by Etta Faire
Chapter 22
Jean
I gave Jean the room down the hall from me. The one with the dead blackbird wallpaper. It was creepy and weird, but when you own Gate House, that’s all you have to offer people.
I was just thankful she was traveling alone, no ghosts with mullets following at her heels.
Her suitcase barely rolled behind her as she struggled to carry that and the duffle bag into the room. She did not trust me to carry anything.
“I’m just a private person,” she said as she lobbed the duffle bag onto the bed.
I looked around the room, studying the wallpaper for a second. I rarely went into this room. In fact, there were only a handful of rooms I did go into on a regular basis at Gate House, and even a few locked rooms that I’d never been into at all, their keys sitting lonely in the key cabinet.
Some locked doors were best if they stay locked, and even better if you never knew why.
A shiver spread across my arms. The dead eyes of the blackbirds stared at me, knowingly, like they were seeing me, judging me, wondering why I got to walk around among the living while their twisted, broken bodies were plastered to a wall.
“I tell you, I just love these old houses,” Jean said, running her hand over the dead blackbirds. “The craftsmanship that went along with everything. Furniture. Wallpaper. I bet this wallpaper is silk.”
I nodded but didn’t touch the birds.
She pointed to the swirls carved into the mantle of her fireplace. “It’s beautiful. You’re very lucky. Thank you again for letting me stay here.”
I smiled. “Of course. I also have an ulterior motive. I want to hear all about Rosalie as a child. I bet she was a real handful,” I said, catching my reflection in the mirror of the vanity. My shoulder-length curls were still extra frizzy from the humidity we were having. I smoothed them down, turning my nose up at the ruffled blouse I was wearing for no other reason than 1978 was starting to grow on me.
Jean sat on the bed next to her duffle bag. “Rosalie was the shy, quiet one of her sisters…”
I coughed, almost choking on air. “Sorry, I just thought I heard you say Rosalie was quiet and shy.”
She nodded. “She was. That all changed one day when she and I were about thirteen. Her family came to visit us in Normal, and all of us kids decided to go fishing. There were six of us, her and her three sisters and me and my brother. Of course, we didn’t have bait. We used leaves. We didn’t have hooks or fishing rods either. We used string and safety pins, but my God, those fish were biting. The lake was just off the Dead Forest and it was teeming with fish. Rosalie went into the woods a little to get more of the juniper leaves she thought the fish liked better. She didn’t come back. After a while, Goldie, her youngest sister, started whining that we needed to find Rosalie. Something happened to Rosalie. So, my brother went in looking for her. We’d all heard the rumors about the Dead Forest and the settlers who never came out. But no one believed it until that day.”
I realized I was gripping my arm so hard I was leaving fingernail marks in my skin.
She went on. “Devin found her. Passed out. He yelled to us and we all came running. Somehow, we dragged her back to the trail. Goldie was carrying a fish on the end of her string and she smacked her sister in the head with it to wake her up. Oh, we all laughed at that one, but no one really thought anything was funny, especially when Rosalie bolted straight up, mumbling something about a shadow. Run away from the shadow. Hurry. Hurry.
“We all wanted to think she was crazy. Then, when I got older, I found out the hard way that she probably saw a vampire that day. She said she didn’t remember seeing any shadows, that she didn’t believe in shapeshifters, but I know something happened.”
“I wonder why she doesn’t believe in them now then,” I said.
“Denial, probably. It was the beginning of her strange phase, though. She started buying all sorts of weird books and studying up on the paranormal, mostly ghost stuff, but she dabbled in witchcraft too as a teenager.” Jean’s swollen fingers mindlessly played with the zipper on her duffle bag as she talked. “She was no longer shy, quiet Rosalie.”
I told Jean about the shadow I had seen. “Does that sound like your vampire?”
She nodded slowly and the chill went up my arm again.
“Why do you think he’s in Landover?” I asked.
She shrugged. “I’m not sure. Maybe, he’s looking for a new place off the Dead Forest to take over. One that doesn’t know about them yet.”
I stared at her thick cheeks, rough from years of stalking shadows. “If you really believe that, then you’re not here to drive him out of Normal. You’re driving him farther into the forest, back to Normal. You’re really here to save Landover.”
“We can handle them in Normal.”
I smiled at her. “Well, you let me know if you need my help,” I finally said.
She shook her head no. “I’m headed back to that spot by the drive-in today, though. Before I left the bed and breakfast, I overheard the ‘police’ there say they were finally opening up that road again because they’re leaving soon. They didn’t find anything about your missing friend.”
“He wasn’t my friend,” I said.
“So, I’m going to take an Uber over there and check things out.” She zipped and unzipped her duffle bag in a nervous kind of way. “I’m hoping to have this wrapped up soon.”
“I’m thinking about doing an impromptu seance this weekend at the drive-in if you want to stick around for it. I’m hoping to have my case wrapped up soon too.”
I wasn’t sure what in the world made me say that. I hadn’t even channeled through Sylvia’s death yet, and the Dead Forest seemed dangerous, and I was nowhere near wrapping this up. Plus, this was Monday. How was I suddenly going to throw together a seance last minute by Saturday?
Her eyes crinkled into a smile, showing every pale wrinkle surrounding them. “A seance? You know I don’t believe in ghosts.”
“I do know that,” I said. “Just like you know no one else believes in vampires. Sometimes, you just gotta live your truth no matter what others think about it.”
I went downstairs. Jackson was right behind me. “Do you really have this almost wrapped up?”
“Nope,” I said, looking up at the stairs. I lowered my voice. “I can’t talk to you now, though. Jean will hear me.”
“You’re not seriously worried the crazy woman upstairs might tell people you’re crazy. She believes in vampires, Carly doll. I’m fairly certain that affects one’s credibility.”
I looked in my notebook for Mrs. Darcy’s number then quickly dialed it on my landline.
“And I hate to say this, but I’m going to have to pull rank about inviting guests to Gate House. From now on, you must consult me.”
The answering machine picked up so I left a message. “Hey, Bruce. It’s Carly. We met the other day, but this has nothing to do with ghosts. I started asking around and I heard you were a very good landscaper. I need some work done on Gate Road. I know, roads probably aren’t your thing, but I’d like this one to be aesthetically pleasing, with lots of landscaping stuff. If you could give me a call back…”
Jackson’s mouth was wide open. “You did not just invite a stranger up to Gate House to do work? After I said not to invite anyone. Plus, you know we already have people we contract with for everything.”
“I’m not really hiring anyone, unless that road doesn’t really get fixed within the next month. You said it was on the list, so I’m sure this is a moot point.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Fixing a road is not a threat. That’s basic safety and maintenance,” I said, my voice well above a whisper. Looking at the stairs again, I thought I saw a tuft of black hair peeking out from the staircase. Great. Just when I was hiding my crazy so well.
Sylvia appeared too, and I knew all bets were off. “Yes, Jean. This is a haunted house and I have conversations with ghosts. Sometimes shouting matches. I
will also be channeling with one of them. So, if you want to stay here… just no videos. No Youtube or Facebook postings either. I drool and mumble when I channel.”
She tiptoed down the stairs so I could see her, her hands up like she was being arrested. “Sorry, none of my business.”
I motioned toward Jackson. “This is my ex-husband, Jackson.”
Her smile grew to a scared level. She looked at the area I was motioning to then back at me. “You see something there?”
“Yes.” I motioned toward the dining room now. “And this is Sylvia Darcy, my client.”
“Nice to meet you both,” Jean said, voice cracking as she scurried back up the stairs, mumbling something under her breath that sounded a lot like crazier than my cousin.
I turned to my ghosts. It was good to see Sylvia again. Her thin blonde hair was positively shimmering in the living room light.
“I heard you say you were wrapping this up,” she said. “Does that mean you’ve almost figured my murder out?”
“I wish,” I admitted. I told her about going to Rebecca’s and about how the notes Sylvia found in her friend’s locker may not have come from Jay after all.
“She lies. You know that, right?”
“Yes. I also felt like she was lying to me at times. Your brother too. I think he was the one who typed out those notes and put them in Rebecca’s locker.”
Sylvia’s pale, faded face grew even lighter. She tugged on the ends of her striped jacket, reminding me just how tight and unforgiving it had felt, like how hard it is to let go of what you think is true in life.
The phone rang. It was Bruce, just like I’d hoped.
“Oh yes, I have plenty of money,” I said when he asked, making Jackson roll his eyes. “Not me personally, no, but in the Bowman trust that I am completely able to use for things like landscaping.” I emphasized the last part loudly for Jackson’s benefit.
“I can come by tomorrow,” Bruce said.
“I have work at 11:00. Can you get here before that, maybe 9:30ish?”
He let out a heavy sigh. “That’s really early. I charge extra for early, and for estimates.”
I let out a sigh myself.
These ghosts were costing me too much money.
Chapter 23
Perhaps, I’ve said too much
I looked at the clock. It was almost 10:00, and Bruce was nowhere to be found.
Sylvia hovered by the coffee table while Jean was busy in the kitchen, burning toast. The smell took over the entire house.
“He’s like the kids I used to teach in gym,” Jean said, plopping a plate of charcoal onto the dining room table. “Always late, but with an excuse from their mother.”
“If high school kids were landscapers in their 60s,” I said.
“Good point,” she replied, crunching on her black toast. I peeked out the veranda door again. This time I thought I heard the rumbling of an approaching truck.
“You can make more toast. That one looks disgusting.”
She shrugged. “To each their own.”
The sky was a sad gray today, more rain probably coming. I told myself I didn’t care if no one showed up to my seance on Saturday, or if it rained. I was doing this for Sylvia. For Rosalie. For Mr. Peters, and the rest of the town who probably didn’t even know they needed closure and answers.
A large rusty pick-up truck bounced over the potholes and rocks, a heavyset man with a gray goatee in the driver’s seat.
I met him at the door. Bruce was a large man in a dirty t-shirt and jeans, but at least he was smiling this time. His business attitude.
“You need a lot of work,” he said, calculator in hand. “You have a lot of land.”
I didn’t feel as guilty as I should have, inviting the man up to my house for the price of an early estimate, just to ask him questions about the murders. He had to have known that’s what this was. Maybe he wanted to talk to me about things too.
I leaned against the kitchen island, trying to think of a way to ask him what needed to be asked. “I’m doing a seance on Saturday at the old drive-in,” I said. “To figure out the incident.”
“I knew you were trying to sell me stuff. Not interested. Now, let’s talk about your landscaping. I’m thinking we should pave the whole road, get rid of those rusty old gates and guard towers…”
A gasp rang out from my living room. I knew it was Jackson, even though I didn’t technically see him.
I lowered my voice and leaned into Bruce. “I talked to Rebecca. She said she never saw the love note from Jay until the trial. I know you were the one who put the tapes and sex toys in her locker. I know you could pick her padlock too. I think you were the one who typed out those notes, stuffed them way in the back of Rebecca’s locker, and told your sister where she could find them. Remember, remember, the second of September.”
His eyebrows furrowed into angry slits. He headed for the door. “I will email you the estimate and an invoice for it, so this won’t be a complete waste of my time.”
“Make sure you include details so I know what I’m paying for. I haven’t seen you measure anything or do much.”
Reaching for the door, he turned back toward me. “You have no proof of anything.”
As soon as he left, Jean waddled into the kitchen with her plate. She rinsed it at the sink. “He’s guilty,” she said. “I’ve known a lot of kids in my time…”
“Once again, this kid orders off the senior menu,” I interrupted.
She continued. “As soon as they say ‘you have no proof,’ you know for sure they’re guilty. And that, somewhere, proof exists.”
“I’ll drive you into Landover,” I said, racking my brain trying to think of how or where to find the proof. Sylvia hovered by the window, watching her brother’s truck drive away.
I could tell she knew he was hiding something too. I didn’t want to mention the fact that Rebecca might not be guilty. I think she knew it this time.
“Do you think Bruce did it?” she said. She was hovering back in forth in front of the window now. “He was always jealous of me. Even though he got everything from our parents. Money. Low expectations. If the man took out the trash, he was thrown a party.” She turned to me, her face red with building anger. “Too many people covered for him.”
“What do you mean?”
“Joey Pastori. Bruce would leave the rink for hours, and Joey would cover for him.”
I remembered him saying that now.
“And Myrna found his camera outside the Makeup Emporium once. Stalking the ladies, I guess. We knew it was his. He’d written his initials on the front of his Instamatic.”
“Myrna. The cousin who committed suicide?”
“Yes.”
“When was that?”
“Couple weeks before the incident. Maybe.”
I let that sink in. Could that be related? “Do you remember what she did with it? Did she give it back to Bruce?”
She nodded. “I’m pretty sure she did. We joked about developing the photos because she was a photographer with her own dark room and stuff. I told her she should. I think she decided that wouldn’t be right.”
“We’ll channel tonight before I confront your brother again.”
“Do you think he was involved?”
I shrugged. “He doesn’t sound innocent.”
I stood outside the Purple Pony and checked the clock on my cell phone. 11:00. Tuesday. The time Knox told me to call. I paced in front of the glittery unicorn but I didn’t go inside the shop. Instead, I punched in his number.
I knew I looked desperate. He’d said to call between 11:00 and 2:00, so calling at 11:01 looked over-the-top eager, but I was already one minute late for my shift. And I no longer cared how I looked to others.
He answered on the first ring.
“This is Knox.”
I bit my lip. I had no idea why I could read that ancient shapeshifter book, but that definitely seemed like something I shouldn’t yell through the streets aroun
d here, especially not to this guy.
“Hello?” he repeated.
“Hi… uh Knox. This is Carly, Justin’s girlfriend. We talked the other day about you possibly being able to locate a book for me. I’m sorry. I heard about the book around town and I was curious. I don’t actually need the book. I’m canceling my order. Thank you for checking on it.” I hated the way my voice shook, the weird things I was saying. Cancel my order.
“I understand,” he said, with a little too much confidence for my anxiety.
“I’m sorry if I caused you any trouble,” I said, rambling on at this point. “Uh, thanks again for checking.”
There was a long pause. He never responded. Never said good-bye.
I said a quick good-bye then hung up. A chill shot up my spine. Maybe I’d already said too much. Probably even looking for the book was enough, announcing I knew it existed, while adding that I didn’t want him to tell Justin. I definitely shouldn’t have said any of that.
“You okay?” Rosalie asked when I stepped inside the Purple Pony. And I jumped.
There was no way I could tell her any of this. She didn’t know Justin was a shapeshifter. She didn’t even believe in them.
“I saw Priscilla in the channeling the other day,” I said, like that was what I was worried about.
“Oh.” She smoothed out her Spanx along her hips. “Then you know she wasn’t very attractive, huh?”
“She was definitely no Rosalie Cooper, that’s for sure,” I said, even though she looked exactly like a red-haired Rosalie. I turned my head to the side, picturing that young Rosalie, sitting in her old car, crying.
I threw my arms around her broad shoulders and hugged her for no other reason than that I’d seen too much. The way Mr. Peters had bad-mouthed her behind her back. The way she had hung outside the club meeting, watching for him.
I finally understood the meaning behind that stupid unicorn out front. Okay, not really. But, I knew it represented not only new beginnings, but how painful it was to have one forced on you. The old stuff never left you as easily as you needed it to. (Glitter was actually a good representation for that.) Everything always worked out in the end, but it was usually a weird, messy process getting there.
