The Stairwell

by M. M. Silva

  Sampson’s bark brought me out of my reverie, and I saw Jeff waving at us from his front door. We piled out of the car, and Sampson took off as if he’d never been let loose before. He raced like the wind and then, true to his breed, sprang in large arcs before bounding off again. Stopping and cutting and tearing up turf, the dog had moves that would make an NFL running back envious. Making huge circles as he ran toward the house, he stopped about a hundred yards from us and sniffed around. I noticed a huge puddle of water and muck, and I tried my new fancy whistle, but Sampson didn’t give it a thought, charging smack into the middle of the gunk, splashing and prancing up to his belly.

  Doob sprinted toward the big puddle, and I wasn’t sure if he would lure Sampson out or join him in the murky mayhem. Not that murky mayhem would hinder Doob for a second. Fortunately, Doob is as smart as he is slovenly. Pulling a treat from his pocket, he enticed Sampson back to the house with the promise of a beefy tidbit.

  I looked sheepish as Jeff met us at the bottom of his front steps.

  “Meet Sampson,” I said in my best ta-da voice while swinging my arms toward the filthy canine. “I’m really sorry about this. He doesn’t get out much.”

  Jeff laughed as he grabbed my bag and shook Doob’s free hand. “No worries. The second bathroom isn’t all that clean yet; I don’t even have a shower curtain in it, so a wet dog won’t hurt anything. We’ll throw Sampson in the tub and get him cleaned up in no time.”

  Doob said, “Let me get him tied up out here for a second while we get settled, and then we’ll run a bath for him.”

  Run a bath? I envisioned Doob and Sampson neck-deep in bubbles in about twenty minutes.

  Doob went to the car and came back with a doggy-leash gizmo for the yard, complete with a little pole that stuck in the ground and a ten-yard nylon rope attached to it. He hooked Sampson up, and the dog gave a tiny whimper as we went up the stairs without him. Being left alone outside was new territory for the pampered pooch.

  Doob rushed back to him and ruffled his ears in just the right spot. “We’ll come and get you in no time, buddy.” Sampson licked Doob smack on the mouth and then turned three circles before plopping on the ground. Dogs are pretty resilient.

  Jeff, Doob and I walked inside and stared at the bottom of the stairwell. Hunh. So here was the elephant in the room.

  “Welcome to my humble abode,” Jeff said with a halfhearted smile. “The good news is we’re dead-body-free today, and the furniture has already arrived, so things are looking up.”

  Once again, his attempt at being casual wasn’t really working, and I gave him a sympathetic look. “Jeff, are you going to be okay?”

  He shrugged. “I hope so. I fell in love with this place the minute I saw it and just want that feeling back. Coming here this afternoon, I was about a mile from the house and realized I couldn’t recall anything about the drive. My mind must have been on autopilot just coming to grips with being back here. It kind of sucks.”

  “It does,” I agreed.

  “And when I drove down the lane, I scanned the exact same amazing view that was there two days ago, but it just wasn’t the same. I had to force myself to get out of the car and was a little shaky when I went to unlock the door. I had to take the crime scene tape down, which didn’t help. But like I said, no dead bodies. No remnants of a body, no carnage whatsoever. Hopefully someday I’ll be able to get the mental picture out of my head. However, that’s probably wishful thinking, at least for now.”

  “I’m sorry. But it should help when we figure out what happened.” I turned my attention to the beautiful, open floor plan. “This place is fantastic! It looks brand new.”

  Jeff smiled broadly. “Yeah, Ava re-did the downstairs a couple of years ago, and it’s completely up-to-date and modern. What I like is the upstairs still feels like an old house, with creaking floorboards and even some disgusting wallpaper in a couple of the bedrooms.”

  “I love it,” I said and gave him a hug. “So let’s get this place looking like it’s yours. We’ll unpack some things, put up a few pictures, light some candles, wash some bedding, and get it feeling a little more homey.”

  Both men looked at me like I had two heads.

  “Or we can hook up the TV and eat some chips,” Doob suggested.

  “I like that,” Jeff agreed while I groaned.

  “Fine. After we take care of Sampson, you two couch potatoes can get the TVs operational. Then, Jeff, if you’ve got some boxes for the kitchen, let me at them, and we’ll at least get this place functional.”

  We spent the next couple of hours getting Sampson cleaned up and making Jeff’s house feeling a little more like an awesome vacation home and a little less like a big coffin. I was unloading the dishwasher when I heard my cell phone blare out It’s Raining Men. That song gets my hips gyrating every time, and sometimes I miss calls because I get into full dance mode before I answer. But I saw it was my sister’s number on the Caller ID, so I postponed the full dance-a-thon for a less important caller down the road.

  “Hey, Moira, how was the shopping?”

  “Hi Meg. It was fun. I found some great sales at that boutique on Boylston just down from your coffee house. You really should come with me one of these days. I could get you all glammed up.”

  There aren’t many things in life I dislike more than shopping. And glam? I don’t think so. “Fat chance, sis. But I’m glad you had a good day. What’s up?”

  “Well, a couple of things. First, I got your note. Is Jeff that cute guy who was a good basketball player in high school?”

  “The very one,” I replied.

  My sister has always been attracted to pretty boys, with the exception of her last asshole boyfriend who looked like a bulldog-faced troll. Hopefully at this point in his stunted life he was now in a creepy fairyland far, far away and living under a rickety bridge. With smelly goats as companions.

  A girl can dream.

  As for me, I generally like a man’s man. Muscles, some scruff on the face, a baseball hat, and a cat-that-ate-the-canary smile. I don’t care to ever have a man in my life who’s prettier than me. Moira will never have that problem, as she’s gorgeous, so good for her.

  “So what’s this about a dead body or something?”

  I filled her in on the events of the past few hours. “Jeff is weirded out, and it’s a shame because it’s an incredible house. Hopefully we can figure out what happened and help him feel better about everything.”

  “Aren’t the police working on it?” she asked.

  “Well, yeah,” I replied. “But money isn’t exactly an issue with Jeff, and he’s asked me to help out, so Doob and I are mixing a little business with pleasure.”

  “Holy cow! That’s right, I forgot all about the lottery. Cute and money. I should drive down and join you.”

  “The more, the merrier,” I echoed Jeff from earlier, but I knew she was kidding. “Anyway, you said there were a couple of things. Did you need something else?”

  I heard her take a sharp intake of breath. “Yes, there is, and I guess there’s no easy way to say this.”

  My heart plummeted. “What’s going on? Tell me Ma and Pop are okay!”

  “My God, Meagan. If it had been something with Ma or Pop, I would have started with that.”

  Good point. “What then?”

  “Well, let me start by saying for the billionth time that I hate your job.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Duly noted.”

  “So, that said…I’m sorry, but you got another postcard.”

  A chill ran through my entire body. I knew it was from Melanie without even having to ask.

  “What did it say?”

  “All it said was ‘Thinking of you, Meagan.’ It was postmarked Holland.”

  “Holland? What the hell?”

  “I have no idea,” Moira replied.

  “Were any letters underlined?”

  “Yes, I was just going to tell you that. The H was underlined.”

  “Th
e H,” I repeated.

  “Exactly.”

  When Melanie sent me the postcard from Portugal, she had underlined the letter O. I hadn’t really noticed it until Doob was studying it one night and pointed it out. I hadn’t been completely convinced at the time, but if she’d underlined another letter in this postcard, then it had to be intentional.

  “She’s sending me a message,” I said simply.

  “Possibly,” Moira said. “And it spells…um…oh or ho.”

  “I doubt if it’s the word oh,” I said. “And why would she send me a postcard to call me a ho? That’s juvenile.”

  “I have no idea, other than to say maybe it’s the beginning of a word and not an entire word,” Moira said. “I’ll think about it and let you know if I come up with anything. I’m sure Doob might be able to help as well.”

  I didn’t say anything. There was a sinking sensation in my stomach.

  “I hate to dump this on you, Meg. But your note didn’t say when you were going to be back, and I thought you should know.”

  “No worries, kiddo. I need to call Vic,” I said. Melanie’s father had received a postcard similar to mine last time, and I was guessing he’d probably received one today, too. Melanie wanted to stay in both of our thoughts.

  “Probably,” Moira replied. “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to be looking over your shoulder for this psycho every day.”

  “Yeah, well…” I didn’t have a response to that.

  “Are you going to be okay?” She sounded like I had when I was worried about Jeff in the entryway earlier.

  I smiled. Wasn’t I the older sister? Wasn’t I the one who was supposed to have the shoulder to lean on? “I’m good, sis. It’ll all work out in the end.”

  Moira sighed. “Okay, well let me know if you need anything. I’ll just put the postcard on your bureau in the meantime.”

  “Okay, thanks. I’ll take a look at it when I get home. And—” A lump formed in my throat, thinking about Moira at our apartment by herself.

  “I’ll be careful, Meagan,” she said, reading my mind. “She’s in Holland hopefully.”

  God knew where Melanie was, but I didn’t want to alarm Moira. “Yeah, if she’s smart, she’ll stay far away from Boston for a very long time.”

  “Speaking of, do you have any idea when you and Doob will be coming back? Not to mention my dog?”

  Whoops. She had a bit of a tone when she asked about Sampson. I did kind of dog-nap him, I guess.

  “Yeah, sorry about that, but we’re home more than you are, and Sampson friggin’ loves it out here. I would guess we’ll be gone for a few days, but I don’t really know. I’ll keep you posted, obviously.”

  “Just keep him out of any tall grass or water, please. I don’t want him getting fleas or an infection or anything. I don’t really trust that stuff we give him every month to keep all those nasty things away.”

  Whoops times two. Time to get off the phone. “Thanks for calling me, kiddo. I’ll give Vic a call to see if he heard anything from Melanie.”

  “Be careful, Meg. I just wish she was out of our lives,” Moira said softly.

  Before I hung up, I had to ask, “Are you worried about being home by yourself? I’ll come back in a heartbeat if you want me there.” I love my job but sometimes don’t love its effects on my family.

  “No, I’m fine. I’ll let you know if I change my mind, I promise.”

  “Fair enough, and please stay alert. I know Jeff wouldn’t mind if you joined us down here, so give it some thought. You should take a few days off anyway.”

  “I just started working on a huge lawsuit with the top partner in the firm, so I’ve got to keep my nose to the grindstone for a while. But I’ll be fine. Let me know when you’re coming back.”

  We rang off, and I tried to reach Vic, but one of the old dudes told me he wasn’t home, so I left a message. Hopefully he was out enjoying his day instead of being tormented by a postcard.

  After my call, Doob, Jeff and I reconvened in the living room, beers in hand. They plopped down on each end of a spectacular soft, muted brown couch, and I settled in a matching chair across from them. We sat in silence, admiring the lovely furniture as well as our handiwork, and I felt like our few hours of effort had been a success. The house was taking on a beachy-vacationy-relaxing-yet-classy type of vibe, and I hoped Jeff was getting more comfortable in his new surroundings.

  As things always did when it came to Doob and me, we quickly decided food needed to become a part of our immediate future. Jeff had only a few bags of chips and some remaining beers, and while that would suffice for certain occasions, this wasn’t one of them. So we piled in Doob’s Mercedes and headed for Newport. The drive over the scenic Newport Bridge was gorgeous, and the twinkling lights from the quaint little town looked like something straight out of a postcard.

  Not that I wanted to be thinking of postcards at the moment.

  Twenty minutes later we spotted an adorable little mom-and-pop diner in downtown Newport. Like many of the buildings in town, it looked small from the outside because of its narrow width. However, upon entering, we saw how long and deep the establishment ran. There were all kinds of tables with red and white checked tablecloths, and each of them had a small vase with two or three decorative flowers in them. It had a sweet, inviting atmosphere, and I liked it instantly.

  A young girl with a long, blonde ponytail greeted us and said to sit wherever we liked. A moment later she came over to the table, gave us waters, and left some plastic-covered menus. Her name was Shelley, and she relayed the specials that were also scrawled on a vertical blackboard propped up by the entrance. Shelley said she’d be back in a couple of minutes to take our order.

  After fully gorging ourselves to maximum capacity, we decided that a trip to the grocery store was in order. It’s better to grocery shop when you’re not hungry, right? Yeah, right. Tell that to Doob, who is perpetually hungry.

  Jeff picked out a lot of the typical things needed to start a kitchen—milk, bread, butter, eggs, salt, sugar, cereal, fruits, vegetables, salad dressing, cheese, steaks, ground beef, chicken, some condiments, potatoes, soup, soft tortillas, tuna, three boxes of penne and pasta sauce, paper towels, napkins, toilet paper, and finally some paper plates, cups, and silverware. He said that he’d buy some real table settings another day.

  While Jeff was being sensible, Doob and I grabbed our own cart and were on a completely different mission. We loaded up on Pop Tarts, Doritos, barbeque chips, frosted mini chocolate doughnuts, powdered sugar doughnuts, M&M’s, Hot Tamales, hot chocolate packets, Diet Coke, Red Bull, assorted lunch meat packets, Frosted Flakes and Cap’n Crunch cereal, beef jerky, Snack Pack puddings, Fritos, Double-Stuff Oreos, cake mix and frosting, three different flavors of ice cream, six frozen pizzas, several bags of assorted Lindt truffles, French fries, and ten boxes of macaroni and cheese.

  After wheeling two overflowing grocery carts out to the parking lot, we barely managed to wedge all the groceries into Doob’s truck, despite its massive size. As we loaded bag after bag, I seriously considered strapping Doob to the top of his own rig because he whined like a three-year-old that the ice cream would melt before we got back to Jeff’s house. I told Doob that both the ice cream and he could use some cooling off in the crisp, November air, and held up some Bungee cords from the back of his truck for effect. That shut him up for a little bit, but his lip protruded during the entire drive. I thought his worry over the ice cream might actually make him consider going one mile over the speed limit, but Doob is nothing if not slow.

  We each made several trips from the Mercedes to the house once we arrived at Jeff’s place, and we quickly found a home for everything. Doob was thrilled to see all three ice creams still intact, and in celebration, he had one scoop of each.

  As the Ben & Jerry’s spectacle was unfolding, I glanced at my phone to see I had a voicemail. Hunh? My ringer was on, so I shouldn’t have missed a call, but maybe it happened in the bunker of the groce
ry store. Or maybe the Mercedes had been so jam-packed with crap it blocked all cell coverage.

  I smiled when I heard the voice, but then my stomach lurched, as I realized why he’d probably called.

  “Hi Meagan, it’s Vic McBride. I got your message and wanted to let you know I got a postcard also.” There was a long pause and then a sigh. “From Melanie. But I guess you already knew that. Anyway, your uncle is going to have lunch with Moira tomorrow, so I’ll give it to him and he can pass it along to her to give to you. I hope that’s okay. I really don’t want it. The whole thing makes me sick to my stomach. So call if you need anything, Meagan. I’m sorry about all of this. Take care of yourself.”

  I hung up and stared at the phone for a moment. Anything to do with Melanie made me sick as well, and my heart rate perked up as bad memories invaded my thoughts. I hated that I could have such an immediate reaction to anything related to her, but that would probably never go away. And I definitely wanted a look at his postcard. Vic hadn’t mentioned if she’d underlined any letters, and his last postcard hadn’t had any underlines, but I wanted to see for myself. Maybe the underlines were just for me, her warped little brain trying to send me some clues or just fuck with me in general. I thought about calling him back to ask about underlines, but I decided not to worry him. Moira would let me know once she got the postcard from Uncle Lare. Until then, I would try to put all-things-Melanie out of my head and instead have a few scoops with Doob.

  CHAPTER 3

  Monday, November 4th

  IT WAS VERY COOL TO WAKE UP IN THE FANCY SLEIGH BED in one of the cozy guest rooms the next morning. I’d slept like a rock and felt like I was enveloped in a huge, wonderful marshmallow. Sun streamed through the windows onto the beautiful blue-and-white-striped comforter Jeff had purchased, presumably with a nautical theme in mind. The entire bedding set with the matching chair had probably cost a fortune, but I guess you can splurge when you’re a millionaire.