Haunted House Murder

by Leslie Meier

  Lucy tucked a couple of Officer Sally’s pamphlets into her purse, took a deep breath, and climbed out of the car. Once again faced with two doors, both facing the street, she wasn’t sure which door to try. She decided to approach the back door, in the kitchen ell, because that’s the door most townspeople used, and here she was, attempting to offer advice on local customs. Upon reaching the windowed door, and seeing once again the ratty old curtain, Lucy hesitated. This was probably a bad idea, but she plucked up her courage and knocked anyway.

  The curtain twitched, and she caught a glimpse of Heather, peeking out at her. Lucy smiled and gave a friendly wave, but the door was not opened. She waited a moment or two, then turned to go. That was when she heard the door open and looked back to see Ty Moon standing there, glaring at her. “What do you want?” he demanded, angrily.

  Talk about starting off on the wrong foot! Was this any way to treat a caller? Someone who simply wanted to be friendly? Her dander rose and she stood her ground; this time she wasn’t going to scurry away.

  “Well, I happened to be passing by, and I noticed you’ve got all this trash sitting out here.”

  “So what’s it to you?” said Ty, beginning to close the door.

  “Hold on a minute. I’m just trying to help,” said Lucy, surprising herself with her authoritative tone. “I’m Lucy Stone and I work for the local paper. You’re the Moons and you’re new in town. Everybody knows, in fact, and they’re all waiting to see what you do with this old place. But I want to let you know that you could get cited and even fined for that mess in your driveway. There’s no trash pickup in this town.”

  Ty opened the door wide. “What?” he asked, a surprised expression on his face.

  “No trash pickup. You have to take your stuff to the disposal area.”

  “I do?”

  “Yeah. And you’ll need a sticker or they won’t take your trash.”

  Ty was puzzled. “Sticker?”

  “Yeah. You put it on your car. Left front bumper.”

  “And where do you get one of these stickers?”

  “Town hall.” She paused. “Fifty dollars.”

  “The sticker costs fifty dollars?”

  “Yeah. And there’s rules. When you get the sticker they’ll give you an information sheet about recycling. You have to separate newspapers, glass, and cans.”

  “So you’re telling me I have to sort my garbage and take it to this disposal area myself and I have to pay for the privilege of doing it?”

  “The sticker’s good for a whole year,” said Lucy. “Private pickup costs that much for one month.”

  “So there is private pickup?” Ty was interested.

  “Sure. There’s a couple of haulers; you see their trucks around town.” She paused, deciding to plunge into the deep end. “Why don’t you have lunch with me? Your wife, too. My treat. Then I could explain all about our town regulations.”

  Lucy had barely finished speaking when she realized she’d made a big mistake and gone too far. Ty’s face hardened, he straightened his shoulders, and shook his head. “I don’t know what your game is, but we’re not interested.”

  “Game?” Lucy was quick to defend herself. “I’m just trying to be a good neighbor. Welcome the stranger.”

  “We just want to be left alone.” Ty started to shut the door.

  “Maybe you should let your wife speak for herself,” said Lucy.

  Ty’s face grew red and he started to yell, raising his clenched fist. “What’s the matter with you? Stop pestering us! Get out of here. Get off my property!”

  “Okay,” said Lucy, with a shrug. “No problem. I was just trying to be helpful.”

  “You’re just snooping around, you’re a nosy busybody! Stay away and don’t come back or I’ll. I’ll . . .” And with that, he slammed the door in her face.

  Turning, she walked down the driveway to her car, and got in. Looking back, she saw the door was shut tight, but the curtain twitched and she knew he was watching, to make sure she left. She was tempted to slip a couple of the brochures into the mailbox, but figured he’d only come roaring out of the house and would grab them out of her hands and tear them up. Or even worse, she guessed, although he hadn’t actually finished his threatening sentence.

  She thought of Sally’s advice, all those carefully crafted social work techniques designed to develop trust and offer the support that would enable an abuse victim to recognize the cycle of violence and the confidence to take action to end it. Well, it all sounded great, but what were you supposed to do when the suspected abuser wouldn’t even let you speak to the victim?

  Chapter Seven

  Ty’s insults were still ringing in Lucy’s ears when she ordered her quarter-pounder with cheese, chocolate shake, and fries, and carried her zillion-calorie meal to a corner table. McDonald’s wasn’t very crowded, even though it was lunchtime, but there were a few moms with young preschoolers, and a handful of retirees. She unwrapped her meal, setting it all on the paper that had wrapped the hamburger, mindful of the possibility of hostile microbes. When had all this started, she wondered, this phobia about microscopic life forms? Her late mother had scoffed at the idea, frequently remarking that “You’ve got to eat a peck of dirt before you die.” It turned out that she was right; it wasn’t a microbe that killed her but Alzheimer’s.

  When Lucy bit into a fry, she didn’t hear her mother; she heard Ty Moon yelling at her, calling her a snoop and a nosy busybody. Was that true? As she ate, she was uncomfortably aware that he was at least partially correct. One of the things she loved about working at the Pennysaver was the way it allowed her to get to know people by interviewing them, but she knew it went a bit further than that. The job sometimes entailed a bit of digging and investigating to find the truth, and that was the part she loved best. Like uncovering the fact that the chairman of the planning board wanted to change the zoning regulations so he could build an addition to his house that was closer than the current required twenty-foot setback. And then there was the member of the board of health who proposed an amendment to the town’s wastewater regulations, arguing that the current rules were placing an undue burden on people living on limited incomes. That was certainly true, Lucy discovered, but she also learned that he planned to build a Laundromat on the town’s well field.

  It seemed, she concluded as she sipped on her delicious chocolate shake, that she was a snoop and a busybody, but maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing after all. Things weren’t always what they seemed, and people’s motives weren’t always pure. Maybe never, she thought, crumpling up a napkin. Even her own motives weren’t always clear to her. Did she want to help Heather, because she appeared to be a victim of spousal abuse, or did she want a sensational story for the Pennysaver? She hoped it was the former, and not the latter, she thought as she shoved the empty cup and food wrappers into the trash bin.

  Checking her watch, she decided she had plenty of time to get some groceries before she had to meet the school bus. Nowadays she was constantly aware of the time, mindful of Patrick’s schedule, and she felt as if she was always in a hurry. The days when she could wander off for a long walk in the colorful autumn woods with the dog, taking as long as she liked, were over. Now she was on a strict timetable, and she had practically no time to herself. Instead of spending an evening curled up on the sofa with a book, or watching a TV movie, she had to help Patrick with his homework, make his lunch, lay out his clothes for the morning, and supervise bath and bedtime. It was exhausting and confining, but she was determined not to let it get her down. After all, she adored her grandson and this was a rare opportunity to spend time with him. She was going to enjoy every minute, if it killed her.

  At the IGA, she noted with interest that Oreos were still on sale—yippee!—and so was beef stew meat. Grabbing a cart and passing through the floral department she spotted a huge bunch of mums, also on sale, and decided to splurge. Fresh flowers were a luxury, but she figured a few little indulgences were well worth th
e investment if they helped keep her spirits up. She had buried her nose in the flowers, inhaling their scent, when Franny Small joined her at the display, considering her choices.

  “I like mums; they last a long time,” observed Franny, pulling a maroon bunch out of the water-filled container.

  “I’m going with yellow; they’re nice and cheerful,” said Lucy, dropping the bunch into a plastic bouquet bag.

  “Yellow are cheerful,” agreed Franny, “but I think these would look very nice in my copper vase.”

  “That would look great,” said Lucy.

  “Maybe I’ll need two bunches; the vase is quite large.” She looked at Lucy, furrowing her brow. “Do you think that’s too extravagant?”

  “Not at all,” said Lucy, well aware that Franny didn’t need to count her pennies.

  “I thought I saw you at my neighbors’, the Moons, this morning,” said Franny, bagging her flowers and laying them on her cart’s kiddie seat.

  Lucy didn’t want to mention her suspicions about Ty to Franny, who was a notorious gossip, so she simply said she wanted to let them know the town didn’t provide trash collection.

  “I’ll bet he was surprised,” said Franny, with a smirk. “I saw him putting all that stuff out in the driveway. What a mess! I was considering telling him myself, but, well, when I took some cookies over, cookies I made myself, they didn’t even answer the door. I had to leave them on the steps and, you know what, they never picked them up and they were eaten by raccoons. As for my plate, well, I guess that’s gone forever.”

  “I hope it wasn’t a good one,” said Lucy, pulling out her shopping list and glancing at it, hoping to send a subtle hint to Franny that she couldn’t stand here all day talking.

  “No, thank goodness. I pick up pretty plates at estate sales and yard sales, so I don’t have to worry that they’ll be returned.”

  “Good idea,” said Lucy, thinking she ought to do that, too, as she pushed her cart in the direction of the apples.

  “I don’t care about the plate,” continued Franny, “but it sure made me wonder. You’d think they would have noticed the cookies, but they didn’t. It seems as if they hardly ever leave the house. And now there are those flashing lights—have you seen them? From the tower?”

  “I have,” said Lucy, suddenly interested. “What do you think it is?”

  “I haven’t any idea,” said Franny, raising her eyebrows, “but that’s not all. There are terrible noises, too. Blood-curdling screams and cries. . . .”

  “What do you think is happening?”

  “I dread to think,” said Franny, with a pious little nod of her head. “But it sounds absolutely terrible. And there’s more. It isn’t just those flashing lights; the lights in the whole house dim and grow bright. It’s really weird. And it goes on late into the night. It’s even awakened me, at one and two in the morning.” She pursed her thin lips. “Awful screams, and I’m not sure they were human.”

  “Do they have animals in there?” asked Lucy.

  Franny shrugged her thin shoulders. “I don’t think so, but anything’s possible. What I do know is that something awful is going on in there. Something diabolical.” She turned, spying a pile of winter squash. “Well, it’s been nice talking to you, Lucy. Have a nice day.”

  Diabolical, thought Lucy, making her way to the cereal aisle, and checking her coupon wallet in hopes of a bargain. Patrick seemed to eat a box a day, and the stuff was surprisingly expensive. But today, there was a special and she had coupons, too, so she filled her cart with ten boxes, the maximum allowed. Then she cruised through the store and picked up the other items that she needed, always with an eye for a bargain. When she had everything on her list, she headed for the checkout, where she discovered a bit of a line had formed thanks to Franny Small’s insistence that chrysanthemum bunches were five ninety-nine, not six ninety-nine.

  Lucy watched with amusement as Dot, the cashier who also happened to be the matriarch of the large Kirwan family, attempted to convince Franny that she was in error. Many had tried, thought Lucy, but few had succeeded, and in the end, Franny got her price.

  “Wow. Talk about extortion,” commented the person behind her, and Lucy recognized the voice of her friend, Officer Barney Culpepper. The two had become acquainted years ago, when they both served on the town’s Cub Scout Pack Committee, and through the years Lucy had found Barney a reliable source on police department issues.

  “That’s Franny for you,” said Lucy, laughing. “She didn’t get rich by throwing her money around.”

  “I bet she’s got every cent she ever earned.” Barney grinned. “So how are you? I haven’t seen you in a while.”

  “Great. My grandson, Patrick, is staying with us for a few months,” said Lucy, pushing her cart ahead.

  “I guess that’s why you’ve got ten boxes of cereal in your cart.”

  “Guilty as charged,” said Lucy. “He eats a ton. I guess I forgot how much boys can eat.”

  “So, is he adjusting to the new school and all?”

  “Yeah, but . . .” Lucy lowered her voice. “You know that old haunted-looking house across the street from the school?”

  “Sure.”

  “Well, Franny tells me there’s weird screams and flashing lights, all hours of the night, and the new people, the Moons, are really unfriendly. If you’ve seen the wife, Heather, she doesn’t look at all well. It’s as if she’s being held prisoner by her husband. It’s really worrisome since the house is so close to the school, you know. A lot of the moms are worried; they’ve warned their kids to stay away.”

  “Has this guy actually threatened anybody?” asked Barney, as Lucy started unloading her cart onto the conveyor.

  “Me! He threatened me when I stopped by to let him know there’s no trash pickup in town. And that’s another thing.” She paused, before setting a jar of pickles down. “The place is a mess; there’s all sorts of cardboard boxes and old furniture just sitting out there, getting rained on.”

  Barney scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Well, you do have a bit of a reputation, Lucy,” he said, “since you work for the paper.”

  “It’s not just me. Poor Franny tried to give them cookies, but they wouldn’t open the door. And she says the sounds she hears coming from the house are positively demonic.”

  Barney laughed. “Come on, Lucy. You know Franny is a bit old-fashioned. I bet they’re just playing jazz.”

  Lucy was irritated by Barney’s dismissive attitude, and plunked down the last item from her cart, a frozen turkey breast. “And what about the lights that dim and brighten?”

  “They’ve probably loosened some light bulbs, from all that dancing to the music,” he said.

  “Aren’t you going to do anything?” demanded Lucy.

  “Not unless some laws are broken. Folks deserve their privacy and should be left in peace.”

  “You’ll regret those words,” predicted Lucy, as Dot announced her total.

  “That’ll be ninety-seven forty-two.”

  “Outrageous,” said Lucy, unsure whether she was referring to her grocery bill or to Barney’s refusal to take her worries about the Moons seriously. “Outrageous.”

  * * *

  Lucy got home with time to spare before the school bus was due, so she got busy unloading the groceries. She had just finished when her phone rang, and she saw that it was Zoe, calling from Paris, and her heart gave a little leap. She hadn’t heard from her in some time and was eager to learn how things were going.

  “Bonjour,” she said, “comment ça va?” Lucy knew a little French and loved to use it.

  “Awful,” replied Zoe. “I hate it here.”

  Oh, dear, thought Lucy. The very fact that she was speaking English was a bad sign; when Elizabeth went to France she had jabbered away in French to her mother, not always correctly, but enthusiastically, whenever she called home. “So what’s the problem?”

  “Well, for one thing, they all speak French here, all the time.”
>
  “What did you expect?” asked Lucy.

  “I hoped to improve my French, sure, but I thought they’d understand English. Doesn’t everybody speak at least some English?”

  “Not necessarily,” said Lucy, “and French is their language. Why shouldn’t they speak it?”

  “Because it’s rude, that’s why. And when I speak French they correct me. Can you imagine?”

  “Perhaps they’re trying to be helpful,” suggested Lucy.

  “No, Mom. They’re putting me down. Like the snotty little server in the café this morning, and when I asked for plu milk in my café au lait she practically snarled plussss at me. Like how am I supposed to know that even though they usually drop the ends of words, they don’t always do it?”

  “Maybe you could try listening to people,” advised Lucy.

  “I try, Mom, I do try, but it would be so much simpler if they just spoke English.”

  Lucy found it hard to argue with Zoe’s point, so she changed the subject. “How’s Elizabeth? Are you two getting along?” Zoe was actually staying with her older sister in her apartment while she was studying in Paris.

  “Don’t ask me. I hardly ever see her.”

  “Well, she does have a demanding job,” suggested Lucy. Elizabeth was an assistant concierge at the tony Cavendish Hotel.

  “It’s not her job, Mom. She’s got a new boyfriend, Jean-Claude, and she’s always over at his place.”

  This was very interesting news. “Have you met him? What’s he like?”

  “Are you kidding? She isn’t about to let me get a glimpse of him, or maybe it’s him get a glimpse of me. She’s keeping him all to herself.”

  Probably wise, thought Lucy, aware of how predatory sisters could be. Her aunt Helen had never forgiven Lucy’s mother for supposedly stealing a boyfriend, and then adding insult to injury by marrying him.

  “I suppose that means you’ve got a quiet place to study. How are your classes?”

  “Boring, Mom, boring. You’d think a course about a revolution would be interesting, but it turns out it’s actually a philosophy course: Voltaire and Descartes and a bunch of others nobody ever heard of. Even some English guys. Ever hear of Hume? The professor sounds as if he’s sneezing every time he says his name; it took me forever to figure out he wasn’t actually sneezing.”