The Whispering Windmill, page 1
the WHISPERING WINDMILL
The Mystery House Series, book FIFTEEN
Eva Pohler
Copyright © 2025 by Eva Pohler.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.
Eva Pohler Books
20011 Park Ranch
San Antonio, Texas 78259
www.evapohler.com
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Edited by Alexis Rigoni
Book Cover Design by B Rose DesignZ
The Whispering Windmill/ Eva Pohler. -- 1st ed.
Contents
Sue’s Confession
Dearborn Inn
The Patrick Henry House
Greenfield Village
The Whispering Windmill
The Visitor
The Whitney
Menlo Lab
The Diary and Sundry Observations of Thomas Alva Edison
A Dark Presence
A Restless Night
The Eastern Market
The Eloise
Belle Isle
The Hat Man
Trigger Object
The Curator
The Secret Diary
Motown and Momentum
Round Two and a Detour
Searching for Edison’s Humanity
A New Device
If You Build It
Journey to the Center of the Portal
The Morning After
Messages from the Living and the Dead
Return to the Eloise
Final Request
Return to Talks to Buffalo Lodge
In memory of Thomas Alva Edison and Henry Ford, benefactors to the modern world.
Chapter One
Sue’s Confession
S
ue?” Ellen cried when she answered the door. “Oh, my gosh, what happened to you?”
Tanya, who stood six-feet tall beside Ellen’s five-foot-ten, widened her eyes at the short brunette standing in the doorway. “You look amazing!”
“She’s half the woman she was the last time we saw her,” Ellen pointed out.
“Are you going to ask me in? Or am I supposed to stand out here all evening?”
“Oh, sorry!” Ellen made way for her friend as she added, “We’re just in shock. You never said anything.”
As Sue, who stood at barely five feet tall, entered, Moseby, Ellen’s little black dog, greeted her, running in between her legs before following her to Ellen’s living room. “I’ve lost seventy-five pounds, but a lot of people haven’t even noticed.”
“Blind people?” Tanya wanted to know. “Because it’s pretty darn obvious.”
“You just haven’t seen me in a while.” Sue made her way to an armchair beside Ellen’s fireplace. “I need to sit down. Tom and I just had the fight of our lives.”
“What?” Ellen followed her friends to her living room, where she and Tanya took a seat. Moseby jumped into her lap. “What happened? Well, first, do you need anything to drink?”
“I had a Cherry Coke in the car, I’m fine.”
“Sue, what happened with Tom?” Tanya asked gently as she nervously twirled a strand of her blonde hair with a finger.
Ellen blinked a few times, still adjusting to her friend’s new appearance. She couldn’t recall Sue ever being this thin. She was almost the same size as Ellen now—or within thirty pounds. Ellen thought she could stand to lose seventy-five pounds herself.
“As you know, we spent Christmas at our house in Montana on the reservation,” Sue began. “And, well, I decided to stay on my own over the past few months. I just got back yesterday.”
Ellen and Tanya exchanged looks of confusion.
Tanya leaned forward. “Why did you keep it a secret from us? We’ve asked you out for lunch a dozen times, and you’ve always had some excuse.”
“I didn’t lie exactly. I was busy.”
“Doing what?” Ellen wanted to know.
Sue brushed her brown bangs from her eyes and glanced around. “Where’s Brian?”
“He’s taking a shower in the back of the house,” Ellen replied, a knot forming in her gut. “What’s going on, Sue?”
“I’ve been having the time of my life! I gambled at the Blackfeet Casino all day, came home to a clean house and a delicious meal made by a woman I found up there—Angelina. She cooked, cleaned, and gave me facials and massages. It was hard to come home, honestly.”
“Talk about living like a queen,” Ellen murmured.
“But you’ve always hated gambling,” Tanya pointed out.
Ellen nodded. “We tried to get you to stay longer in Vegas while we were working on the Hoover Dam mystery, and you refused.”
“I know,” Sue admitted. “But I like it now. I more than like it.”
Tanya shifted in her seat. “That’s why you and Tom are fighting. How much money have you lost?”
Sue bit her bottom lip. “Keep in mind that I’ve lost weight and have had a blast doing it.”
Ellen leaned forward. “Sue? How much money have you lost?”
“Thirty grand,” Sue confessed.
“What?” Ellen and Tanya cried together.
I just can’t get enough. I’m especially fond of one machine called the ‘Mo Mummy.’”
“You’ve been playing the slots?” Ellen scratched her head, unable to believe this wasn’t a joke.
Sue climbed to her feet and put her hands on her hips, in warrior-ready fashion. “It’s not as bad as everyone seems to think. I had fun for three months—three solid months. I won some big money, and I lost some, too, but it was exciting. Thrilling. Like meeting a new lover, you know? That level of thrilling. I made it to VIP status, which means I ran over $400,000 dollars through their machines, and of that, I only lost thirty.”
“Only?” Tanya repeated.
“I earned free stays at the casino, expensive steak dinners, free spa treatments, and all kinds of perks. I could drink free Cherry Cokes all day long. And I lost seventy-five pounds! How much money have I spent on special diets, the lap band, therapy, Jenny Craig, you name it? Who knew that I could lose weight and have a blast doing it? I got on Zepbound, that new weight loss medication, and one meal a day is enough for me these days, especially when I’m playing the slots!”
“But thirty grand?” Tanya said again.
“People spend that on vacations each year,” Sue argued. “I work hard helping others move on and find peace. Why can’t I spend some money on myself to have fun? What’s the point of striking oil and finding gold if we can’t enjoy it?”
“What does Tom say?” Ellen asked.
Sue returned to her seat. “He wants to sell the Montana house, to remove the temptation.”
Ellen would hate to see the property go. She had great memories of the place—not only of solving the mystery of the ghost of Blackfeet Nation, but of trips there with her friends and family.
“Is that what you’ll do?” Tanya asked with a frown. “Sell it?”
“I told Tom it would be over my dead body, and that’s where we are. I think he’s plotting the easiest way to do me in.”
“Oh, Sue.” Ellen rolled her eyes.
“Maybe our trip to Michigan will give you some perspective,” Tanya put in. “Get your mind off things for a while.”
“I hope you’re right,” Sue admitted. “When I’m not playing the machine, I’m watching other people play it on YouTube. There’s even an app on my phone. I told Tom I’d delete it, but I haven’t yet. It’s all I think about. Even now, I’d rather be there.”
Ellen and Tanya exchanged frowns.
“We leave in the morning for Detroit,” Ellen reminded her, holding up the itinerary she wanted to go over. “Have you packed yet?”
“I haven’t unpacked,” Sue said. “Angelina washed my clothes before I left, thank goodness, so I just have a few things to change out.”
“Don’t you think you should get started, then?” Tanya suggested. “We fly out at ten o’clock. And you better not bail on us.”
Sue climbed to her feet again. “I’m not going to bail on you. When I have I ever?”
“When have you ever been addicted to a slot machine?” Ellen argued.
“Good point,” Sue conceded as she made her way to the front door. “But I’m not going to bail.”
“I hope not, because John Coleman’s phone call sounded desperate,” Ellen added. “Something’s going on at that windmill in Greenfield Village. It might be another haunting.”
“We’re depending on your help,” Tanya reminded her.
“I’m not going to bail!” Sue said again. “I’ll see you guys in the morning.”
Ellen handed over the itinerary. “Look this over and call me if you want me to change any
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
Once Sue had left, Tanya turned to Ellen. “I can’t believe it. Thirty grand?”
“Maybe she just needs some distance between her and the casino,” Ellen said.
“I hope you’re right. If she does bail on us, I’ll never forgive her.”
Ellen switched off the bathroom light and padded into the bedroom, toweling off the last bit of moisturizer from her hands. Moseby, their long-haired miniature Dachshund and poodle mix, was already curled up dead-center in the bed like a spoiled prince, snoring softly. Brian was pulling back the covers on his side when he looked up and grinned.
“Think he’ll move if we ask nicely?”
Ellen laughed and fluffed her pillow. “Doubtful. He’s already claimed the territory.”
She sat on the edge of the bed and leaned down to scratch Moseby’s floppy ears. “I wish I could take him with me,” she said softly. “But it’s going to be cold in Michigan, and we’ll be tromping around Greenfield Village most of the time. I don’t think he’d appreciate the snow or the ghosts.”
Brian climbed in beside her and patted Moseby’s back. “He’ll be fine. We’ll have long talks about squirrels and the state of the backyard. I might even let him watch a movie with me—something manly, with explosions.”
Ellen smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
Brian shifted to face her. “Is it just Moseby you’re worried about? Or is there something else?”
She hesitated, tugging the edge of the quilt over her lap. “It’s Sue.”
His brow furrowed.
“She spent three months at her place on the Blackfeet reservation,” Ellen said quietly. “So she could go to the casino every day. Every day, Brian. She lost thirty grand on a slot machine. Can you believe it?”
Brian let out a low whistle.
“She and Tom are fighting, as you can imagine. And she looked so preoccupied tonight when we were talking about the trip. It’s like she’s not even excited about going.”
Brian reached over and took her hand. “That’s rough. But she’s not doing this alone. She’s got you and Tanya. And this trip—it might be exactly what she needs. A change of scenery. A reason to focus on something bigger than herself. She’s tough, El. She’ll bounce back.”
Ellen swallowed, grateful for his steady optimism. “I hope you’re right.”
“I usually am,” he said with a wink. “And she’s got you. You always see people, even when they’re trying their best not to be seen.”
Ellen looked over at him, her eyes soft. “You know, I don’t say it enough—but I’m really grateful for you. For your steadiness. Your heart. The way you make everything feel . . . less overwhelming.”
Brian smiled and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “I’m the lucky one. All those souls you’ve helped—living and dead—I’m proud of you. Just don’t forget to take care of yourself too, okay?”
She leaned in and kissed him. “I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll be right here when you get back,” he said.
They settled into bed, Moseby nestled between them like a furry little baby, and as the room dimmed into stillness, Ellen let herself believe that maybe everything would turn out all right.
Chapter Two
Dearborn Inn
T
he Uber driver’s tires crunched over the icy, brick-paved driveway as he pulled up to the front of the Dearborn Inn.
Ellen pressed her face to the frosty window, leaning in for a better look. “Oh, would you look at that,” she said, her breath fogging up the glass. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
“I feel like we just rolled into a snow globe,” Sue murmured from beside her in the back seat, hugging her coat around her shoulders.
Tanya leaned forward in the front passenger’s seat. “This is not your average hotel.”
The inn stood proud and stately, its red brick façade perfectly symmetrical, lined with white-trimmed windows and capped with a steep, slate roof dusted in fresh snow. Tall chimneys stretched into the pale gray sky, and a grand columned portico framed the front entrance. Despite the cold, small evergreen shrubs dotted the path to the door, their branches heavy with frost.
“How long will you ladies be in town?” their Uber driver, a big man with long, wavy, black hair and small, metal-rimmed spectacles, asked. He appeared to be in his early fifties.
“That’s yet to be determined,” Sue answered from the back seat as she rummaged through her wallet for a cash tip. “It depends on how long it takes us to solve a mystery.”
“Oh?” the driver asked with raised brows. “What mystery?”
The three friends quickly recapped why they were there.
The Uber driver handed Tanya his card. “If you ladies need any help, please call. I used to be the liaison between the Basilica of Sainte Anne and the city of Detroit, and I know a lot of its history. I would be happy to show you around and share what I know, free of charge.”
“Really?” Tanya took his card. “Thanks, C.W. We’ll call if we need you.”
Ellen stepped out into the brisk Michigan air and shivered as a gust of wind barreled through her coat. She moved toward the trunk, where the driver caught up to unload their luggage.
“This place was built in 1931,” C.W. pointed out. “Commissioned by Henry Ford to house airport travelers and visitors to Greenfield Village. Designed by Albert Kahn.”
“You do know a lot, don’t you?” Ellen said, as she took her suitcase from him.
“I’m happy to help in any way I can,” the driver assured them. “If you’re researching ghosts in Detroit, there are some places that you must visit—Michigan Grand Central, the Basilica of Sainte Anne, the Eloise—that’s not far from here. Oh, and the Whitney. All these places must certainly contain ghosts.”
“Thank you, C.W.” Sue handed him a generous tip. “We’ll text you if we need you.”
“Don’t hesitate. I’m intrigued by your mystery.”
Together, the three women trudged through the slush toward the grand entrance. The double doors opened with a hiss, welcoming them into a warm, lavish lobby. A wave of polished wood, antique furniture, and the faint scent of old books wrapped around Ellen like a blanket.
The space was magnificent—high ceilings adorned with ornate plaster molding, plush area rugs in deep burgundy and navy, and crystal chandeliers that dripped light like icicles. Wingback chairs and tufted sofas were arranged into intimate groupings, encouraging conversation as a classical piano piece played quietly from hidden speakers.
A tall, thin man in a navy wool coat stood up from one of the couches near the fireplace. Appearing to be in his mid-forties, he approached them with cautious urgency, his dark-rimmed glasses slightly fogged. He held a gray fedora in his hands, which Ellen supposed he needed to keep his nearly bald head warm.
“You must be the Ghost Healers,” he said, extending his hand with relief. “John Coleman. We spoke on the phone.”
Ellen shook his hand first. “Ellen. This is Tanya, and that’s Sue.”
“I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you’re here,” John said. “Honestly, you’re our last hope.”
“I get told that a lot,” Sue teased with her usual charm.
John chuckled. “Let’s have a seat. I’ll fill you in.”
They followed him to the sitting area near the hearth, where heat from the fire licked at their legs as they settled into deep, soft couches. Ellen took in the carved walnut coffee table and the delicate, blue china vases, the kind of refinement she associated more with a historic mansion than a hotel lobby.
“So, how was the flight?” John asked, attempting pleasantries. “Not too turbulent?”
“It wasn’t too bad,” Tanya said.
“But this weather is another story,” Ellen added. “We left San Antonio in the eighties—already flip-flop season. This,” she gestured toward the icy windows, “feels like we landed on a different planet.”
“That’s Michigan in March,” John said. “Could be sunny tomorrow or a blizzard. It likes to keep us guessing.”
Sue pulled her jacket more tightly around her. “It’s a good thing I packed my Montana clothes.”
