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“There are a lot of stories,” Serenity said, “because many of the patients died there, including Catherine Carnelian. But the most well-known haunting didn’t take place in the asylum. According to the legend, Xavier Carnelian, the last descendant of the town’s founder, ran through the fortune he inherited from his lumber baron father and married Catherine for her money. As far as anyone knew, she was alone in the world. The assumption is that he planned to get rid of her after the wedding, but he found out that her trust fund paid out only as long as she was alive. That meant he had a problem.”
“He couldn’t arrange for a convenient lethal accident,” Ambrose said. “The money would have stopped.”
“Exactly,” Serenity continued. “So he did the next best thing. Two months after the marriage he got poor Catherine declared incurably insane and had her committed to the local asylum. But much to his horror she died a year later. Carnelian tried to keep her death a secret. He paid the hospital authorities to pretend Catherine was still alive. But this was a very small town, and several of the locals worked at the hospital. The rumors of Catherine’s death soon began to circulate, but they didn’t reach the bankers in New York.”
“Because the hospital agreed to keep the death a secret?” Pallas said.
“Right,” Serenity said. “At the time, Xavier Carnelian owned this town, and that meant he controlled everything, including the hospital, which, as it turns out, was raking in a lot of cash from people who were happy to pay whatever it cost to keep difficult relatives out of sight.”
Ambrose picked up a glass candleholder and checked the price on the bottom. “When you think about it, Carnelian had every reason to think he could keep his wife’s death a secret indefinitely. If someone had come around demanding proof that Catherine was alive, it would have been easy enough to pass off one of the other lost souls in the asylum as the real Catherine.”
Serenity raised her delicate brows, clearly impressed by his logic. “Exactly. The plan should have worked. But then, of course, Xavier Carnelian became convinced that Catherine was haunting him. He went mad and fell to his death. Now his ghost haunts the old Carnelian mansion.”
Pallas looked up from her notes. “One of the clerks at the hotel front desk told us that Carnelian was afraid to go to sleep at nightbecause he feared he would be awakened by Catherine’s ghost looming over the bed with a butcher’s knife in her hand.”
“That’s the story,” Serenity said. “They say he walked the floors of his mansion all night long. One morning, the housekeeper found him dead at the foot of the stairs. He had fallen and broken his neck.”
Pallas smiled. “And not long afterward, Catherine’s long-lost twin sister, Eugenia, turned up to claim the inheritance.”
Serenity chuckled. “The rest, as they say, is local history. The twins had been separated at birth. Eugenia had ended up in an orphanage. She didn’t learn the truth about her family until she saw the news of Xavier Carnelian’s death in the papers. That was when she discovered that the sister she had never known had been married to Xavier and that there was a large inheritance. It was Eugenia who founded the college and built the library and the hospital in town. She also made certain that the director of the asylum was replaced with a proper, modern-thinking doctor. Eventually, of course, the asylum was closed altogether.”
“And to this day, the ghost of Xavier Carnelian haunts his old mansion and his dead wife haunts the ruins of the asylum,” Pallas concluded. She tapped her pen against the page of her notebook. “It’s an interesting story, but there’s no real mystery to investigate.”
“What about the mystery of Xavier Carnelian’s death?” Serenity asked. “Did he fall down those stairs by accident or was he pushed by the ghost of his wife?”
“Pretty sure he was pushed,” Ambrose said. “Probably by the long-lost sister who decided to avenge Catherine’s death and claim the fortune.”
Pallas and Serenity both looked at him.
“I haven’t heard that twist on the legend,” Serenity said.
“What makes you think that’s what really happened?” Pallas asked.
Ambrose set the candleholder on the shelf. “Speaking as a writer, I can tell you that you can never go wrong using revenge as a motive.”
Serenity’s eyes widened. “You’re a writer?”
Ambrose gave her a polite smile. “Yes.The Lost Night Fileshas been kind enough to let me accompany Pallas on this case. I’m doing research.”
“I’ve been thinking about writing a book,” Serenity said.
“Is that so?” Ambrose said.
“I’m going to call itThe Crystal Path: Ten Steps to Finding Your Power.”
“That’s great,” Ambrose said. “Good luck with your writing.”
“Thanks,” Serenity said. “What kind of books do you write?”
“Thrillers,” Ambrose said.
“What name do you write under?”
“My own.”
“I’ve never heard of you.”
“I get that a lot,” Ambrose said.
