Kerry's Game

By Elizabeth Maxim

Sometimes it takes centuries to right a wrong...
Miner 49er Christopher Forsyth needs help finding a murderer; his own.

Allies can be found in unlikely places...
21st Century parapsychologist Kerry Murphy is passionate about two things, living in San Francisco, and exposing frauds.

Past and Present Collide...
When the owners of an upscale San Francisco bed and breakfast call on the staff of the Pacific Institute for Paranormal Research to help them get rid of a troublesome ghost, Kerry fully expects to discover an elaborate hoax aimed at putting the elderly sisters out of business. When she suddenly finds herself swept back to the Barbary Coast, the lead investigator realizes the lengths to which this particular restless spirit will go in getting what he wants.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elizabeth Maxim
• Release date: Feb 21, 2011
• ISBN: 9781452478012

Elizabeth Maxim

If Elizabeth were to map her life’s journey, it would resemble the chaos of a Pac-Man game but out of this chaos came the foundation for her stories. She draws from knowledge, personal experience, and imagination in creating strong independent characters who steer their own destiny... often with a little help from love.Elizabeth studied alternative medicine with an MD for several years before earning a doctorate of philosophy in that field. She also holds a bachelor's degree in holistic childcare. Currently living in the Pacific Northwest, she is the author of multiple books, fiction and nonfiction, as well as two blog sites.You can follow Elizabeth at elizabethmaxim.com.

Book preview

Prologue

The Heartland, 1984

Mrs. Murphy, thank you for coming in. Kerry, sit over there.

Although she would have preferred to sit next to her mother, seven year old Kerry Murphy knew better than to cause trouble. She chose the chair closest to the door.

Sister Nunciata, the second grade teacher at St. Aloysius, imperiously pointed to a row of small, hard chairs with green plastic seats that were lined against a cinderblock wall. The nun, an austere woman in her late forties, was seated behind an oversized desk, strategically placed to intimidate.

Kerry’s mother, dressed in slacks and a green turtleneck, sat in a small, but comfortable chair on the other side, her legs tucked underneath and her hands folded in her lap. Although she usually wore her dark brown hair so that it flowed over her shoulders, for this meeting she had tied it up in a neat bun. The unusually severe style looked out of place against delicate features but did nothing to detract from the young woman’s beauty.

What’s the problem, sister? her mother asked. Before the woman could answer, the door opened and another nun walked in.

Mrs. Murphy? The second nun, in her nineties, stepped toward the desk, hand outstretched.

Yes, that’s right.

The older woman’s face creased and her eyes, like tiny raisins, disappeared in a smile. In spite of the fact that her fingers were gnarled with age and the bones appeared ready to slice through paper thin skin, her grasp was warm and pleasantly firm.

I am Sister Sylvia. I have Kerry for math and reading. It’s a pleasure to meet you. She glanced at Sister Nunciata. I hope I’m not late. Ignoring the scathing look coming across the desk, the older nun sat next to Kerry, smiled, and patted the child’s knee.

Sister Sylvia, I assure you, there’s no need for you to be here, the other nun said, stiffly. I imagine you have lessons to grade.

Not at all, not at all, the older woman replied, her dark eyes sparkling like obsidian. I am happy for the opportunity to share with Mrs. Murphy what a pleasure it is to have Kerry in my classes. She’s an incredibly bright child, as you know.

Even at her young age, Kerry was able to pick up the tension in the room. It was clear that Sister Syvlia’s presence had been unexpected; but more, it was unwanted.

Very well, the younger nun said, finally. Mrs. Murphy, I do not share Sister Sylvia’s assessment of your daughter. While she is a bright child, I do not find her a pleasure to have in the classroom. She has become increasingly disruptive, as a matter of fact.

Kerry remained silent while she watched her mother’s reaction. She was good at reading body language and would know whether or not she had to dread the ride home on that Saturday morning.

What seems to be the problem, sister? her mother replied, coolly.

So far, so good.

She’s disturbing the other children during their lessons.

Once, Kerry defended, angrily. If Sister Nunciata thought she was about to sit there and let lies be spoken against her, she had another thing coming.

You will not speak until you are spoken to, the nun snapped.

And you will not take that tone with my child, Mrs. Murphy replied.

I see Kerry learns her disrespectful manners at home, the nun observed, eyeing the woman distastefully.

Nor will you take that tone with me.

Perhaps I should speak to your husband, the nun suggested.

Mrs. Murphy sat up straighter. Anything you have to say concerning my daughter, you will say to me. My husband is out of the country and does not need to take time to deal with what I can handle. You have yet to explain what the problem is.

She talks to the students during their lessons.

I said before, Kerry snapped, only once. I had a question.

Yes, the nun retorted, casting a scathing look at the girl, you did, didn’t you?

Is that the problem? Mrs. Murphy asked, resignedly. The nature of the question?

It most certainly is.

Kerry, her mother said, facing the child, what did you ask?

I wondered if Terry Stefan saw the light like I did, that’s all.

That is not all, the nun snapped.

My daughter is not known for lying, Mrs. Murphy replied.

If I might suggest? Sister Sylvia broke in. Kerry, why don’t you tell your mother exactly what happened. Sister Nunciata, in the interest of conducting this meeting in a professional manner; and we are professionals, please let the girl have her say and then you can comment.

On the other side of the desk, the nun seethed.

It was yesterday, the seven year old began in a clear voice. We were studying geography. I looked to the front of the room and I saw a light next to Sister Nunciata. It was a bright glowing yellowish light, and it was as tall as she is. The girl took a deep breath, let it out. Beside her, Sister Sylvia smiled encouragingly.

When the light didn’t fade, I simply tapped Terry on the shoulder and asked if she saw the light. Instead of answering, she whined that I was bothering her. That’s all that happened, mom, I swear.

Mrs. Murphy looked at the nun across the desk.

You called me in here on a Saturday morning for that?

I believe your child has psychological problems and she is seeing things. I am doing you a favor by alerting you to this fact. Is everything alright at home? Children are often known to display behavior based on -.

How dare you, Mrs. Murphy roared, coming out of her chair. Just who do you think you are? I believe it would be in the best interest of all if I talked to Mr. Murphy about withdrawing Kerry from this school.

Across the room, Kerry kept her eyes downcast and bit the inside of her lip 'til it bled. She had to, to avoid the smile that threatened to appear.

Well, Mrs. Murphy, we shall see about that, shant we? the nun replied, cuttingly. I believe it’s well understood who has the power, after all.

Kerry closed her eyes, her heart aching. The perception in their small community was that Kerry’s mother had married up. Her father’s family had been in the area for generations while her mother, an artist, was an outsider. It certainly didn’t help that her mother’s natural beauty had incited petty jealousy among the few movers and shakers in the area. Kerry hated the way people looked down on her mother’s free spirited ways and somewhat bohemian style.

If you have nothing further?

You may go. I would like to suggest you have the child undergo a psychiatric evaluation.

Thank you for your opinion, she said, stiffly. Come on, Kerry, let’s go. Sister Sylvia? It was a pleasure to meet you.

In spite of her mother’s defense, Kerry knew Monday morning would be difficult; she could feel it.

The moment Kerry walked through the elementary school doors, she knew something was wrong. Something in the air had definitely changed.

All because I saw a strange light?

She filed in behind the other students and took her seat near the windows. At the front of the room, Sister Nunciata wore a feral smile. Kerry suspected it would be a long morning. She had no doubt the nun would find some way to punish her. The woman seemed to take pride in finding ways to humiliate the kids. For some reason, Kerry was a regular target.

Children, please take your seats. We have something very important to tell you. The woman kept her eyes on Kerry as she practically crowed the news.

Sister Sylvia passed away at dinner last night. She fell forward at the table; dead from a heart attack. I will be taking her classes until a permanent replacement can be found.

Kerry pictured the sweet, old woman who had always been kind to her. Her heart ached. The math and reading teacher had been one of the few bright spots in her Catholic school life. She looked at the front of the room, where her teacher stood wearing an evil grin. Her mouth dropped open.

The ghost of Sister Sylvia was standing at the front of the room, near the teacher’s desk. As Kerry stared in shock, the ghost smiled and raised a finger to her lips, signaling for quiet. Kerry snapped her jaw shut and looked down at her desk, her heart pounding.

Breathing quickly, Kerry studied the pencil holder at the top of the desk. Some student at some point in the past had colored it in with a marker. She rolled her No. 2 pencil against the black background and considered what to do. Asking if anyone else saw the dead nun was out of the question. She glanced up and was relieved to see that the nun was no longer there.

Kerry, do not be afraid.

The young girl jerked and looked up. Sister Sylvia was standing in the aisle next to her desk. Kerry glanced to the front of the room, to see if the teacher was watching, but she needn’t have worried. Sister Nunciata was busy writing on the green chalkboard, her back to the students. Kerry looked up again. Sister Sylvia was smiling down at her.

I will be here with you, to protect you, the nun promised. She glanced meaningfully at the front of the room.

Since none of the other students looked anywhere but at the chalkboard, the second grader assumed they were unaware of the ghost’s presence.

They can’t hear and see me like you can, the nun explained. Don’t worry. It will be like a game. It will be Kerry’s game.

Chapter One

San Francisco, 2011

Fifth and Market is one of the busiest locations in San Francisco. In addition to a shopping center, there are numerous businesses, restaurants, hotels, and shops surrounding the intersection. It’s also a main artery for several of the city’s transit systems, including the BART, the light rail, buses and cabs, the historical street trolleys, and the cable cars.

On any given Saturday, hundreds of people make their way through the chaos, watching street performers while standing in line for the cable car, observing chess games being played closer to the Tenderloin District, or trying to avoid some of the city’s more colorful characters.

Exiting the MUNI station, thirty-four year old Kerry Murphy looked around at the throngs of people and smiled. God, she loved that city.

No sloppy seconds, a familiar voice called as she walked across Market Street. She shook her head.

For as long as she could remember, the older gentleman, who she referred to as Mr. Fornication Man, had been sitting in a chair and ranting about sinful relationships. Strategically situated near a ticket booth for the city’s public transportation, he yelled out while gesticulating toward a sandwich board covered with phrases that echoed his fanatical speeches. In all the years, she’d never seen anyone pay more than polite interest to him, with the exception of the police officers on duty. Even the tourists, who were vulnerable to the antics of the shysters and panhandlers so prevalent in the area, didn’t seem affected by his sometimes crude behavior.

The line for the cable car was deep, as was often the case when the weather was beautiful. Not wanting to risk being late for her appointment, Kerry decided to walk instead. It was slow going, initially because of the sheer number of people, but then because of the steep incline. Tackling San Francisco’s hilly streets was nothing new, but still, her quadriceps burned as she made her way up Powell toward the top of Nob Hill.

Stopping to catch a breath, she watched as a disheveled man in his forties jumped out at two gentlemen dressed in suits. He laughed uproariously when they scurried away. Guessing they were in town for some convention, she knew, as he did, that they were more easily intimidated than the locals.

As if to prove her point, when he tried the same stunt with an older lady carrying a pink sack familiar in China Town, she began yelling back at him in her foreign tongue and chased him away.

Too bad those guys didn’t see that, she muttered, and continued up toward California Street.

In spite of being in good shape, by the time she stood near the Mark Hopkins, she was breathless. Checking her watch, she decided she had time for a cup of tea. Walking over to the Fairmont, she made her way through the beautifully restored lobby toward the Empress Room.

Kerry gulped ice water while a teabag steeped in hot water. Her pulse had finally slowed and she could relax and unwind before her appointment. She blew out a breath and drank more water. The hardest part about walking up the hill had been watching the cable cars, filled with smiling faces, go by.

She grabbed the client folder from her bag and, setting it a safe distance away from the tea, glanced at the contents. One look told her which of her coworkers had originally taken the call; Matt. The FX expert was notorious for messy writing and sometimes incomplete notes.

He’d make a good doctor, she mumbled, trying to read between the lines. Deciding that trying to decipher his chicken scratch would only lead to a headache, she put the folder back and sipped her tea.

As a general rule, she tried to avoid working weekends, but the director had been adamant.

The owner sounds pretty distressed, Mark had stated from where he stood on the other side of her desk late Friday. She says it’s affected their business.

It’s not my turn, she’d grumbled.

At the risk of sounding insincere, I think you are the most qualified for this.

Why, because I’ve never said no to you before?

No, because you don’t go by the letter of the law; you use your instincts. In this business, that’s everything. Besides, I have talked with the client and they need someone who can be sympathetic to their situation. Matt is too cut and dry and Lucas would likely overlook something. You have seen how sloppy he can be when he isn’t motivated by the project.

Everything Mark had said was true. Each of the employees of the Pacific Institute for Paranormal Research had been chosen for their different areas of expertise. As a parapsychologist, Kerry was the lead psychic investigator. Matt was an FX expert, and Lucas was a material sciences engineer. Both of them were audiophiles, which enhanced their investigative abilities. And while their specialties complemented the charter of the institute, at times they could be the Achilles heel of a project.

After studying her boss for several seconds, she’d sighed and held out her hand. What’s the project?

Handing over the folder, he’d explained. The client runs a hotel and the guests have been complaining about unexplainable disturbances.

"Wait a minute. We aren’t so desperate for money we’re going into the quack business are we? There are enough fools out there supporting the skeptics’ claims that parapsychology is nothing more than smoke and mirrors. I can see the headlines now. Local psychic research institute proves hotel is haunted. What, are they looking for free publicity?"

It isn’t like that.

No? What’s it like then?

This hotel is actually a very upscale bed and breakfast in Nob Hill. Their guests stay there because they can be assured of privacy. The client has come to us because they want to avoid publicity.

Well, that’s certainly different. She’d turned the prospect over in her head. Maybe it was time to take on something new. She certainly liked the idea of getting away from the Rhine card testing she’d been doing for the previous three weeks.

Okay, she’d agreed. I’ll call the client first thing Monday morning.

Actually, I told them someone would be out to see them this weekend.

"This weekend?"

His shoulders had slumped. Look, if you want to say no, I’ll go myself.

No, forget it, I’ll go. She’d stood and shoved the folder into her bag. I’ll read it over tonight. If you don’t mind, since I’m finished for the day, I was going to leave early.

Of course. Listen -.

Don’t worry about it.

Give me a call tomorrow and let me know what you think, okay?

I’ll call you when I’ve got something to report. It may not be right away.

Ma’am?

The polite inquiry startled Kerry, bringing her back to the present. She looked up at the waiter and smiled.

Will there be anything else?

No, I’ll take the check, thank you.

She glanced at her watch. Even with the stop, she had plenty of time, which was good, since her thighs were letting her know the coming walk wouldn’t be done in a hurry.

Time to switch from the treadmill to the StairMaster.

Kerry double checked the address before approaching the front entrance. She never would have guessed that the beautiful mansion was anything other than a Nob Hill residence. Nestled between other homes, it was far enough away from the main roads that the dinging from the cable cars wasn’t likely to disturb guests.

The landscaping was meticulous and it appeared as if the place had been painted recently. Absently ringing the doorbell, she scanned the vicinity. In spite of being close to an area popular with tourists, the street was pleasantly quiet.

She was about to ring the bell a second time when the door opened. An attractive woman she guessed to be in her sixties stood staring at her.

Well? Are you the one the institute sent over?

Kerry smiled and held out her hand. Yes, I’m Kerry -.

Without a word, the woman turned and walked down a hallway.

This should be fun.

You’re younger than I expected, the woman called over her shoulder. When Kerry didn’t reply, she turned. Well? Don’t just stand there; come inside.

She stepped into a spacious foyer and shut the door. She looked around in appreciation. Not many of the original San Francisco mansions had survived the 1906 disaster. Many of them were lost in the fire. The saddest part was that some of the city’s most beautiful structures had been purposely destroyed when city officials called for them to be blown up in an attempt to keep the fire from spreading further. It had worked, but what a terrible price.

Are you coming? the woman snapped, impatiently.

Wanting to get a solid first impression, Kerry chose to momentarily ignore the client and continue her visual inspection. Someone had done an amazing job of period restoration. From the polished wood floors, to crown molding, to antique furniture and lighting, every detail had been seen to. Deciding she’d seen enough, she followed the sound of the woman’s voice.

Let’s chat in here for a bit before I show you to your room, the woman said.

My room? she replied, blankly. Mark didn’t say anything about -.

Do you want any coffee?

They were standing in a spotless kitchen. Small, but modernized, it was so clean you could have eaten off of any of the surfaces, including the floor. A row of windows let in sunlight, lending cheeriness to an otherwise sterile combination of black, white, and stainless steel.

No, thank you, she replied from where she stood in the doorway.

Oh, you probably don’t drink it because it interferes with your abilities, right? Now, what I’d like for you -.

Excuse me, Mrs. Daly? That is who you are, correct?

Yes, that’s me.

Is there someplace we can sit down and talk for a bit without being interrupted?

The client assessed her from head to toe. Without comment, she opened a door that led from the kitchen and stepped outside.

I have a feeling this is going to be a long day, Kerry muttered before following.

Beautifully manicured gardens ran the length of the house. In addition to a tidy area for herbs, roses, climbing trellises and blooming in low bushes, made for a heavenly scent. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. An impatient sigh broke the spell and she turned to see the client, wearing an expression of impatience, sitting in a small chair.

Determined to make the best of it, Kerry smiled, sat on a loveseat, and pulled a notebook from her canvas tote.

The owner glanced first at the spiral binding and then at her. Her expression was severe. Is this your first time doing this sort of thing?

She blinked. What sort of thing?

I think there’s been a mistake, she snapped. You don’t look old enough to have the experience necessary to handle this situation, and you certainly don’t look like a professional, dressed as you are.

Pursing her lips, Kerry remained silent while she studied the client. The older woman was wearing cream colored wool pants and a light blue angora sweater. Her jewelry, even if it was costume, probably cost a fortune, and she sat with an air of someone granting a royal interview. Although it was tempting to explain that she’d been dealing with this sort of experience since she was a child, Kerry refrained. Antagonizing the woman would only make the situation difficult.

Setting the spiral notebook and pen on a patio table, Kerry crossed one jean-clad leg over the other, folded her hands in her lap, and leaned back. The smell of tea roses floated on the Saturday morning breeze, lightening the atmosphere.

Mrs. Daly, I may be young, but I assure you that my qualifications are on the mark when it comes to this type of work. I have been with the Pacific Institute for Paranormal Research for five years. I have a doctoral degree in parapsychology. Don’t let my casual dress put you off. I am every bit the professional.

The woman sniffed, but said nothing.

I don’t know what your experience is with people in my profession, but at the institute, we don’t wear white lab coats, and other than our CEO, Cairlean Sullivan, and our director, Mark Reynolds, we don’t wear suits to work. In my experience, I’ve found that when I’m testing for Psi abilities, the clients tend to be more relaxed if I don’t look like medical staff. And if I’m in the field, like today, she continued, it makes little sense to dress up since I often end up crawling around in attics and crawl spaces, or under trees and bushes. As for my sneakers? I don’t navigate the hills of this city in high heels. Now, if you’d like to start over this morning, I think we can move forward. Grabbing up her pen and spiral notebook, she glanced over at the client to see if they had connected.

You’re right, Mrs. Daly replied, finally, letting out a sigh. I guess I did expect someone dressed a little differently. The institute said they were sending over a doctor.

Which they did. As I said, I have a PhD.

Did she want a copy of the thesis?

So, you can help us? The pleading tone softened the haughty air the woman wore like a second set of pearls.

I believe so. I did a quick read of your file last night, but the information was a bit inconsistent. Can you tell me, in your own words, what seems to be the trouble?

What seems to be the trouble? she practically shouted. "We’re being haunted, that’s