“You mean that my sister tragically drowned herself because of her broken heart? And that rather than turn evil, she now strives to mend people’s hearts and shower them with love? Or whatever it is benevolent ghosts do.” Dolly releases a peal of laughter.
“You’re saying none of that is true?”
“Honey. I assure you that most ghost stories aren’t true.”
I feel a pang of disappointment, but at the same time, my curiosity hasn’t abated in the slightest. There’s clearly a story here.
“All right, what’s the real story then?” I ask the smiling woman. “I found your sister’s death certificate, which means she did die around the time this legend began.”
Dolly’s expression goes serious. “Yes. My sister passed on. And it was a difficult time for all of us, especially Ray. But it certainly wasn’t as dramatic as suicide by drowning. She died of a brain tumor.”
I gasp. “Wow. Really?”
“It came on so suddenly. Heck, we didn’t even have a history of brain cancer in our family. Darlie went in for a checkup for migraines and left with a diagnosis of three weeks to live. The tumor was so advanced, the doctors said even the most aggressive treatment wouldn’t help.” Her breath catches. “She was engaged. She was happy. She had her whole life ahead of her. Lord, we never even saw it coming.”
“Why wasn’t there a medical report?”
She wrinkles her forehead. “Well, I’m sure there was. Hospital records for her scans, certainly.”
I nod. After I found Darlie’s death certificate, the first thing I did was call all the hospitals in the area, but it turns out they don’t release private medical records to random college girls.
“Her cancer was no secret,” Dolly says. “And she died at our house, looking out at the lake, surrounded by her family and Raymond.”
Sorrow tugs at my heart. “They were still engaged before she died?”
“Of course. They loved each other very much.”
How did you end up with him? I almost blurt out, but I resist the urge.
She must read my thoughts, because she laughs again. “If you’re wondering about me and Ray, I’m afraid it’s not very scandalous what happened after. We grieved together. Darlie’s death brought us closer together, and eventually the grief faded and turned into love. But it was too painful to stay in the place my sister loved so deeply, so we moved to the East Coast after we got married.”
“Why isn’t there a grave for her in Tahoe?” I ask curiously. That was another strikeout for me, trying to locate a headstone for Darlie in all the local cemeteries.
“She wanted to be cremated. We spread her ashes over the lake.” Dolly giggles. “Which probably contributes to the ghost story.”
I marvel at her. “It doesn’t bother you that everyone believes your sister is a ghost who was betrayed by her sister and fiancé? That people think you and Darlie were both sleeping with Raymond all over Tahoe? Meeting up in lighthouses? Secret tree trysts?”
“Oh, the tree was real.” Dolly’s eyes twinkle. “I used to cover for her when she snuck out to meet Ray. I’d stuff pillows under her blanket so it looked like she was asleep in bed. She and Raymond were quite the wild ones. He still has some of that wild streak, even now. I never did, but I believe that might be a good thing. Every relationship needs that balance.”
“One person is the storm, and the other is the lighthouse,” I murmur, and my heart clenches as Wyatt’s lyrics echo in the kitchen.
She smiles. “Yes. I like that. And no, it doesn’t bother me. My sister died at the lake surrounded by her family. Her fiancé found a second chance at love. And this legend… Well, it keeps her memory alive. To be honest, Darlie would love this.”
“She would?”
“Oh yes. She was fun-loving, mischievous, always causing trouble. The fact that everybody is still talking about her fifty years later? Spreading the story that she’s a ghost who loves love? All that attention? It would delight her.”
I sip my tea, letting everything sink in.
No ghost.
No plot twist that makes you gasp.
Just a boring, run-of-the-mill ending. Someone died, two people got married, and now they garden together in New Jersey.
And yet I’m not disappointed. Although it would’ve been cool if it turned out there really was a ghost—it would make the Spencershappy anyway—I realize I care more about the journey it took to reach the end of this story rather than the ending itself. I don’t need to solve crimes and take down killers. I don’t need shocking plot twists. I loved the research. I loved the digging. And yes, I loved sending emails to county records offices.
Not to mention the episode I recorded with Little Spencer is at almost two million views now. Two million people enjoyed it, and that is incredibly validating. So maybe my hobby is dorky and dumb, but Wyatt’s right. I shouldn’t be embarrassed of it. I might not possess a flashy talent or supermodel looks, but I have something I’m good at, something I enjoy. And that’s not nothing.
