him to the cliffs and what might have happened, but nothing was clear. That one moment today, she'd thought she'd connected to him, but now she feared that was only wishful thinking.

Her fingers grazed the sleeve of his leather jacket draped over the back of his chair. She closed her eyes, her hand lingering there, almost as if his presence might somehow seep through the worn leather. Her gaze drifted to the coffee cup on his desk, and without thinking, she traced the rim with her fingertips, feeling the faint warmth of memories.

The opening of the door made her jump. Her gaze shifted from Matthew's desk to the doorway and connected with Garth. His expression softened when he caught the look on her face. She had always been so composed, so strong. Seeing her like this, so vulnerable, stirred something protective in him.

"Eleanor," he said gently, stepping inside. "I didn't mean to startle you."

She gave a faint, almost apologetic smile. "It's alright. I — I thought I'd try to feel close to him, somehow. This is — this is all that's left."

Garth nodded, his eyes flickering to the coffee cup and the jacket. He hadn't seen her like this before, and the quiet intensity in her eyes unsettled him. "Eleanor, we're going to find him. I promise you that."
 
"Garth, I went to the mansion today simply to check it out for Rebecca. I discovered a rock in the parking lot at a nearby bar."

"A rock? Should this stone have some significance?"

"I think so." She reached into her pocket and pulled it out, laying it on the desk blotter.

"It's a limestone rock, Eleanor. I don't get it."

"You wouldn't until you put it under a microscope, but I see things differently through my eyes. The rock has Matthew's blood on it."

"How can you know it's his?"

"I just know. I can't explain my connections with the living, but it's something much stronger than anything you've ever felt. Trust me. It's Matthew's blood."

"So, you think he was at this bar?"

"I do, and it's not a good place for anyone to be, especially someone with a chip on their shoulder and a badge in their pocket."

"Okay. It's not much, but it's more than we had. I'll send Tango and Poppa undercover and see if we can learn anything."

"There's more." She reached into her purse and pulled out the Aviator glasses. "I found these near the cliffs. They're Matthew's, I'm sure of it."

He took the glasses, turning them over slowly in his hands, but there was no skepticism in his expression this time — just a deep, troubled silence.

"Matthew always wore these," he murmured, the realization settling on him. He looked back at her, his face as serious as she'd ever seen. "Then you're right. He was there. Something must have happened, Eleanor, but what?"

Her face paled. "I found tire tracks leading right up to the cliff's edge. It looks like a vehicle went over."

Garth's face shifted from skepticism to concern. He examined the glasses more closely, his brow furrowing. "If it's his car—"

Eleanor swallowed, steadying herself. "If it's his car, he might be dead, but something tells me he's not. I believe he's seriously injured and unable to communicate with me."

Garth nodded, the realization settling in. "Alright," he said, resolve hardening in his tone. "Then we'll start at the cliffs. I'll get divers out there tomorrow."
 
*****

"Jenna, it's Danni. Have you heard from Rebecca? I've been trying to reach her."

"She was at the lawyer's office and has officially become a property owner. We were thinking of going out there in a little while and checking it out."

"Would you mind if I tagged along, too? I've found some fascinating history on Rebecca's ancestry and wanted to share it.

"Sure, I bet even my mother would like to come along. Let's pick up some takeout from Romano's. Their Italian cuisine is always a hit, and we can eat and chat. A little celebration."

"I'll bring a bottle of Prosecco and Barolo. Can't celebrate without the wine. And I can drive if you want."

"Sounds awesome to me. Rebecca should be here in a few minutes, and I'll fly it by her and get back to you. How's that sound?"

"Great! I'll finish up a few things here in the office while I wait to hear from you."

"Ciao!" Jenna laughed, already looking forward to the gathering, and hung up the phone. She rubbed her stomach and murmured, "Now, hopefully, you will cooperate."

*****

The four women piled into Danni's car and had a crazy ride, singing with the radio and chatting during the trip. When Danni pulled up to the gate, Rebecca, Jenna, and Danni fell silent as they stared at the boarded-up house and the overgrown shrubs surrounding it.

Jenna was the first to recover. "It's — it's huge. Wonder how many rooms are in there?"

Danni followed with, "Too many for me to want to clean."

Rebecca remained speechless as she opened the door and climbed out of the car.

Eleanor moved to her side, sliding her arm around Rebecca's waist. "Let's wait and see what the inside looks like. It might surprise you."

"If it's anything like this, I'm putting it on the market tomorrow." Rebecca sighed. "So much for thinking it was going to be something beautiful."

Eleanor unlocked the gate, pushing it open so Danni's car could enter the driveway. "Come on, girls. Where's your adventurous spirit?"

Jenna quivered. "Mom, that place will be filled with spiders, mice, and who knows what else. I'm not going in there."

"Oh Jenna, I promise you it won't be as bad as you think. Just step inside the door, and we'll leave if you still think it's horrible. But nothing ventured, nothing gained."

Rebecca sighed. "Eleanor's right. I should at least see the inside before I sell it. And Mr. Henderson said the electricity is on so we won't be in the dark."

The three women linked arms, and Danni pointed at Eleanor. "Okay, fearless leader, you can lead the way."

Author Notes Eleanor - ghost detective
Jenna - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie)
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison
Vince Rossi - mob lawyer
Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Donatelli
Rebecca - new girl in town and Jenna's assistant
William - highly skilled crook
Miriam - a spirit from days gone by
Phillip Henderson - Attorney - Wills and Trusts
Bruiser - the bouncer at the Hideway
Tony - the bartender
Crystal - the cocktail waitress
Trevor Cascio - deceased owner of the estate


Chapter 13
Miracles - chap 13

By Begin Again

 
"Watch your step, everyone, especially you, Jenna," Danni cautioned, steadying herself on the cracked marble entrance.

"Okay, Danni, you can stop being the Mother Hen. I'm pregnant, not blind. I see the vines and debris on the steps," Jenna shot back.

"Ouch! Forgive me for putting myself out there."

"Ladies, we're here to celebrate, not squabble like children." Eleanor turned to Rebecca. "Would you like the honor of entering your home first?"

Rebecca hesitated, glaring at the loose shutters, shattered glass, and tangled foliage choking the house's exterior. She shuddered and shook her head. "That's okay, Eleanor. You go first. I'm not sure what to expect, but I want no part of it if it's like this."

Eleanor chuckled. "Where's your sense of adventure?" She reached for the doorknob and felt it turn under her hand. Miriam was here —

She felt a chilly brush against her arm.

Are you here to welcome us or warn us? Eleanor wondered.

She felt a slight tug forward, and the door swung open, revealing a pristine world within. Although aged, the floors gleamed from polishing, and the furnishings were impeccably preserved. It was as if the house had been waiting, watching over these treasures, hidden away and untouched by time.

They entered slowly and stared in awe. Jenna, being an art connoisseur, gasped as her gaze landed on a painting just inside the entryway. "That — that can't be," she murmured, stepping closer. "Mother, it's an original Antonio Mancini!"

Eleanor joined her, a smile of recognition forming as she took in the familiar brushstrokes. "A fine replica, perhaps," she offered lightly, trying not to reveal what she already knew.

Jenna shook her head emphatically. "Replica?" She pointed at the signature without touching the artwork for fear of harming the piece. "It's — it's signed. Mancini painted this himself. It's worth a fortune!"

"Indeed, it is." A brush against her arm told Eleanor that Miriam was nearby and ready to brag. "It's marvelous, isn't it?"

"Rebecca — Danni, come look at this painting. It's unbelievable." Jenna called to the others, bubbling with excitement.

Rebecca, watching from a few steps behind, shrugged. "Just an old guy," she said dismissively. "Maybe a vineyard worker caught the artist's eye. Not my style."
 
Miriam's invisible presence drifted beside Eleanor. "Thank you for bringing her here, but I don't think she feels the love that her ancestors knew when they lived here," she murmured. Eleanor sensed her sorrow.

As the trio set off to learn more about the mansion, Eleanor felt Miriam's presence tugging her to go outside. She glanced as the girls climbed the sweeping staircase leading them upstairs and then slipped out to the front steps.

"I still sense your sorrow, and something leads me to believe it's not merely Rebecca's response to your home. If you'd like, I'm more than willing to listen."

Miriam sighed, and Eleanor could tell that whatever she would share wouldn't be easy.
 
"Come." Miriam smiled. "Willow is grazing near my favorite spot. Do you mind walking near the lake? It's not far, just beyond the lilac hedge."

"Lead the way."

Eleanor was surprised that an inlet of the lake was so close to the front of the house, maybe two hundred feet, after clearing the overgrown lilacs. Milo, busy plucking worms from the soil, stopped as they approached, puffed up his chest, and greeted the women with a boastful crow. Miriam chuckled and dug deep in her pocket. She scattered a handful of corn and murmured to him, "Yes. Milo, we have company."

Continuing a few more feet, Willow raised his head, braying as if to say hello. Miriam rubbed between his ears as he nuzzled her in search of an apple or a carrot. "Sorry, Willow. I'll bring you one soon, I promise."

She waved her hand toward a bench carved from a log. "Shall we sit?"

Eleanor followed and took her place on the log bench. "What a beautiful view. I bet this is stunning when the moon reflects on the water at night."

Miriam's eyes shifted to the men on the cliff, knowing what they would find but wondering if Eleanor had made that connection, too. The two sat silently, waiting for the other to speak.

Finally, Miriam stood and walked over to Willow, scratching his back. When she spoke, her voice quivered.
"It was supposed to be the happiest day of my life, Eleanor. I was finally marrying Trevor. I'd despised him when my parents agreed to send me to America to wed him, forcing me to leave my child behind."

'Your child? Would that be Angela?"

Miriam's eyes clouded, and she buried her face in Willow's side. "Yes, my only child and Rebecca's mom."

"Why would your parents do such a hurtful thing, separating their daughter from her child? I don't understand."

"Their vineyard was failing and in need of repair. Trevor offered them the money, not as a loan, but as a gift. In return, I would go to America, where he could introduce me to society, and we would wed."

"So, in return for a hefty financial agreement, he forced you to leave your child behind and marry him? What kind of man would do that? You must have been heartbroken."

"To leave Angela for even a day was more than I could do, but I had no choice. Papa said I had to go, and his word was law. Mama and I wept, but it made no difference. The last time I saw her was as the ship pulled out of the harbor. She remained there with Angela until the ship disappeared."

Miriam rejoined Eleanor on the bench, reaching out for her hand. "Trevor was a wonderful man. We got to know each other on the trip across the Atlantic, and I grew comfortable around him. One night, as we stood on deck beneath the stars, he took my hand, brushing his lips against my fingertips. It was then that he promised to bring Angela to live with us once we were married."

"Did you believe that he would?"

"Not at first, but as our journey progressed, I listened to his dreams of the vineyard and how we would celebrate life together. His dreams became mine, and I could see it all.

"Our wedding was beyond any dreams I could have imagined. My dress —" she paused, biting her lip. "Trevor surprised me and ordered it. When I saw it, I wanted to marry him that very second. No one had ever done something so special just for me. I knew we were meant to be together."

"So what happened? What made Trevor's friends turn against you?"

"Cornelius Webb. He had other plans. He wanted our land and saw Trevor as an obstacle. Trevor refused to relinquish his dream. So, the opportunity presented itself on our wedding day, and he struck."

Eleanor felt a chill run down her spine. "What did he do?"

"After the ceremony, we all gathered in the parlor to toast our future. Cornelius was there, acting as though he celebrated our union. He lifted his glass to the others, smiling as he proposed a toast to our happiness. But he'd laced Trevor's drink with poison." Miriam's voice faltered. "Within minutes, Trevor collapsed. He was gone before I even knew what was happening."

Eleanor's hand went to her mouth, horrified. "And Cornelius —?"

Miriam's voice grew colder, sharper as if seething from beyond the grave. "He turned to me as Trevor lay dying, his face twisted in feigned shock. He pointed his finger at me and cried out to the crowd that he had witnessed me poisoning my husband."

Eleanor's heart clenched as the depth of Cornelius's cruelty became clear. "And the townsfolk believed him?"

"They did," Miriam said, her voice hollow with bitterness. "The people had known Cornelius all their lives, trusted him. They rallied around his lie, convinced I was a madwoman driven by greed. I'd arrived from Italy with nothing but a suitcase.

"No one questioned his story; no one asked me why I would kill the man I'd just married." Her voice cracked, filled with the rawness of betrayal. "The mob dragged me from the house in my wedding dress and took me to the old oak tree. There, they hanged me, accusing me of murder."

Eleanor felt tears sting her eyes, a helpless anger tightening in her chest. "Miriam, they didn't allow you to defend yourself."

"No," Miriam replied, her voice softening with a weariness that centuries had not eased. "I died knowing that Cornelius would walk free, that he would claim the land and destroy the legacy Trevor and I had dreamed of building together." She paused, the hope in her voice fragile. "But I stayed, Eleanor. I stayed because I knew that one day, someone from my family would return to set things right."

Eleanor glanced back at the house, her heart aching for the young bride who had lost everything in a single, tragic day. "I don't have the words to ease your pain, Miriam. I am so sorry."

"Trevor didn't know that Cornelius would murder both of us, but he was a wise man. He'd drawn up a paper stating that the land would never be sold until a living heir rightfully inherited the land. Then it would be theirs to do as they saw fit."

"Rebecca is here now, Miriam. She may not understand yet, but given time, she will. You're a part of her, and she'll uncover the truth in time."

A sigh, almost a whisper, echoed around her. "Help her see, Eleanor. Help her reclaim what was stolen from us. Only then can I find peace."

*****

As Eleanor and Miriam returned to the house, an unsettling feeling prickled at the edge of her mind.
"Miriam —" Eleanor ventured cautiously. "There's someone else here, isn't there?"

"No one you need to worry about," Miriam replied, her voice cold and unyielding. "This is my family's land, Eleanor. Some secrets are mine to keep."

Eleanor studied the spectral figure beside her, noting Miriam's defensive posture. "Whoever it is, they feel lost, and in pain. I can sense it. You're keeping them hidden."

A chill swept through the air, and Eleanor felt a faint memory ripple — a man's shadowed figure. She closed her eyes, trying to connect with the presence she sensed mentally, but a wall of fog, an impenetrable barrier, blocked her from doing so.

Before she could ask any more questions, she realized Miriam was gone.
 
*****

Studying a small sculpture, Jenna carefully ran her fingers over the intricate piece. "Rebecca, some of these pieces are so exquisite that I find it impossible to believe they aren't real. The family that lived here was very wealthy and art-oriented. I get shivers with each one I find. Such a collection is mind-blowing."

"And so cared for." Danni looked around the room. "How long has it been since someone left this place?" She turned to Jenna and Rebecca. "It's spotless."

They walked deeper into the mansion, discovering room after room filled with antiques and art and homey pieces, simple things that a peasant family might have. The furniture was spotless, not a speck of dust. It was as if the house had been frozen in time, waiting for someone to return.

Rebecca shrugged. "It's like someone has been living here."

"You're right. It's as if someone wanted to make sure the house was kept up until its true heir returned." Eleanor didn't elaborate further, but a knowing look passed between her and Danni.

Jenna wrinkled her nose. "I'm still not convinced. It feels like —" she paused, "I don't know, like someone is watching us."

Rebecca laughed softly, but her voice held a noticeable trace of unease. "You guys are talking like you believe in ghosts. Now it's you, not the house, that's giving me the creeps."

Jenna, Danni, and Eleanor glanced at each other quickly before they entered a large sitting room with towering bookshelves and an old fireplace.

Danni ran her fingers across the mahogany mantel, admiring the craftsmanship. "Can't you imagine being snuggled up with a warm blanket on a cold night, warming your toes in front of the fire, Rebecca?"

Jenna chimed, "And at Christmas, you can hang stockings from the mantel, and the largest tree imaginable will stand near the staircase. We can wrap fresh garland around the banister."

"Don't forget the poinsettias and the aroma of Christmas cookies baking in the kitchen."

"Now you're getting the spirit, Rebecca." Danni laughed. Noticing a set of framed photographs on the mantel, she picked one up. "This is strange. These pictures aren't black and white like the others."

Jenna took the frame from Danni's hand. "You're right. This picture isn't old like the others." It was a photograph of a young woman sitting on the mansion's steps, smiling at the camera. On the back of the picture, written in elegant cursive, was a name — Alyssa.

Excited, Danni looked at the picture again. "Rebecca, this woman looks like you."

Rebecca stepped closer, her eyes narrowing as she studied the photo. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the name. "Alyssa. Do you think it's a picture of my sister?"

Danni looked up at the others, wide-eyed. "The resemblance is uncanny."

Before Rebecca could answer, Eleanor, who had been quiet until now, walked over to the photo, her face paling as she recognized the woman in the photograph. Her eyes flicked back to Rebecca, but she said nothing.

Moving toward the window, she glanced outside toward the cliffs where the men were working. In a low voice, she said, "I — I know who she is."

The others turned to Eleanor, surprised by her response. Rebecca questioned her, "What do you mean? You know her? Are you saying you knew my sister?"

Eleanor hesitated, her eyes betraying a deep, unreadable emotion. Before she could speak, her phone buzzed. She reached for it quickly, clearly relieved to have a distraction from the tension hanging in the air.

"Yes, this is Eleanor."

Her face shifted from confusion to shock as she listened, her hand gripping the phone tightly. She disconnected the line and turned to face the girls. Her voice was barely audible. "They found Matthew's car in the lake, and there's a body inside. They haven't identified it yet."

Danni and Jenna screamed, clinging to each other. "It can't be him. It can't be."

Still holding the picture, Eleanor looked toward the cliffs again. "Garth is on his way. Maybe he'll have news."

Sobbing, Jenna collapsed to the floor. "Dear God, tell me it's not Matthew."

Author Notes Eleanor - ghost detective
Jenna - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie)
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison
Vince Rossi - mob lawyer
Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Donatelli
Rebecca - new girl in town and Jenna's assistant
William - highly skilled crook
Miriam - a spirit from days gone by
Phillip Henderson - Attorney - Wills and Trusts
Bruiser - the bouncer at the Hideway
Tony - the bartender
Crystal - the cocktail waitress
Trevor Cascio - deceased owner of the estate


Chapter 14
Miracles - Chap 14

By Begin Again

 
 
After several attempts, Matthew sat upright on the bed's edge. The effort was agonizing. His cracked ribs screamed in protest. Using the nightstand and headboard, he stood on his wobbly legs, his muscles trembling from the effort.

As he shuffled toward the door, his shoulder brushed against the frame, jarring his battered body. A sharp pain radiated through him, and he noticed fresh blood seeping through his bandages.

The small cottage felt like a maze as he staggered between the furniture until he reached the front door. With trembling fingers, he turned the handle and stepped outside.

The cool, fresh air smelled invigorating but burned his lungs when he inhaled. He gripped the porch railing for support. His knuckles were white against the weathered wood. He shifted positions, moving further along the porch, attempting to see what the loud, crushing noise was all about.

The crane by the lake creaked and groaned, hoisting a waterlogged vehicle from its murky grave. His gaze locked on the car as it swung in the air. His chest tightened, and a hazy sense of familiarity stirred in him.
He leaned against the railing, his strength fading rapidly, but he couldn't tear his eyes away.

Why does this feel important?

The question echoed in his mind, but the answer remained out of reach.

Suddenly, Miriam was beside him. "What are you doing out here?" she asked, slipping an arm around him. "You shouldn't be out in the open. If anyone sees you—"

Matthew stared at her — confusion written on his face. "What's going on? I saw the car lifted out of the lake. Something about it seemed familiar. Does it have anything to do with me?"

Miriam stared at the cliffs, seeing people buzzing around like bees in a hive. "Let's go inside. I'll make us some tea, and then we can talk."

Matthew looked at the crane and car, hoping for something, but his mind remained blank. He relented and allowed her to usher him back into the cottage.

He exhaled loudly, suddenly aware he'd been holding his breath, trying to combat the pain. Sitting at the kitchen table, he rested his bandaged head in the palms of his hands, exhausted.

"You'll need new bandages. I'll tend to that after we have some tea." Miriam sat a kettle on the stove to boil, glancing over her shoulder at him. Soon, the aroma of tea filled the air as she brought two steaming mugs and a plate of sugar cookies to the table.

The cozy kitchen was silent as they sipped the spicy brew to which she'd added a touch of cinnamon. Matthew munched on a cookie, enjoying the sweetness.

She reached for his hand and looked at him with apprehension. "Do you remember anything about the night I found you?"

"Not really. I've tried, but nothing connects. Yesterday, I thought I saw a pool table and billiard balls clacking together, but —" He rubbed his temples as if coaxing his mind to remember. "It was a fleeting second, just a flash. Everything's a fog."

Miriam nodded, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. "It's all right. Your memory will come back in time." She hesitated, staring into the steamy mug, carefully choosing her following words. "There are people looking for you. People who think —" She paused, raising her eyes to look at him. "People who believe you are responsible for something terrible."

"Me? Responsible? Did I — oh God in Heaven, did I hurt someone?"

Her gaze dropped to her teacup again, and she stirred it absently. "They think you're connected to a murder."
She watched as confusion etched his face. A shudder passed through her as she wondered if she'd gone too far, too soon.

His voice was barely audible as he asked, "Murder? Do you — think? Do you know who I am?"

Miriam's heart ached at the desperation in his tone. She shook her head and breathed, "No, I don't know who you are, but —" She hesitated and glanced toward the bedroom. "I believe the badge might hold a clue."

She stood and hurried into the bedroom, returning with the badge, and sat it in front of him. His eyes locked on the metal, but his expression remained blank.

"I showed this to you before," Miriam continued. "I thought it might jog your memory, but I know it didn't. Still — I believe it's connected to you. It's an important part of you."

He picked up the badge, turning it over in his hand. "If this is mine, why can't I remember anything?" He slid it across the table.

Miriam reached out and placed a hand over his. "Sometimes the mind takes time to heal," she whispered. "But there's something else." She paused, wondering if she should mention Eleanor. "I met a woman — someone I believe is connected to you. I don't know the full story, but she might have the answers you're looking for."

His head jerked up, a flicker of hope breaking through the fog. "Who is she? Where is she?"

Miriam shook her head, her expression cautious. "I don't know who she is — she's been looking for someone, and I think it's you. I can bring her here, but we must be careful. If anyone finds out where you are —" She lets the warning hang in the air.

Matthew's grip tightened on the edge of the table. "Bring her," his voice pleaded. "Please. If she knows anything, I need to see her."

Miriam nodded. "I'll bring her. But for now, I need to tend to those bandages, and you need to rest."

As she cleared the teacups, she glanced back at him. He was staring at the badge again, turning it in his hands as though willing it to unlock the secrets buried in his mind. The sight tugged at her heart, yet she feared for his future.
Garth and his men gathered at the edge of the cliff, watching the crane hoist the car from the murky lake.

Tango could see the pain and apprehension etched on his boss's face. "It's his car, but that doesn't —"

"Tango, nice try, pal, but the divers already radioed me about the body inside."

"Sorry, boss. I know you and Donatelli have history, but he was a friend, too."

Garth nodded, choking on his emotions as he awaited confirmation that his friend was in the car.

"What brought you to this, my friend? Did you give up and drive off the edge, or —"

Garth watched the crane swing the car around. His mind jumped from one scenario to the other.

Did someone do this to you? Did you meet up with the wrong guys?

Garth knew that Doyle had tossed threats around, but was he capable of arranging the death of someone in law enforcement? One thing he was sure of was that if it wasn't an accident and Doyle or anyone else was involved, they'd be dealing with him. Matthew's death wouldn't become a cold case.

A government car pulled to the side of the road and parked. Three men stepped out — Owen Maxwell, newly appointed special prosecutor for Landon County; Joseph DeLuca, one of Bayside's detectives looking to claim Donatelli's position; and Vince Rossi. Maxwell and DeLuca strode across the grass while Rossi hung back, leaning against the car.

The two men stopped to watch the crane set the car down on the ground, neither eager to face down their current opponent, FBI number one officer Garth Woodman. Having observed and recognized Maxwell approaching, Garth remained cool and continued to watch the business at hand. As soon as the car settled, he nodded to Tango and Poppa, and without further conversation, the two agents hurried to the car.

Owen Maxwell walked toward Garth, his stomach churning but his face set in a firm expression. "Agent Woodman, fine job of discovering Donatelli's vehicle. We appreciate your efforts, but Detective DeLuca will take over from here."

Garth frowned, caught off guard by the sudden shift. He tipped his Stetson back on his head so his cold gaze met Maxwell's eyes. "You're welcome to join us in the investigation, but we have this."

Maxwell's steely gaze locked on Garth as he responded, "Agent, this isn't an FBI case."

Garth looked at DeLuca, who remained a few steps back from the two men. "How'd you even know we'd located Donatelli's car?"

"We — uh, had our own feelers out, of course. After all, Donatelli was — is one of our own."

Another officer motioned for DeLuca, and the detective stepped away from Garth. After exchanging a few words, DeLuca motioned for Maxwell to join them.

In the meantime, Poppa radioed Garth, telling him it wasn't Matthew. His face remained ready for any poker game these two brought him, but his heart felt much lighter.

The second the car was safe to approach, Tango had leaned into the twisted frame and pried open the door. He had seen the new arrivals at the scene, so he was aware that his time would be limited. As he checked the body, his fingers brushed against something in the victim's shirt pocket — a leather wallet, damp but intact. He slipped it out, barely glancing at the ID before an officer tapped his shoulder.

"Sir, you need to step back. Please exit the vehicle and move behind the tape," the officer said firmly.

Tango scowled and shifted his glance to his boss, who nodded. Clutching the wallet as he joined Garth, he quietly slipped it into Poppa's jacket pocket. Poppa walked away, casually blending in with the other workers.

By this time, the pow-wow ended, and Maxwell and DeLuca rejoined Garth and Tango. Garth was prepared and waited for the first shot. It didn't take long for DeLuca to fire.

"Your men have probably made you aware that the body in Donatelli's car is not his. I will be taking over the case from here, and you and your men will need to clear the crime scene."

Garth narrowed his eyes, piecing together the implications. "You keep mentioning a case — what exactly are we talking about here?"

DeLuca, nervous under Garth's piercing stare, nodded for Maxwell to join the conversation. "Donatelli is being charged with murder."
 
The words hung in the air like a thunderclap. "Murder! On what evidence? How do you know his body isn't still somewhere in the water? What makes it murder?"

"I'm not free to provide you with that information at this time, but we have reason to believe that Donatelli had a beef with this guy and chose to end it this way."

"You're crazy. Matthew Donatelli would not, under any circumstance, step outside the law to settle a beef." Garth glanced across the grass at Vince Rossi. "Since when does a special prosecutor hang out with the mob's number one lawyer."

Maxwell's eyes widened. "Oh, you recognized Mr. Rossi? I was having a discussion with him when Owen contacted me, so we finished our conversation on the ride out here."

Garth wasn't buying one word of it, but he nodded as if in agreement. "Did Doyle come up in the conversation?"

"Doyle? Do you mean Judge Doyle? He's behind bars. Why would I be discussing him?"

"Just a passing thought." Garth turned away, motioning for Tango to follow, and they left Maxwell and DeLuca staring at their backs as they ducked under the crime scene tape.

"Vince Rossi," Garth muttered under his breath. "The mob's lawyer." The realization tightened his jaw as he turned to Rossi, his eyes sharp. "Doyle is behind this, isn't he?"

Rossi met Garth's gaze with a cool, unreadable expression. A slow, mocking smirk crept across his face, but he said nothing, maintaining an air of detachment as if the accusation was beneath him.

Garth's gut twisted. The mob's involvement could mean Donatelli's murder wasn't as simple as it seemed. Rossi's silence spoke volumes, reinforcing Garth's worst suspicions — he's up against more than just a murder case. This could be a tangled web of corruption, and Vince Rossi was here to ensure nothing slips through.

Author Notes Eleanor - ghost detective
Jenna - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie)
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison
Vince Rossi - mob lawyer
Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Donatelli
Rebecca - new girl in town and Jenna's assistant
William - highly skilled crook
Miriam - a spirit from days gone by
Phillip Henderson - Attorney - Wills and Trusts
Bruiser - the bouncer at the Hideway
Tony - the bartender
Crystal - the cocktail waitress
Trevor Cascio - deceased owner of the estate


Chapter 15
Miracles - Chap 15

By Begin Again

 
 
 
 
 
 
As they reached the car, Garth glanced back one last time at Vince Rossi and climbed into the passenger seat.

Tango gave him a strange look but shrugged and walked around to the driver's seat. As he climbed inside, Garth tossed the keys to him. "You okay, boss? Thought you'd be celebrating that it wasn't Donatelli in the car."

Garth stared out the window, sorting his emotions. He'd been battling with how he'd left things with Donatelli, knowing that if he had been in that car, he might not have had the chance to make it right with his friend. Relief had swept through him when Tango had signaled it wasn't Matthew, but now he wondered what Vince Rossi had to do with any of this and if Doyle was behind it.

"My gut tells me that this isn't going to end well if Maxwell and Deluca have anything to say about it."

"You don't think DeLuca would turn against his fellow officer, do you? I don't know the guy, but they did work in the same department, right?"

"Yes, they did. I don't know him either, but when a guy like Donatelli is at the top, most everyone else wants to knock him down."

"But — what about Maxwell? He's a special prosecutor. How does he work into the situation?"

"Doesn't it seem odd to you that a special prosecutor has already been appointed, and technically, there isn't a case yet? Supposedly, they didn't know it wasn't Donatelli in that car until we all saw the other guy. If it had been Matthew, who's to say he didn't get drunk and miss the curve, driving off the edge of the cliff."

"Now that you mention it, it does seem strange. Did they know someone held a grudge against him?" Tango hesitated, and then his eyes widened. "You don't think the Judge is behind all this, do you?"

"I do. What prosecutor and detective are driving around with the underworld's lawyer in their back seat — unless he's in handcuffs, which he wasn't? Something is going on, and we need to figure out what it is and get to Donatelli before they do."

"Where do you think he could be?" Tango started the car, but still looked at his boss.

"At this moment, I don't know, but I would bet Eleanor does or has a good idea. I want you and Poppa to do some digging on the wallet — a nice play, by the way."

"Thanks. I figured we deserved a leg up if they were going to kick us off the case."

"They can say whatever they want, but we'll still do our own investigating — just try to stay off the radar. Drop me off at the estate. I think Eleanor and the girls are still there."

"You know you will have some hysterical women on your hands."

"I suspect so, but they need to know it's not Matthew. Especially Jenna."

"I know she had a few dates with him, but I didn't think it was anything serious. Was I wrong?"

"I'm not sure where their relationship was headed, but Jenna doesn't need any more stress in her life right now," Garth said as he looked out the window, not wanting to betray Jenna's trust about the pregnancy. "There's a car parked in the driveway, so someone is there. You get with Poppa, and I'll call you when I need a ride."

"Sure thing. Poppa texted a while ago and is running a background check on the guy as we speak."

"Thanks." Garth climbed out of the SUV and watched Tango pull out of the driveway. He could still see the crane on the cliff and Donatelli's car. Muttering under his breath, he asked, "Matthew, what did you get yourself into, and where are you?" He kicked a piece of gravel with his boot and pushed his Stetson back on his head. "I'm sure glad you weren't in that car, but I think your troubles are just starting regardless of where you are."

*****

As Jenna lay on the antique sofa, Rebecca fluffed the cold compress against her forehead. "Do you think we should call someone?" Danni whispered, glancing around the room.

"I don't know, but we can't leave her like this," Rebecca replied, trembling. She straightened some of the cushions, her eyes flickering to the tall windows, half expecting to see someone outside. "Eleanor said Garth was coming, and now she's disappeared. I don't understand any of this."

The gravel crunched under tires, and Danni turned towards the driveway. A vehicle pulled in, and her heart pounded as she recognized Garth stepping out. Relief washed over her, but anxiety twisted within her — what if Donatelli was dead?

Danni hurried to the door, swinging it open as Garth climbed the steps.

"Is it Matthew?" she asked, her body shaking with fear.

"No, it's not Matthew."

An enormous sigh escaped Danni's mouth, followed by several more questions as the detective side of her kicked in.

Garth's eyes searched for Jenna as he strode into the living room.

"Is she okay?" Garth asked, worried, as he rushed inside, his eyes fixed on Jenna's pale face.

"I — I think she fainted," Rebecca stammered, stepping aside to let Garth take charge.

Garth knelt next to the sofa, focusing on Jenna, who was beginning to stir. Danni stood at the edge of the room, wringing her hands, her eyes darting to Garth, pleading for answers.

"Jenna, hey," Garth said softly, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "Can you hear me?"

She cracked her eyes, confusion etched on her features. "Garth? What happened?"

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to maintain eye contact, knowing that clarity was crucial. "I need to tell you something important. The car that was pulled from the lake — it belonged to Donatelli."

Danni inhaled, stepping closer as she processed his words. "If it was Donatelli's car, where is he?"

Garth met Danni's gaze, his expression serious. "It wasn't Donatelli in the car."

Danni pressed, her voice rising slightly with confusion and concern. "If it wasn't him, then who was it? And where is Matthew? Why isn't he answering his phone?"

"That's what we need to figure out," Garth replied. "The driver was someone else. It's a complicated situation, and there's a chance —" he hesitated, gauging Jenna's reaction as she sat up, taking in his words, "there's a chance they were setting him up. This is bigger than just a car accident."

Now awake, Jenna's brow furrowed with worry, her gaze shifting between Garth and Danni. "They? Who's behind this, Garth? Is Matthew in danger?"

"That's what we need to find out," he answered. "The car wasn't an accident. Someone wanted Donatelli out of the picture."

Danni nodded, finally finding her footing amidst the turmoil. "We need to find Matthew. He's the key to all of this. If he can't be found, he could be walking into a trap."

Garth looked around the room. "I was expecting Eleanor."

"She was here before I fainted. Danni, did she say she was going somewhere?"

"No, not to me." Danni sensed Eleanor was still nearby but gathered she didn't want anyone to know. "You know Eleanor — she probably needed a few minutes alone to think. I'm sure she'll be right back."

Jenna looked at Garth, determination sparking in her eyes. "We need to do something. We can't just sit here and wait for answers. There has to be someone who knows where he is."

'I've got Tango and Poppa on it already. We need to stay one step ahead of whoever else is looking for him." Garth turned to Danni. "What's the scoop on DeLuca and special prosecutor Owen Maxwell?"

Danni's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "DeLuca is a second-rate detective as far as I am concerned. He got his shield thanks to who his father was. And I never heard of Owen Maxwell. Why do you ask?"

"They showed up when we lifted the car from the lake. Told me it wasn't an FBI case, and we were no longer needed."

"DeLuca did? That's strange. I thought he was on desk duty for some case he botched a few weeks ago. Why would there be a special prosecutor? We don't even know if there's a case, do we?"

"Well, chew on this — Vince Rossi was with them."

"Rossi! Garth, none of this is making any sense."

"Exactly! We've got to find Donatelli and be very careful about it. I think Doyle is behind this, and it will be a frame job."

Jenna gasped. "Doyle hates Matthew."

Danni rushed to Jenna's side. "Don't worry. We're going to find him. Nobody's going to frame him. He's too good of a cop for that."

"I hope you're right, Danni, but Doyle is as crooked as they come."

Rebecca stood near the window, staring out across the yard. Garth approached her, touching her arm. "Are you okay? It's not much of a celebration, is it?"

Rebecca shook her head. "I don't know — I can see the beauty and potential, but I'm not sure I want all the history that goes with it."

"Give it time, Rebecca. This certainly wasn't anything any of us could have expected." He sighed. "I just wish I knew where Eleanor disappeared to."

*****

"Miriam!" Eleanor approached the woman standing near the water's edge. "I sensed you wanted to talk to me."

"I did." She answered but didn't turn to greet Eleanor.

"Is it about the car they pulled from the lake?"

Miriam stood there, eerily quiet, as she stared at the cliff.

Eleanor pressed, knowing their time was running short. "It was my friend's car, but he wasn't in it. Someone else was, and they died."

"I know. I saw it happen, and when the other car left, Willow and I took the cart and went to take a look. That's when I found him, or what was left of him." Miriam turned to look at Eleanor. "He doesn't know who he is."

"But I do! His name is Matthew Donatelli. He's a detective."

"I found his badge, so I suspected as much, but when I showed him the shield, it didn't mean anything to him. He's in bad shape. Broken ribs, I believe. I bandaged the wounds the best I could, but he needs better care."

"I can do that if you let me see him." Eleanor held her breath, praying that Miriam would give in.

"He said I could bring you."

"When?" Eleanor grabbed Miriam's hand. "Can we go now?"

"Won't your friends follow you? We can't trust anyone. I saw the FBI guy arrive a little while ago."

Eleanor glanced back at the house. "I suppose they've had enough fright for the night. I'll go talk to them, and then we can go."

Miriam stood, staring at the house, without saying a word.

"Miriam, I've got to see Matthew. If you don't want me to tell my friends, I won't."

Miriam shook her head. "You trusted me, so I should trust you. Go, but hurry and come back alone."

"I will. I promise." Eleanor started toward the house when Miriam called out to her.

"Eleanor — I feel the noose tightening. Time is running out."

Eleanor nodded and disappeared as a chill ran up her spine.

How am I going to convince Garth to remain behind?

Author Notes My apologies and hopes that the chapter is acceptable. I forgot how "busy" it can be with three young girls in need of my attention. Thank you for reading.


Eleanor - ghost detective
Jenna - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie)
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison
Vince Rossi - mob lawyer
Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Donatelli
Rebecca - new girl in town and Jenna's assistant
William - highly skilled crook
Miriam - a spirit from days gone by
Phillip Henderson - Attorney - Wills and Trusts
Bruiser - the bouncer at the Hideway
Tony - the bartender
Crystal - the cocktail waitress
Trevor Cascio - deceased owner of the estate
Owen Maxwell - special prosecutor
Joseph DeLuca - detective


Chapter 16
Miracles - Chap 16

By Begin Again

 
 
 
 
"Poppa, I can't believe you managed to uncover so much on this Johnny guy in such a short time," Tango said, shaking his head with a hint of admiration. "You've been busy."

Poppa smirked, leaning back in his chair. "It's not that hard when the guy doesn't have much to hide. He was just an ordinary Joe, trying to keep his head above water. His only real downfall? Thinking he could be a pool hustler."

"You think that's what went down with him and Donatelli? We all know our friend loves cracking the balls."

"I can picture him shooting the table, sure, but it doesn't explain how this guy ends up dead in Donatelli's car at the bottom of the lake. And as for Donatelli himself — where the hell is he?"

"Not a clue," Tango replied, his tone darkening. "No one on the team's been able to track his whereabouts. The boss is convinced Doyle's behind this."

"Doyle?" Poppa raised an eyebrow. "I know that slimeball threatened everyone, but I don't see the connection between him, Donatelli, and our dead guy."

"With us getting booted off the case and Vince Rossi showing up with Maxwell, Garth thinks it's a frame job."

"A pretty damn good one if it is," Poppa muttered. "Finding a dead man in your car, then vanishing? It's like a neon sign pointing to him."

"Yeah, but we both know Donatelli isn't a murderer," Tango said firmly. "Something else is going on here, and we've got to figure out what it is."

Poppa nodded grimly. "If Rossi's involved, we better work fast. Otherwise, we might end up fishing Donatelli's body out of the lake next."

"Did you get anything on where this Johnny guy liked to hang out?"

"Yeah, I started checking bars near where we found the car," Poppa replied, flipping through his notes. "Turns out there's a biker bar not far from there. A place called the Hideaway. Real upstanding establishment, by the sound of it."

Tango chuckled. "Perfect. Should we flip for who gets to visit the fine establishment and who plays lookout?"

Poppa grinned. "As much as I know you'd love to mingle with the locals, I think this one's all mine. Your face was all over the crime scene earlier. Just in case someone's been paying attention."

"Walked right into that one, didn't I? Guess you win."

"Why, Tango, that's so thoughtful of you." Poppa's grin widened. "Don't worry, I'll tip an extra cold one back for you while I'm at it."

"You're all heart," Tango shot back, laughing. "And while one of those bikers decides he doesn't like your face and plants his fist in it, I'll be enjoying the show from outside."

"Like hell, you will!" Poppa said, shooting him a mock glare. "If things go south, you'd better haul ass into that bar and start busting heads."

"You know I've got your back," Tango grinned. "Now let's go see if our detective had a fondness for the Hideaway."

*****

Poppa walked into the dimly lit bar, the air thick with smoke, loud music, and raucous laughter. Neon signs buzzed on the walls, casting jagged reflections on the scratched-up tables and sticky floors. The Hideaway was precisely what he expected — a haven for the rough and restless.

Sliding onto a barstool, he scanned the room. A group of bikers crowded a corner table, a couple shot pool in the back, and a jukebox warbled a tinny country tune. Behind the bar, a young woman with bleach-blonde hair and a tight tank top eyed him curiously as she poured a drink.

"What's your poison, stranger?" she asked, leaning in just enough to catch his attention.

"A cold one," Poppa replied with a polite nod.

Her crimson lips formed a beautiful smile. "Coming right up." She turned away to grab a cold bottle of beer.

Meanwhile, Tango parked his car in the shadows outside, tilting his seat back and angling his head to listen. The bar's muffled noises and Poppa's conversations were loud and clear in the stillness.

The blonde returned with his beer, setting it down with a teasing grin. "You new around here?"

Poppa shrugged, taking a sip. "Just passing through. Heard this was the place to find someone who plays a mean game of pool."

Her smile faltered, and her eyes darted toward a hulking man in a leather vest at the corner of the room. His shaved head gleamed under the dim light, and his thick arms rested possessively on the table's edge.

"Now and then," she said hesitantly, her voice barely audible.

"Anyone here tonight worth challenging?" Poppa asked casually.

Her nervous glance returned to the hulking figure. "No. Johnny was our best —"

Before she could finish, the man — the bouncer, Poppa assumed — was suddenly at her side, grabbing her arm too tight to be friendly.

"You're paid to work, not stand around flapping your gums," he growled, his voice a low rumble.

Poppa's eyes narrowed. "Ease up, buddy. She was just making conversation."

Bruiser turned his glare on Poppa, his lips curling into a sneer. "Yeah, well, she tends to offer more than just conversation when the occasion comes along. I don't take kindly to strangers cozying up to my woman."

Poppa held up a hand, his expression calm but sharp. "Hey, man, I'm just looking for a pool game and a cold one. No harm, no foul."

Crystal wrenched free of Bruiser's grip and hurried to the other end of the bar, her hands shaking as she picked up a tray. Bruiser shot one last glare at Poppa before stomping off after her.

Poppa returned to his beer, but the quiet moment didn't last. The door swung open, and in walked Vince Rossi, flanked by two thugs who looked like they'd stepped off the set of a mobster flick.

Rossi didn't even glance at the bar. He strode purposefully toward a door in the back, the thugs trailing behind him.

Poppa's jaw tightened, and he slid his cap down low over his eyes. He took one last sip of his beer before slipping off the stool and heading for the exit.

Outside, Tango sat up as Poppa emerged, his silhouette tense against the glow of the bar's neon lights.

"Well?" Tango asked as Poppa climbed into the car.

Poppa adjusted his cap and buckled his seatbelt. "Rossi's here. Whatever game they're playing, it's bigger than just some missing detective and a dead guy."

Tango's lips thinned. "Think they spotted you?"

"No, but we're on borrowed time. Let's get out of here before someone changes that."

With a growl of the engine, Tango drove out of the shadows and across the parking lot, headed for the exit.

Poppa replayed the scene with Bruiser and Crystal in his mind. Something wasn't sitting right, and Rossi's presence only deepened the mystery.

Suddenly, the car screeched to a halt, lurching Poppa forward.

"What the heck, Tango? Are you trying to snap my neck off?" Poppa barked, grabbing the dashboard for support.

Tango threw the car into reverse, his eyes fixed on the rearview mirror. "Shut up a second. Look!"

Poppa turned, craning his neck to see a man walking toward the bar's entrance. The man was dressed in dark jeans and a leather jacket, and his collar was turned up to shield his face from the chilly night air.

Tango's voice was tinged with excitement. "You remember that guy who slipped through our fingers at the airport? The one the German Embassy helped sneak out before we could nab him?"

Poppa's brow furrowed as the memory surfaced. "Of course, I remember. How could I forget? The boss had us scrambling onto the jet before it even finished fueling — chasing a ghost. And every damn lead we had went cold after that."

"Well," Tango said, pointing toward the bar, "I swear that's him. That's the guy. He just walked into that dive."

Poppa stared hard at the man as he disappeared into the bar. His pulse quickened. "What are the chances? A guy who vanishes into thin air shows up in a biker bar in the middle of nowhere?"

Tango's hand hovered over the gearshift, ready to throw the car back into drive. "We can't just sit here. If that's him, we've got to do something."

Poppa grabbed Tango's arm. "Hold on. We can't just barge in there — guns blazing. If Rossi's still inside, he'll recognize us in a heartbeat. And if this guy's working with him, we'll blow our cover."

Tango frowned, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. "So, what do we do? Let him slip away again?"

"No," Poppa said, a sharp edge in his voice. "We tail him. He's got to come out eventually, and when he does, we'll find out where he's headed."

Tango hesitated, then nodded. "Fine. But I'm going in if he doesn't come out soon."

Poppa leaned back in his seat, keeping his eyes trained on the bar's entrance. "Patience, Tango. We've waited this long. What's a little more time?"

"Forget it. I can't sit here and do nothing. I'm going in."

Tango adjusted his cap and stepped out of the car, his boots crunching softly against the gravel as he approached the bar's entrance. He didn't intend to draw any attention, just close enough to see what was happening.

Poppa lowered his window, his voice a harsh whisper. "You're not going in there without backup. At least call Garth. He needs to know if this guy is the same one who slipped us before."

Tango hesitated, glancing back. "If I call Garth now and we're wrong, we blow our cover for nothing. Let me see what I can hear first."

Poppa shook his head, pulling out his phone. "You play reconnaissance. I'll keep the boss in the loop. We're not taking chances with this one."

Tango gave a slight nod, then continued toward the bar, keeping a low profile. As Poppa scrolled through his contacts, he muttered, "Better not get yourself in trouble, Tango. Garth's already pissed enough about this mess."

Once inside the bar, Tango kept his distance, lingering by a side table in a dark corner. While balancing a tray of drinks, Crystal darted over to the stock room door as Bruiser emerged, wiping his hands on a rag.

"Bruiser," she whispered, her tone anxious, "while you were in there, some German-looking guy brought in a painting. Went straight into Tony's office."

"A painting?" Bruiser growled, narrowing his eyes.

"Yeah. I overheard one of the guys saying it's worth close to a million because the artist is dead."

Bruiser straightened, his expression hardening. "Where's it now?"

"In Tony's office. They didn't even bring it out front."

Bruiser snorted, glancing around the bar. "Is Tony back there?"

"Yeah, he came in a few minutes ago through the back entrance. Didn't even say a thing, just went straight into his office."

"Just keep your mouth shut and do your job. I'll check this out."

Crystal gave a quick nod and hurried off, disappearing behind the bar.

Tango's breath caught as the pieces fell into place. A dead artist. A painting worth a fortune. There was no doubt in his mind now — this wasn't just a coincidence. This had Doyle's fingerprints all over it.

He left the bar and headed to the car without ordering a drink.

Poppa was leaning against the steering wheel, phone to his ear, when Tango slid into the passenger seat. "Garth, I'm telling you, Tango's got a lead. We might have a shot at tracking this guy —"

"I don't have a lead," Tango interrupted, breathless. "I have confirmation."

Poppa's eyebrows shot up as he put the phone on speaker. "You sure?"

Tango nodded. "Crystal — one of the bartenders — was talking to that bouncer guy. Said some German dude brought in a painting worth a million bucks because the artist is dead."

There was a long pause before Garth's voice came over the speaker, low and sharp. "A painting? Dead artist? You're saying Doyle's running his counterfeit scam again?"

"I'm saying it's William," Tango replied, his tone grim. "And if Doyle's dealing, he's funding something big."

Garth cursed under his breath. "Stay on him, but don't make a move. I'll get to you. Doyle's got eyes everywhere."

"Boss, you don't have a car, remember?"

"I'll get Danni to loan me her car." He ended the call and turned in search of Danni.

At that moment, Eleanor appeared in the doorway. "Garth, I need to talk to you."

"Not now, Eleanor." He hurried across the room to Danni. "I need your car. The boys have a lead."

"Then I am coming too."

"You should stay here with the others."

"Garth, it's my car, and I'm going."

Not wanting to waste time, he nodded, "Okay, but you stay put if I say so, okay?"

"Sure, sure." Danni agreed, but knowing when and if things went down, she'd be in the midst of it.

As they raced toward the front door, Eleanor tried to stop Garth again. "Garth, this is important. I've found —" Before she could finish her sentence, Garth and Danni were racing toward her car.
 
*****

Tango leaned back in the seat, his jaw tight. "If William's here, he's not just passing through. We've got to figure out what Doyle's endgame is and fast."

Poppa started the engine, pulling the car deeper into the shadows. "Then we wait and see who walks out of that bar. And if Doyle's pulling the strings, it won't be long before we find out what he's up to."

"Do you think this mess with Donatelli is connected somehow?"

"Too much of a coincidence — same bar, same sleazy people. Yeah, there's a connection somehow."
 
"But I don't think we are any closer to Donatelli." Tango sighed. "I hate waiting!"

Author Notes Eleanor - ghost detective
Jenna - Event planner, Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie)
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
John Doyle - Ex-judge and current inmate at Joliet State Prison
Vince Rossi - mob lawyer
Danni - jr. ghost detective working with Donatelli
Rebecca - new girl in town and Jenna's assistant
William - highly skilled crook
Miriam - a spirit from days gone by
Phillip Henderson - Attorney - Wills and Trusts
Bruiser - the bouncer at the Hideway
Tony - the bartender
Crystal - the cocktail waitress
Trevor Cascio - deceased owner of the estate
Owen Maxwell - special prosecutor
Joseph DeLuca - detective

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