by Fiona Grace
“Uh, yeah, he said Cindy cancelled their appointment,” Mia admitted.
“And Connie Carol,” Landry said. “Don’t tell me you skipped her?”
“Er, no,” Mia said. “She was hustling elders at a poker game that night. She’s decided not to sell.”
“Well, then you and I are on the same page,” Landry said. “I knew you’d look into Cindy Moore’s death. I expected it. But I’m warning you—just because you’re good at research doesn’t mean you should investigate something this dangerous.”
“Dangerous? What do you mean?” Johnny said, concerned.
“I mean that someone had a reason for killing her. In my experience, an investigation grows more treacherous the closer you get to the truth. You can unwittingly stumble into a bad situation. That’s why the job is dangerous.”
“He’s right, Mia,” Johnny said “There’s a murderer out there.”
“But we found a clue, Detective,” Mia said. “There were a bunch of notes in Cindy’s books referring to Mr. Fat Cat. That was the name of a user on the real estate forum on Seaside Estates website. Greg Abbott, also known as Showman26, was in the same forum. He said that when it came to real estate, Fat Cat was a know-it-all. He was focused on the Elmswood House.”
“When were you planning to tell me all this?” Landry said.
Mia blushed again.
“I was going to text you, I swear,” Mia said.
“Well, I have some news for you too,” Landry said. “It seems your fingerprints were found all over the crime scene. On the car door, in the garage, on the body, and in various places around the house. There were muddy foot prints all around Cindy’s body. Someone was there with Cindy that night and Detective Waite thinks that person is you.”
Mia stood stock-still as the color drained from her cheeks. She could see that Landry was serious.
“Mia didn’t do it,” Johnny said and put his hands on her shoulders.
“I-I tried to switch off the car and open the garage door to get rid of the carbon monoxide gas,” Mia said, starting to feel a rising sense of panic.
“It’s looking bad for you, Mia,” Landry said. “Charlie Waite has a near perfect record of getting people to implicate themselves in crimes. If you think you can outwit him, I’m here to tell you you’re wrong. Now I’m going to go talk to Greg Abbott. In the meantime I think it’s time you got a lawyer.”
Mia could see by the stern expression in Detective Landry’s eyes that he wasn’t kidding. Mia was in deep trouble.
Johnny steered Mia toward the car. Sensing her distress, Tandy stuck by her side and kept trying to touch his nose to her fingertips.
“Are you okay to drive?” Sylvie said, looking at Mia warily.
“I’m fine,” Mia said and slipped into the driver’s seat. She gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles. Something Landry said bothered her. She mulled over his words in her mind, sifting them for clues as Johnny, Sylvie, and Tandy climbed inside the car.
“Landry said someone else was there with Cindy,” Mia said.
“There must have been,” Johnny said.
“He said there were muddy footprints around the body,” Mia said. “That’s how they knew someone was with her.”
“Yeah, I heard him say that,” Sylvie said.
“I saw those footprints myself,” Mia said. “They were all around the body. These weird muddy prints.”
“What about it?” Johnny said.
“It hasn’t rained this month,” Mia said.
Sylvie scrambled to check the weather app on her phone.
“Oh my gosh, it’s true,” she said, scrolling through the screens.
“The whole reason I’m in this mess is because I have no alibi. The evening it happened, I fell asleep with a book open. The last thing I remember before falling asleep was looking into a clear sky. The moon was full that night. No clouds.”
“Then how did the mud get there?” Johnny said.
“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.” Mia turned on the ignition and did a U-turn. They headed back to Swampscott.
***
Mia parked to the side of the Elmswood House, in case Detective Waite decided to drive by the front. She looked up at the old mansion. The house looked worse than she remembered, rising against the afternoon with distant scalloped clouds reflecting the sinking sun. The steeply pitched roof was even sharper at this angle, the pointed arches and front-facing gables at a jagged angle. On this side of the house, the torn wooden slates made the roof appear as if it was full of holes and the delicate verge-board trim hung in broken pieces. The salty sea breeze had lashed the house until the paint was peeling and blistered.
Mia, Sylvie, and Johnny stared, unable to take their eyes off the building. Tandy sank down in the back seat, immediately sensing the terrible energy.
“Where should we start?” Johnny said, looking at the house calmly.
“Burn it to the ground?” Sylvie said.
“Shhh, it might be listening,” Johnny said. “Don’t rile the thing up.”
“Rile it up?” Sylvie said. “Are you serious?”
“I’m dead serious,” Johnny said and winked at Mia.
Mia tried to smile, but the truth was her stomach was twisting in knots at the sight of the place.
“I think we should go around the back and try to find some evidence of how the killer trailed mud into the house,” Mia said. “Maybe there’s a damp patch or burst pipe or something?”
“Okay, let’s go,” Johnny said.
They stepped out of the car, looking up at the house. It was hard to take your eyes off the place, Mia thought as they crossed the street. It was as if the house was a dangerous animal that might suddenly move.
They started around the back, pushing past the dead vegetation and tangled branches. There was an old, broken fence that had been knocked down and they stepped over the snapped and sunken railings. As they rounded the corner, they could see the dilapidated old park. Mia felt a chill. As they reached the backyard the grass was dry and overgrown with a worn path leading to the little park. Instead of Tandy exploring the new area, he slunk by Mia’s heels, head down and wary.
The back of the house came into view and Mia stopped and pointed.
“What is that?” she said.
“A storm cellar,” Johnny said.
Attached to the house was a double hatchway door that should’ve been bolted. As they walked over to the double doors, they saw the padlock that should have held the latch was broken. Some nails were protruding on the edge of the door and caught on one was a piece of bright blue fabric.
“Can we open it and see what’s down there?” Mia said.
“Hold on,” Johnny said. He pulled his sleeves over his fingers. “There could be fingerprints.” Carefully, he gripped the door. There was a long creaking sound as he lifted the door halfway up. Mia pulled her flashlight out of her pocket and shined the light down into the basement. She gasped.
“What’s down there?” Johnny said.
“Water,” she said. “The basement is flooded. Whoever left those muddy shoe prints went through the cellar.”
“Before killing Cindy Moore,” Sylvie said.
Suddenly, there was a rustling sound behind them.
“What are you doing here?” a low voice boomed out.
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
Mia practically jumped out of her skin and her legs turned to rubber. She cringed, afraid to turn around. Here they were at the site of the murder trying to get inside the house. If this was Detective Charlie Waite, her life was over. Johnny lowered the cellar door carefully.
“Uh-oh,” Sylvie said with the experienced air of someone who was used to being in trouble. Mia, on the other hand, let out a huff of breath as she faced the interloper.
“You almost gave me a heart attack,” Mia said, both embarrassed and relieved to see Detective Landry again.
“After everything I just said to you?” Landry said. “I find you at t
he crime scene? What exactly are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” Mia said.
“When I saw you turn around, I decided to follow you,” Landry said.
“Aren’t you Salem PD, not Swampscott PD?” Mia said.
“You have a point,” Landry said. “None of us should be here. Now, do you want to tell me why you came back?”
“I remembered something about the day I found the body,” Mia said. “I wanted to check it out before I alerted you.”
“What exactly did you remember?” Landry said.
“The day I found Cindy, she was surrounded by muddy shoe prints,” Mia said. “How did they get there? I remembered that the night she was killed, the moon was full, and the sky clear. It didn’t rain that night. We checked the weather and there hasn’t been any rain for weeks. So how did muddy shoe prints end up all around her body?”
“You’ve got to admit she has a point,” Johnny said.
“I’ll admit it,” Landry said.
“Anyway, we found something,” Mia said and pointed to the piece of fabric lodged on a sharp nail.
Landry examined the fabric.
“This is from a Big Blue jacket,” Landry said.
“Big Blue jacket?” Johnny said. “What does that mean?”
“The colors of Swampscott High School,” Landry said. “ All their football and basketball players wear windbreakers this color.”
“The day Cindy gave us the house tour, she mentioned that kids had been breaking into the place,” Johnny said.
“Can you hold the door up for me?” Landry said. “Leave the side with the fabric undisturbed.”
Johnny walked to the hatch door and lifted it up again.
“You’re going down there?” Sylvie said.
“That’s the only way to understand the situation,” Landry said and took a flashlight out of his pocket. He shined it down into the basement. There were steep cement steps that led down.
“Can you see the water?” Mia said.
“I sure can,” Landry said and stepped down onto the stairs. When he reached the bottom step, he swept the light beam over the floor. “There’s a couple of levels. Looks like a crawl space with a dirt floor, just above the main floor. The basement is flooded, maybe a pipe is leaking. There’s a muddy sludge across the floor. On the far side of the basement is a staircase.”
“I think that leads to the mud room,” Mia said.
“Mud room?” Landry said.
“The place people took off their muddy boots and shoes,” Mia said.
Landry climbed back up and helped Johnny to lower the hatch. Then he pulled out his phone and made a call.
“Agatha, could you do me a favor? Can you tell me if there have been any reports of vandalism or breaking and entering in the last month in Swampscott?” He held his hand over the phone as he waited.
“What else do you remember, Mia?” Landry said.
“Let’s see. I remember Cindy’s shoes were clean. That’s why the shoe prints struck me as odd at the time. Do you think those footprints belong to the murderer?”
“Maybe,” Landry said and turned back to his phone call. “Yes, I’m here. Who? Billy Whitehead? What’s his buddy’s name? Jeremy Whiner? That’s an unfortunate name. Where’d they go to school? Uh-huh. Okay thanks, you’ve been a great help.” Landry hung up the phone and his face took on a pensive expression as he considered his next move.
“Do you think it’s the same kids?” Mia said.
“There’s a good chance. They’re both eighteen years old, graduated from Swampscott High and well known to the Swampscott PD. They’ve been in trouble for joy riding, fighting, shoplifting. Nothing as serious as murder but they seem likely candidates for breaking into and entering an abandoned old house. I’d like to talk to them. Now we just have to find them. I’ll check with dispatch and get addresses and—”
“Hold your horses,” Sylvie said as her fingers flew over her phone’s tiny keyboard. She started whistling the Jeopardy theme song. After a second her face lit up.
“What are you doing?” Johnny said.
“Gotcha!” Sylvie said in triumph. “Billy Whitehead and Jeremy Whiner are at the Salem Willows Arcade.” She held her phone up and there was a picture of two strapping young men, their hats on sideways, posing in front of the Musical Monkeys display.
“How did you do that?” Landry said, impressed.
“They just posted on Facebook and their location is turned on.” Sylvie scrolled through their streams. “Classic jocks freaking out now that they didn’t get a football scholarship and their best days may be behind them.”
“You’d make a good cop,” Landry said and smiled, a rare sight for the detective.
“Let’s face it, they’re not the smartest criminals,” Sylvie said and grinned.
“All right, ordinarily I’d tell you to go home and keep your noses clean, but I could use your help on this. If they see me, they might run, but if the hipster podcast celebrities chat them up, we might have a shot.”
“We’d love to help,” Mia said.
“I’m going to call Detective Waite and tell him about this evidence. You don’t want him to catch you here, so get going.”
“See you at the arcade, detective,” Johnny said.
Mia, Johnny, Sylvie, and Tandy headed back to the car, circling around the backyard to avoid the front of the house. As they walked toward the abandoned playground, Tandy started to growl. Mia noticed the hackles on his neck were standing on end. Something moved deep in the dark green bushes. Tandy crouched down and barked. A bolt of fear shot through Mia. She thought she saw a shadow moving in the trees.
“Did you see that?” Mia said.
“See what?” Sylvie said, suddenly alert.
Johnny glanced at Mia, concerned.
“Let’s go check it out,” he said.
Mia looked up at Johnny, trembling with fear.
“I don’t know if I can,” Mia said. “Do you feel that? It’s like the pressure in the atmosphere suddenly shifted.”
Johnny took her hand. As she felt the warmth of his body heat she started to relax. “I’ll be there with you, Mia. You can do this.”
“Okay,” she said, trying to shake off the sense of foreboding.
Mia and Johnny stepped into the abandoned park, followed by Sylvie and Tandy. There was a squeaking sound as the breeze pushed the old metal carousel in a circle, and the swings rattled and swayed back and forth. Johnny squeezed Mia’s hand, trying to reassure her that she was not alone.
“Then Mia saw her. A little girl stood near the trees, almost like a shadow blending into the darkness. Mia could see the hooded cloak and, as she looked up, her solemn gray eyes. It looked like the girl she had seen in her dream.
“I see her,” Mia choked out and pointed.
“I don’t see anything,” Johnny said.
“Me neither,” Sylvie said nervously.
“Lydia?” Mia said, her voice rasping. “Is there a way I can help you?”
The ghostly little girl parted the leaves and disappeared into the bushes.
Mia ran after her, feet crunching the dried leaves.
“Lydia?” she called out. But the girl was nowhere. There was only the stillness of the old playground. What could have happened to her? Mia covered her mouth with her hand. She wished she could believe in ghosts, but she couldn’t bring herself to abandon her rational mind, no matter how odd the phenomena she experienced. Whether or not ghosts existed remained an open problem. Maybe one day, she would solve the mystery.
“What’s happening?” Johnny said, following Mia through the branches.
“She’s gone now,” Mia said, stepping to the spot where Lydia had disappeared. Then she pushed through the bushes, followed by Johnny, Sylvie, and Tandy. They found themselves standing on the sidewalk, just down from their car.
“What’s that?” Sylvie said, pointing.
Planted on the corner of the small lot was a For Sal
e sign, but plastered across the front was the word Sold. At the bottom of the sign was a slogan: Halcyon Commercial Realty: Developing Dreams in Swampscott.
What could someone develop on this tiny lot? Mia wondered.
“I think Lydia is trying to tell you something,” Johnny said.
“Maybe,” Mia said, taking out her phone with trembling fingers. She snapped a picture of the sign. “Come on, we better get out of here before Detective Waite shows up.”
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
Mia pulled into one of the slanted parking spaces on Fort Avenue, facing the Salem Willows Arcade. Inside the oversized plate glass windows, the arcade was a blaze of color and spinning light. Groups of teens walked back and forth over the cosmic blue carpets with handfuls of tickets and pockets full of change, playing games. The place jangled and bleeped and hooted like a Vegas slot machine.
“I had no idea this place was here,” Mia said.
“I love this place,” Sylvie said. “I’ve been here a bunch of times. They have every game you could imagine. Drop games, app games, sports games. But I’m a connoisseur of the retro vintage games myself, Pac-Man, Galaga, Asteroids, Space Invaders, Donkey Kong, and Centipede to name a few. I’m also an official pinball wizard.”
“A pinball wizard? I didn’t know that was a thing,” Mia said, letting Tandy out of the back seat.
“Are you kidding?” Sylvie said. “I’m ranked in the top two hundred pinball players in the world by the International Flipper Pinball Association.”
“If you’re such a pinball hustler, why work for Bell, Book, and Candle?” Johnny said and laughed.
Sylvie shrugged. “I felt sorry for you guys.”
Landry pulled up in his unmarked car and rolled down his window.
“Can you find the boys and keep them busy for ten minutes?” he said.
“Leave it to me,” Sylvie said. She took her phone out and showed Mia and Johnny the recently posted Facebook picture of Billy and Jeremy posing in front of the Musical Monkeys machine, with their hats on sideways.
“Charming,” Mia said.
