by Zoey Kane
Zoey stopped reading. She looked up at her daughter standing at the doorway. “Poor Aunt Al does indeed have Alzheimer’s.” Surprising herself, she let out a constrained sob.
Claire left her watch post. “It’s okay, Mom.” She gave her a hug. “Do you want to stop snooping for a while?”
Wiping her eyes with the back of a hand, Zoey gave a small smile. “I don’t know why I’m reacting this way. Maybe I do need a break.”
After Zoey reapplied some eye make-up, the Kanes meandered to the great room, where the group was once again seated in front of the fireplace. “Well, any news?’ Claire asked.
“No,” Penny said. “Nothing.”
They all agreed.
Phones suddenly chimed together with the announcement of a text message. Zoey and Claire checked their own phones, and found they hadn’t received anything. They watched in interest as the others opened their messages. Together, the family read the same thing: “BOO! FIND THE TREASURE! – M.M.”
FIVE
“It’s from an anonymous number,” Uncle Spike said with a grumble. “Just gives today’s date and time. Someone here knows some techy tricks.”
“Could dear Aunt Mavis be playing a mean game with us?” asked Darla, rubbing her chin hairs in worry.
Porsha eyed Penny with suspicion. “As a medium who calls on the dead almost daily, even I didn’t know that the afterlife has cell service. What network do they use, cousin? Boorizon? T-Ghoulbile?”
“Hah,” Penny retorted with a sarcastic laugh. “Ha ha ha!” Her face went straight with fear. “It wasn’t me.”
Mr. Proctor entered, looking at his flip phone’s screen intently. “It’s Madame Mervel,” he said. “We need to diligently seek the treasure or else.”
Everyone eyed him with curiosity or fear. Darla shifted uncomfortably in her seat, pulling BonBon closer. Spike gruffly countered, “What do you mean or else?”
The doorbell tolled. Everyone jumped a little in their seats, startled. The question, Could it be Aunt Mavis? hung unspoken in the icy air.
Zoey hurried to go answer it. Ghosts weren’t something she typically feared anyway. She pulled the heavy door open to a bosomy woman in her sixties, with gray curled hair. The rain had stopped and the sun came out, rising above the cookie cutter homes in the distance.
“Who are you people?” the woman asked with a cranky disposition.
“This property belongs to our friend,” Zoey replied with irritation. “We are here for the reading of a will and a transfer of property. Not that it’s any of your business.”
“Well, you obviously don’t know who you’re talking to. I’m Valery Dabberline.” She poked her own chest with indignation. “It is my business, because this heap sits in the middle of our HOA management properties, dragging down the value of our homes. We are seeing about having this eyesore knocked down by the city in just five days from now.”
“Really, you old bat?” reviled Zoey. “You probably fly out from these windows every night, don’t you?”
“Well, I never!” said the HOA property manager in a huff.
Claire came up alongside her mother. “Oh, I’m sure you have,” she retorted, using her favorite comeback.
Penny arrived, too, always liking the drama of a good confrontation. “Get off my property. No trespassing!” She shooed her with a skinny hand.
Mrs. Dabberline turned, and as she was leaving, said with confidence, “I’ll be back!”
“I am so angry for your sake, Penny,” said Zoey as she shut the door.
“Well, that means that woman hasn’t got a chance,” said Penny.
A compliment… from Penny? Zoey was instead used to friendly little barbs from her host.
When they returned to the group, Zoey said, “Let’s get our mind off that text shall we? It’s probably a prank from one of you who thinks it’s funny.”
Mr. Proctor’s yellow complexion went a little ashen with irritation as he left for the kitchen.
“So, Gavier,” Zoey said, taking a seat beside the psychiatrist, “what’s your hobby?”
“Well, okay…” he always spoke in a professional manner, coming out a little nasally through his long nose, “…I like to read. I read many things. I have a fairly large library of books, most of which I’ve already gone through and highlighted. My favorite is on the topic of seriously abnormal personality disorders.”
“Thank you,” Zoey replied. Little did they know she was working at profiling them for the potential kidnapping and murder of the woman now assumed a ghost. “That is very interesting. Darla?”
“I’m an artist. I like to do abstract paintings.” She smiled with pride.
“She paints abstract modern art because she can’t make anything look real,” said Gavier, matter-of-factly.
“Your face is abstract,” Darla retorted angrily, her wide face turning red beneath her pale blond hair pulled back.
“Remember to keep anger diverted, dear,” Gavier advised, touching his nose in offense.
“Spike, it’s your turn,” said Zoey, as they picked up where they left off. She didn’t want to look him in the eyes in case he wanted to leer at her like he had with Claire the previous night.
“I collect knives,” he said with a passionate gleam in his eyes. “I started a collection by going to a fair and buying my first knife there. Now I buy and sell on the Internet. I also have novelty knives.” There was pride in his voice on that one. “I have in my collection the very knife Santa Fe Carl, the serial killer used. It’s a pip!” His smile broadened.
“Goodness!” was all Zoey could think of to say in response. “BonBon? You’re next.”
“I don’t want to talk!” She looked down into her lap of her blue dress. “I’d collect ponies, if I could. Daddy thinks that would be a substitute for better things.”
“In eleven years, you can get a job and buy ponies yourself,” Claire responded, leaning forward with big brown eyes. “You can go into the pony business, and collect fancy saddles too. Then you can invest some of your net profit in low-risk, high-yield mutual funds.”
BonBon raised her head with interest and then smiled over the thought, half of which she didn’t understand. “I can do that and Daddy can’t stop me?” she asked.
“Nope, he can’t. Just be sure to get an experienced and well-respected financial advisor.”
Gavier tapped his fingers on the arm of the sofa with a certain irritation. BonBon looked over at her dad with a “get even” smile.
“Aloise?” Zoey said. “What is your hobby?”
“Men! They all want me.” She pushed back her gray hair with sultry eyes of vanity. “My mother told me to choose the very best one - two - three - four - five… Where was I? Oh yes, jump rope.”
Zoey smiled. “Thank you, Al. Porsha’s turn!”
“Plain and simple—money!” She crossed her legs and folded her arms. “Nuff said.”
Zoey said with interest, “I heard you say you’re a medium. You commune with the dead?”
“I do. Is there anyone you’d like to hear from?” She straightened up with some excitement.
“You could ask your Aunt Mavis where she is and what happened to her.” Zoey smiled big. “That would make our job here a lot easier.”
“Wait!” the dark-haired eccentric said, closing her eyes and sitting up in her lumpy armchair with attention. After two minutes, she responded. “I get absolutely nothing. Sorry.”
“What do you think would be the cause of that?” Zoey asked, not really believing, anyway.
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Evil could be barring the results.”
“Evil?” Zoey repeated, her eyebrows up.
Claire cut in, a little freaked out. “Penny, what’s your hobby?
“Real estate, to make as many deals as I can and to get one over on Zoey.” She laughed.
Zoey knew never a truer word spoken.
“Claire, it’s your turn,” Porsha said. “What’s your hobby?”
“I like to take road trips and meet people. Sort of like we’re doing now.” Only saner, her private thoughts finished. Nevertheless, she smiled.
Porsha leaned forward and asked in a silky voice, “Zoey, what is your hobby, sweetie?”
“Hmm… Interesting houses, shoes, coats, and traveling with my daughter.”
“Doesn’t that cost a lot of money?” Porsha evidently thought she was onto something, her dark eyebrows raising high above those leopard-print glasses.
“That’s what I like, not always what I do,” Zoey corrected. She knew she’d face greed in the eye during this trip. “I’ve had my old snake-skin purse for a while now.”
Porsha leaned back in her chair, with nothing more to say.
“Hey, nobody asked me about my hobbies,” B.B. piped in, her pug nose up in the air.
“I already know everything about you,” Penny said, sitting beside her friend.
“What about everybody else?”
Penny quietly said out of the side of her mouth, “Do you really want these people knowing your business, B.B.?”
“Never mind,” she announced. “I’m boring.” Then, the urge became uncontrollable. She burst. “No, Wait! I do want to be asked.”
“Okay, what is your hobby?” asked Penny, disinterested.
“I like to sew potholders.”
Blank stares were in return.
“Sometimes chicken pot holders!” she pressed for interest. “Their wings are where your thumbs go, so you can flap them!” She motioned with her bare hands.
A yawn, and someone checked their watch.
“Oh, oh, I know.” Her eyes brightened bigger. “I’m president of the Alex Trebek fan club.”
“That guy from Jeopardy?” Darla vaguely recalled.
“No,” Spike said. “He’s one of those ghetto rappers. Shot someone.”
“No, he isn’t,” Porsha said curtly. “He’s the mustached host on Jeopardy.”
“Yeah!” B.B. said in defense. “He’s not some rapper.”
“Whatever.” Spike draped an arm across the couch’s back. “I was trying to help you sound more interesting, sweetie pie.”
B.B.’s face scrunched up in offense, and she didn’t speak another word.
“I like pot holders,” Zoey chimed in casually. She didn’t like seeing innocent people’s feelings hurt. “And chicken.”
Theona and Mr. Proctor bustled in with two trolleys of various grilled meats, smelling sweet and savory. “Zhis is lunch and dinner buffet. You can eat and drink all the way through the day. If you need more of something, call me.”
“Mr. Proctor.” Zoey raised an arm, getting his attention. He came over. “Can you tell me if there was anything unusual that Ms. Mervel said or did before she disappeared? As you know, I’m trying to find some answers, and you and Theona seem to be the only ones who kept in constant contact with her.”
He thought a moment, his tiny pupils observing air. “Nothing comes to mind, Ms. Kane… except… her bed had not been slept in the last night we saw her.”
“Was anything packed, indicating she was going somewhere?” asked Zoey.
“No…” he answered, “…and nothing was out of place. She was just absent, ma’am.”
“Did she have enemies?” Claire asked. “Or was there anyone who you didn’t approve of for no particular reason at all, maybe?”
A few uncomfortable glances were shared among the family. Even the maid looked guilty. But she always looked guilty.
“No, nothing like that.” Proctor waited a moment in case Zoey had another question.
“Theona,” Claire said, tilting her head, brown hair falling over her cheek, “what is your hobby?”
“I collect crystals.” She turned and didn’t stop, walking back toward the kitchen.
That’s not the only thing she collects. Zoey remembered the several wooden legs. She turned back to the cook who was still standing near his trolley. “Mr. Proctor, what is your hobby?”
“I stay out of the way and do a lot of thinking.” He excused himself and followed after Theona.
“Scary!” Porsha said, shimmying her shoulders. “Did any of you feel the vibes?”
Zoey and Claire nodded, watching him as he walked away.
“He cooks our food,” Darla said with a grimace.
“His nails are well-trimmed and perfectly clean,” Zoey assured, being a germaphobe. “I checked it out.”
That gave the listeners a measure of peace.
“No…” she added, leaning back in her chair and crossing a leg, “…if anything, it would be Hepatitis C, considering how yellow his skin is.”
That left everybody fish-eyed.
Penny jumped forward out of her seat, again with dramatic arms. “Anybody leaving?” she said, smiling big.
“No, I’ll suffer the consequences,” assured Uncle Spike, “and go to the doctor later.”
Everyone else said no or shook their heads with determination, as well.
A woman’s laughter echoed throughout the mansion again. BonBon ran over and sat on her mother’s lap, hugging her neck.
“Why did you bring that child to this place?!” snapped Porsha angrily.
“Can we call on you to babysit her from now on?” spoke Gavier, raising an eyebrow and pursing his lips with a hint of warning.
“Spank her butt and you wouldn’t have that problem!” Porsha was fuming.
“We are raising her with intelligence and patience to develop a higher adolescent cognizance, which will allow her to have power over her life,” informed the psychiatrist.
“Oh, so you want her to be more clever in her violent crimes!” Porsha rebutted.
Gavier turned his head away, refusing to participate further in Porsha’s unresolved emotional issues.
A ghostly woman’s voice whispered, “Someone has died, someone is dead, someone lies still upon his bed.” Then there was weeping that trailed away until it was gone.
Everyone looked around at each other. Not one of the guests was missing.
A stampede, with Zoey and Claire in the lead, headed up to the second floor.
As they started opening doors, in search of Mr. Proctor, Penny called out, “His room is down at the end!” She sprinted ahead and flung his door open. She stood staring, aghast.
Everyone caught up in concern, even little BonBon, who wasn’t about to be left out.
There lay Mr. Procter, eyes stretched open wide, his mouth drawn in a contorted shape of horror.
SIX
Had he seen something horrific? Or was he simply horrified by the knowledge that death was calling his number? Whatever, the police needed to be notified.
“Call 911, Claire,” said Zoey.
“Already tried. No reception.”
“Good,” Penny said, crossing her arms. “No one call the police. At least not until we’ve been here the full five days searching for the treasure.”
“Why?” Porsha asked coolly, running fingers through her long dark hair. “Did you kill him?”
Penny rolled her eyes and stuck her hands on her skinny waist. “The place is condemned. We’ll be kicked out and prosecuted!”
That seemed to shut Porsha up. The medium shifted her eyes away from her cousin.
Gavier drew a blanket over Mr. Proctor’s face. “We should not fear death,” he said. “For as Freud declared, ‘The goal of all life is death.’”
Aloise was standing next to the bed when the doctor quoted Freud. “Since he met his goal, I’m more worried about what he’s going to be up to next. He’ll need his slippers.”
Everyone was silent a moment, confusion spelled across their faces.
“Claire, let’s go find Theona and tell her.” Zoey took a step back, feeling sympathetic.
The Kanes found her in the kitchen, cleaning up. The old woman didn’t hear their entrance. She was working at the sink, her back to them. The water of course didn’t run, but there were gallons sitting on the counter as reinforcements. And as suc
h, she was able to scrub dishes in a soapy bin.
“Theona,” Zoey began, slowly approaching her, “we found Mr. Proctor passed away in his room.”
“Oh!” Theona turned to them, dropping a plate to the ground from shock. It shattered loudly into large shards.
“Why don’t you come sit at the dining table,” offered Claire. “We’ll clean that later.”
The maid nodded stiffly. Zoey stayed close beside her in case she needed extra strength.
“He wasn’t feeling well. I know that,” Theona said moments later, pinching invisible lint off the orange runner with pointy and unpolished fingernails. Tears started dropping from her eyes. “He had cancer of the liver that came back on him. He was hoping to start treatments soon, but he couldn’t afford it.”
“That explains the jaundice appearance,” Claire said, more to her mom.
“Oh, he was morbidly yellow,” added Theona, looking up.
“How much did Ms. Mervel pay you two?” Zoey said with a compassionate tone. “If I may ask.”
“Not enough.” She looked up. “Zhe last six months, before her disappearance, I didn’t get any paycheck. Madame Mervel apologized profusely. She wished she could do something, but you see this house. She couldn’t afford the upkeep. It was her father, Mr. Everett, who passed it down to her. I could not leave, even when she couldn’t afford me. By zhen, I was family.”
The Kanes looked at each other in thought.
“If you want our help, Theona,” Claire said, “we will help you prepare meals or whatever you need. Do you think you’ll be staying? Or do you want to leave? Everyone will understand either way.”
“I want to stay.”
“Okay, but from now on, when we all finish the kitchen work,” Claire said, looking deep into her eyes, “you come in and sit with the rest of us in front of the fire. Since your friend is gone. Okay?”
Theona nodded, wiping her face with her apron.
“You’re all done with your work tonight,” said Zoey. “Do you think you can come with us now to join your support group and friends?”
