‘It wasn’t me.’ The way she said it was half denial, half plea.
Before he could push further Samantha marched back into the room. She was shaking with rage. ‘You! Tell me what’s going on!’
‘I guess there was no one there again?’
She snatched the knife from Jean and strode over to Oliver. Her hands trembled as she pushed the point uncomfortably close to his neck.
‘I want my money. Where is she?’
The front door rang for a third time. The knife jerked and opened a second nick on his chin. Violet was yelling but he was too terrified to pay attention. Then suddenly she stopped. The sudden silence amplified the fear that was coursing through him.
‘Get it,’ Samantha told Jean, still eyeballing Oliver. As her partner disappeared Samantha warned, ‘And this time if no one’s there I’m going to cut more than your chin.’
Her breath smelt of peppermint and her eyes were wide. A bubble of saliva clung desperately to the corner of her mouth.
If time passed slowly before, now it had stopped all together. In contrast his breathing was rapid and shallow.
(It’s going to be okay.)
Is it?
(Trust me, I can sense help.)
The words rubbed at his fear and his breathing settled. He realised that Jean had been gone for a while. Samantha picked up the same thing a few moments later. She called out but there was no answer. With a frown she straightened, calling out louder into the silence.
‘She’s a little busy I’m afraid.’
Samantha spun around in shock. Amanda stood in the doorway, no more concerned than if she’d come into an empty room. One hand hung empty at her side, the other hidden behind her.
‘Now let’s put down the knife and talk about money.’
‘Where is she?’ Samantha took a step forward but rather than being frightened, Amanda stepped forward as well.
‘I left her in the other room. She’ll be fine – in a bit. Besides you don’t really want her hearing your confession, do you? You seem to value her opinion of you.’
‘My confession?’ Samantha laughed. ‘Are you a priest as well?’
‘You did kill your uncle, didn’t you?’
Samantha half turned back in his direction, seeming almost surprised that he was still there.
‘Fine – yes I did. Happy now? I had a good thing going and he was going to end it, just because he found out my mum was sleeping with his wife. He was going to take all his money and leave me in that messed-up house. I sent Jean to get the painting, but then Uncle Peter decided to go back to the shop and I realised it was perfect. I arrived after she’d gone, but he was still there. He was surprised to see me, but not as surprised as when I hit him over the head.’ She gave a giggle.
(She’s mad.)
‘To what end?’ Amanda asked.
Samantha’s eyes narrowed. ‘Isn’t it obvious? Where do you think he kept all the money he made from selling that stuff off the books? In the safe. Well now it’s in my room at home. And with him gone Charlotte and Mum get the shop and I can keep on milking it for a source of income. D’uh.’
There was something chilling about the way she said it, in a matter-of-fact way with no sense of underlying guilt or regret.
‘And if the cops started sniffing around you could give them Jean,’ Oliver guessed. ‘She stole the painting so suspicion would all be on her.’
Samantha laughed again. ‘Of course I didn’t particularly enjoy it. It was my first time after all. But now you two know too much, so I guess I’ll get some more practice.’
Several things happened at once. Samantha stepped towards Amanda, who took a step backwards, Oliver launched himself off the couch and barrelled into Samantha, sending the knife flying towards Amanda, and the front door burst open.
Oliver landed on the girl, his weight forcing the air from her lungs. She lay motionless and for a second he was afraid she was seriously hurt. Then she started struggling and swearing. Violet was yelling as Oliver was grabbed by the arms and lifted high into the air. He started resisting then caught a glimpse of police uniforms. They set him on his feet but kept a tight grip. More officers flooded the room, picking Samantha up and holding her slumped between them as tears flooded her face.
Detective Wilson strode into the room, taking it all in before focussing his attention on Amanda.
‘You’re late,’ she said.
‘Just in time I would have said.’
‘Thank God you’re here,’ Samantha blurted. ‘They killed Uncle Peter. They told me. You have to arrest them.’
Amanda gave her an exasperated look. ‘Give it a rest, Samantha.’ She pulled her hand out from behind her to reveal a phone. After she’d pushed a couple of buttons Samantha’s voice came out loud and clear, confessing to murdering her uncle.
The girl’s tears stopped instantly and she lunged towards Amanda, only to be jerked back by the police holding her arms.
Detective Wilson watched the encounter with a detached expression. ‘Please take the young lady into custody. Keep her separated from the other one.’
Amanda pointed to the kitchen knife sticking out of the wall. ‘You’ll find her fingerprints on that.’
He gestured to one of the officers who photographed it, then pulled the knife out and placed it in an evidence bag. Oliver was horrified to see the knife hole was about head height. Amanda caught him staring and winked.
Detective Wilson told them, ‘I’m sure you both have a very interesting story to tell me, so let’s have a seat shall we? And perhaps by the end of it I’ll have found some reason not to throw both of you into the back of a squad car.’
Thirty seven
It was several hours and some fast talking later before the last of the police left. Detective Wilson paused on the door step and fixed Oliver with a disillusioned stare.
‘I expect both you and Ms Tumbleton to be available for any pending court case. Even with the recording we will need your testimony to ensure a proper conviction.’
‘Of course Detective,’ Oliver replied.
After he had gone Oliver closed the door and carefully locked it. Retracing his steps back into the lounge he found Amanda studying the picture of his family. When she faced him he thought for a fleeting moment there was a hint of regret on her face.
He said firmly, ‘Now you can tell me what happened.’
She walked over to the couch and sat down. ‘I like to make sure that things are wrapped up. Loose ends have a way of coming back to haunt you. So I parked down the street and watched you give the painting to Victor. Then I had a couple of calls to make. I was still sitting there when Jean and Samantha turned up, and I figured that meant trouble. I called the police and the original plan was to wait until they arrived, let them kick the door in and save the day. Only they were late. So I rang the doorbell a couple of times to try and kill some time.’ She glanced at the knife-shaped hole in the wall. ‘Poor choice of words perhaps. Anyway I overheard Samantha losing it, so I figured time was up.’
‘And you came in.’
‘Of course.’
‘You could have left me here, just waited until the police came.’
She cocked her head to the side and gave him a considered look. ‘Could I?’
He shook his head. ‘No, I don’t think you could have. You have a lot of principles for a con artist Amanda.’
‘Yes, I know,’ she sighed, then grinned.
‘Why didn’t you just use your gun? You know – the one you pulled on me.’
She waved a hand. ‘That was a stage prop, a fake, and I don’t carry it everywhere.’
‘What happens now? To you? The police know who you are and what you look like. Isn’t that going to cause problems for your line of work?’
This time she laughed out loud. ‘Oh Oliver,’ she said affectionately. Before he could say anything else she leaned forward, pinched her finger and thumb together, placed them on her eye and withdrew a contact lens. She repeated t
he process with the other eye. Then she reached up and pulled her hair off, revealing short blonde hair underneath. Finally she stood, shed her jacket, and stripped off her blouse leaving a plain black bra, Oliver closed his eyes in discomfort. When he opened them she had slipped on a plain T-shirt. The final touch was a pair of thin-framed glasses from the side pocket of her bag. When she straightened up Oliver was astonished to realise he barely recognised her.
(Holy crap. The whole thing was fake.)
‘Violet wasn’t real, Oliver – she was a character. No offense, Violet.’
(None taken.)
‘Is that the real you?’
‘It’s the now me.’
‘Is Amanda even your name?’
‘Oliver, you don’t want me to answer that do you?’ she smiled. ‘I need to apologise though. For obvious reasons Violet Tumbleton won’t be testifying in any trial.’
‘What do I tell the police?’ Oliver asked.
‘Just tell them the truth – you have no idea where I am.’ She picked up her bag, then hesitated. ‘You know something? I’ve enjoyed working with you Oliver. I know you’ll probably be glad to see the back of me, but I’m usually dealing with the less desirables of society, so it was nice hanging out with someone like you.’
‘I figured out the thing with all the cars. They’re invisible, like hundreds of other cars on the road, so you won’t stand out. Where did you get them from?’
Amanda grinned and inclined her head slightly.
‘So are you going to tell me now why you took the painting to Peter Yarrow?’
‘Who said I took the painting to Peter?’
‘I’ll never understand you,’ Oliver said in frustration. He stood up and awkwardly wondered what to do next. A handshake seemed to formal, but a hug seemed too intimate. He shuffled his feet.
(Just hug her.)
He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Amanda. She returned the hug with a tight squeeze.
‘Bye, Oliver,’ she said as they let go of each other.
‘Bye…Amanda.’ He laughed.
At the front door he watched her start down the driveway. Halfway down she stopped.
‘If you ever need to get in touch, you know how to find me.’
He nodded and she continued towards her car.
‘Hey Amanda,’ he called out. She stopped and turned back. ‘I had a chance to study the painting before Victor picked it up. You know what I didn’t find? John’s name. Do you know what I did find? Hidden away in the waves, barely visible? A different name. That was the plan all along wasn’t it? To make a switch.’
Amanda stayed silent as she processed the information.
An idea came to him. ‘Wait, the painting never went to Peter Yarrow’s did it?’
She shook her head.
‘We were chasing the replica all along.’
‘My grandmother spent five years getting it just right, but it needed to be good enough to fool Matthew Darcy. So we took the fake to Peter to see if it could pass scrutiny. Getting it stolen was never part of the plan.’
Oliver didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Instead he said, ‘tell your grandmother I’m glad she finally got what was hers.’
He closed the front door.
(Whose name did you see?)
‘You saw what I did, Violet. You tell me.’
(I don’t remember. Just tell me.)
‘You’ll figure it out.’
(Asshole.)
Oliver laughed again, and if there was a touch of hysteria in it after the day’s events then Violet was wise enough not to comment.
Oliver pulled out the envelope with the cheque in it. ‘Ten thousand dollars,’ he muttered. ‘I better go and bank this before Rose colours it in with crayon.
Thirty eight
The next morning Violet was still there. Between the two of them they ran through an exhaustive list of reasons why that might be, but ultimately concluded they had no idea at all.
To distract himself from the dilemma, Oliver sat down and wrote. When he finished, the result was infinitely better, according to Violet.
At 2.40pm he left to pick the kids up from school and took them to get an ice cream. The stress of the last two weeks was gone and he enjoyed the endless stream of observation and conversation, even when Violet piped up.
‘Can we go and see Nana tomorrow, Daddy?’ Rose asked.
‘Tomorrow’s a school day,’ Reed said.
‘Duh, I know that,’ she retorted. ‘I meant after school.’
‘Then why didn’t you say that?’
‘Coz I didn’t have to.’
Oliver held up his hand to request a ceasefire. ‘Any reason why you want to go and see her, honey?’
Rose shrugged. ‘I miss her.’
He nodded. ‘I miss her too. Okay we can do that.’
‘Good. Then we can say good bye to Violet as well.’
‘Who’s Violet?’ her brother demanded.
‘Duh, the lady Daddy’s been helping.’
(What the….)
Oliver’s world shrank into the little girl in front of him.
(How does she know I’m here?)
‘Honey, what do you mean we can say good bye to Violet?’
Rose took a big bite of her ice cream and Oliver waited impatiently for her to swallow, then use her sleeve to wipe the chocolate from her mouth, before she explained, ‘You said you would help Violet, and you have been – right Daddy? That’s why you were late to pick us up from school the other day. And now you’ve finished helping her she can go.’
Oliver wet his lips and considered his next words. ‘Rose, can you see Violet?’
His daughter looked at him like he was crazy. ‘No, Daddy, she’s dead.’
‘Who’s dead?’ Reed asked.
‘Can you hear her?’ Oliver asked.
‘Didn’t I just say she was dead, Daddy?’
‘Then how do you know I’ve been helping her?’
Rose took another bite of ice cream and Oliver had to resist the urge to snatch the cone from her.
Eventually she said, I don’t know. I can just feel she’s here.’
(Holy crap.)
Oliver’s mind raced with follow up questions but Rose seemed to be bored with the conversation so he decided to wait, knowing that pushing her would get nowhere.
‘Sure honey, we can go see Nana tomorrow.’
Reed immediately started complaining but Oliver tuned him out. He commented to Violet, you kept saying you were a hitchhiker. We never considered that I picked you up at the cemetery. Maybe that’s where we drop you off?
(Maybe. When you’re lacking all other ideas, listen to the five-year-old. That’s what I always say.)
Bullshit.
Okay that’s the first time I’ve ever said it, but there’s nothing to lose.
Oliver casually mentioned to Jennifer that night what Rose had requested and she nodded understandingly. Probably because he left out the bit about their daughter sensing the spirit riding around in her dad’s head.
The next day they drove over the hill and parked at the cemetery. It was an overcast and cool day, and windchimes hung silently in the trees. Rose sat at her grandmother’s grave
and caught her up on all the important happenings, like being able to read now, and that her new best friend in the whole wide world was Isabelle. Reed shifted restlessly, more interested in the birds overhead than the grass and headstone below.
You still here?
(Yes.)
After a while Rose got up, said her good byes to Nana, and walked away.
‘Where’s she going?’ Reed asked.
Oliver had an inkling. He followed his daughter through the rows and caught up as she stopped beside Violet’s headstone.
He said to her, ‘What now?’
‘Just say good bye, Daddy.’
‘Bye, Violet.’
He waited for some sense that she was gone but nothing changed.
(I’m sorry I mess
ed up your life.)
‘Dad, who are you talking to?’ Reed said.
I’m not. You might have almost gotten me arrested, and beaten up, and killed. But I feel like I’ve rediscovered something that I didn’t even know was missing.
(And on the bright side, you haven’t thought about your sore knee for a while. And you don’t have to suck your stomach in like you used to.)
I didn’t….
Violet burst out laughing. The sound slowly faded into nothing, and she was gone. Oliver’s sense of relief was tinged with loss, like something had been plucked from inside his head and taken away forever.
Rose patted her father on the arm. ‘Good job, Daddy. Can we get an ice cream?’
‘No, you had one yesterday,’ he replied. And immediately life restarted as he followed his arguing children back to the car.
Epilogue
A year and a half later the family spilled from the car and placed flowers on Nana’s grave. Rose picked up a single rose and skipped over to Violet’s grave.
Oliver’s book, The Leaf’s Passage, had been released two weeks previously and was currently sitting at the top of the bestseller list. Although many had asked he’d never explained the dedication inscription, For Jennifer, Rose, Reed, and VT.
It had been like a dam bursting. He’d already completed his next manuscript and was onto his third. Words flooded onto the page and it was all his fingers could do sometimes to keep up with his brain. Even after Violet was gone, it took a long time for him to accept that the words were not being channelled from a spirit.
He’d told Jennifer everything, including about Violet, a few days after Violet left. At first his wife showed the expected response of wondering if her husband was bat-shit crazy, but eventually she’d believed him – or at least said she did. They were still happily married anyway.
After paying their respects to Nana, Oliver called Rose back and they all climbed into the car. The kids had been promised ice cream so were bouncing in the back as they made their way out of the cemetery gates.
Lord save us, are they going to keep that racket up all the way.
Oliver jerked the wheel in surprise, recovering in time to avoid two cyclists going past.
Ghostly Hitchhiker Box Set Page 24
