by Zoey Kane
“What do you mean?” Claire stepped over to her, clasping the framed photos against her chest.
“Mavis wants me to ‘Find him, please.’”
“Who? Her murderer?”
Zoey’s light brown eyes shimmered with interest. “Or did she mean Robert?”
NINE
Back in the great room, after dinner, the Kanes sat down with the pictures to display to the group. One was of a young woman with dark curls, dressed in black, her hair waving over one shoulder. Claire propped it on her knee, showing the portrait of the rather plain-faced young woman, no smile. It was in an ornate oval frame. Zoey decided not to reveal she had a diary, just yet.
“That’s Mavis!” Penny burst out.
“Yes,” Porsha said. “It looks like she’s in her early twenties there, maybe younger.”
Spike nodded. “I remember her looking like that. I was just a young rascal at the time. That was the early fifties, there. You’d think it was from the 1800s or something, because of her straight face. Makes sense, though! It’s hard to think of her as anything other than an awkward, mopey, introvert, you know. What kids these days call emo. She never did snap out of it.”
Surprisingly, Aloise spoke up. “Her fiancé jilted her at the altar. Tears.” She ran her fingers dramatically across her wrinkled cheeks in emphasis. “So many tears.”
“Strange how Alzheimer’s works,” Claire whispered to her mother. “They can sometimes remember the distant past so clearly.”
Aloise’s pale blue eyes turned red, welling up. She covered her face with both hands and sobbed. “Oh, sister… sister, sister.”
The next moment, Aloise was wiping her eyes with a baggy sleeve and stared ahead as if nothing had just happened. Then she saw the picture of Mavis again. “That’s Mavis,” she burst, as if it hadn’t been announced.
“She never did marry, ya know,” Penny said. “She just never got over it.”
“No, she didn’t,” Gavier said, rubbing the tip of his narrow nose in thought. “She apparently took a swift descent into psychosis, losing touch with reality in a variety of ways. She would hole herself in her room and when she’d come out, would smell scents that weren’t there.”
When Aloise started crying again, Claire decided it was best to set the picture down and move to the next. It was a picture of an older, balding gentleman with dark eyes. He was seated with a rifle propped on a knee, and a dog at his feet.
Porsha draped an arm across the back of the couch. “Now isn’t that Everett, her father?”
“Yep,” Spike said. “You didn’t want to cross that man. He had a meaner temper than me.”
Gavier sat forward, his sharp elbows against his thighs. “I heard he was against Aunt Mavis’s fiancé. Probably bought him off and sent him away.”
“I don’t think I’d want to hang either of those pictures up,” Darla said, BonBon on her lap. “It’s much too sad.”
Everyone else was quietly sullen for a moment.
The last was a photo of a huge ship called the MerriWeather. Zoey lifted it up for all to see.
“Ohh, I heard that my great uncle was a cargo ship’s captain,” said Penny with pride. “So that kinda proves it.”
There wasn’t much interest in that one. Zoey set it down beside her chair. She decided to ask the last question, the one that’d been weighing on her mind since receiving the strange, ghostly call. “Where’s Robert Fitsgerald?”
Confused expressions were exchanged between the family members. Except for Aloise. She repeated, “Robert Fitsgerald,” as if the name were vaguely familiar. “Bobby. Bobby Fitsgerald. He jilted Mavis at the altar!” she said.
The family eyed each other, bracing themselves for more sudden weeping. The Kanes, literally on the edge of their seats, were excited for whatever information they could eek out of the woman.
“Papa said he was worthless.” Aloise growled the word. “Went to Hollywood, philandering, looking for Rose.”
“And?” Zoey dared to ask.
Aloise had a faraway, thoughtful expression for a long moment. Snapping out of it, she said, “When’s dinner? Did we eat yet?”
“Yes, we ate,” B.B. answered.
Zoey and Claire let out big sighs of disappointment.
“Where did you find those pictures?” Gavier asked the Kanes, sitting across from them.
“Can’t tell you,” said Zoey, “because this is a treasure hunt and you have to find everything for yourself. But I will say, Claire and I didn’t see anything that seemed like treasure.” Then she added, “Perhaps we’ve overlooked something. It’s possible.”
“We haven’t found a darn thing.” Gavier cursed a little, his face red. “Isn’t there anything here stronger than soda pop?”
“Sorry, Aunt Mavis didn’t drink alcohol,” said Penny, a competitive smile playing on her lips. “There’s nothing around here like that.”
A ghostly guffawing laugh started, lasting several seconds.
“You know? She’s just making me mad now,” stated Porsha, referring to Mavis. She leaned into the palm of her hand just before something shattered against the sofa’s carved wooden back.
Porsha gasped, jumping out of her seat. “What was that?!” A drop of blood trickled down her cheek. She touched it and then eyed her fingertip in shock.
Another piece had cut Darla’s arm. She looked around for the source in bewilderment. “Oh, my goodness! We’re being attacked.”
“We are, Mommy?” BonBon, who’d been quietly napping against her mother’s arm, suddenly sat up mad. “Send Daddy to talk to him.”
The doctor shot fearful glances around the great room, as did others. The only one not present was Theona, and she was nowhere in sight.
Spike stood and slid a machete out from its sheath. “Ghosts aren’t real,” he seethed through yellow, clenched teeth. “I’ll knife whoever did that. Come on, show your face!”
The Kanes eyed each other in worry. Claire stepped over to the couch and picked up a shard from off the floor, studying it. The smooth rounded edge of the white ceramic, and its silver-painted trim, told her what it’d been. “It’s a plate,” she said.
“No use throwing plates,” Aloise chimed in, calmly reclining in her seat. “Mavis will just buy more.”
Porsha put her hands on her hips, eyes narrowing behind her leopard-print glasses. “If this is supposed to scare me away, it won’t. This isn’t my first throwdown with ghosts. Aunt Mavis is being such a wretch.”
Crossing her thin arms in her red blazer, Penny said, “What do we do?” She blinked. “I’ve invited Zoey to come help solve her case. Doesn’t she know this?”
“She does know,” Porsha said. “But when it comes to haunted houses, I have yet to meet a peaceful ghost. Their emotions from before they died are heightened to the extreme, and it’s because of unfinished business. It’s that way with any emotion. They stalk the halls and throw their fits, even in the form of shattered plates.”
“You’re not scared of what more she could do?” Darla asked, lifting her elbow to show her cut. “We’re bleeding.”
“She startled me for a second,” Porsha said, “because I didn’t see it coming. But scared, no. These are cuts that wouldn’t even scar. Ghosts can’t kill the living.”
“But they can hurt us?” the doctor said.
“Yes, they can,” Porsha said. “They just can’t kill us.”
“Oh, now I feel better, because I’m only going to get hurt.” Short, big-bottomed B.B. lifted her pug nose at the group. “What does it matter? A broken nose, two broken legs… Living in a wheelchair, having to crawl down the aisle when I get married. Whatever, right?”
Penny glared at her friend.
“Do you want to leave, B.B.?” asked Porsha.
“No, I’m getting paid a thousand dollars if I stay.” B.B. was speaking of her friend’s bribe. “I’ll use a boat paddle to scoot me to the altar.”
Flustered, Darla stood up and said, “Proctor was killed
by Mavis.”
“No, he was scared to death,” Penny said. “That’s different. He wasn’t killed.”
Spike, still gripping his machete, said, “Ghosts aren’t real!”
“Shut up!” a few retorted.
The mad rancher’s eyes shifted between them, nostrils flaring.
Gavier quickly retracted his words, looking at the knife in concern. “I mean, please think before you speak. We evidently do believe in ghosts.”
“Yes,” Darla said. “We’ve all heard her maniacal laughter. She laughs at us. We’re her twisted entertainment. How can you explain away the fact that we were attacked?”
“Yeah!” BonBon yelled at him.
Fearing things could quickly escalate, Zoey cut in. “There’s something I should tell you!”
That got their attention. Even Claire seemed surprised, looking at her with a furrowed brow.
“I got a ghost call upstairs on an old intercom that’s no longer hooked up.”
Even Spike was listening with curiosity.
“It was Mavis.” She continued, “She told me to ‘please find him.’”
“So it’s a he who murdered her,” Penny said with big eyes, as if they were really getting somewhere.
“I don’t know. I was thinking it could have been Robert. But I have an idea!” Zoey pointed up a finger with confidence. “Porsha,” she turned to her, “I think you should try reaching out to Mavis again. See if she’ll respond this time.”
Porsha opened her red lips in thought, before saying, “Okay, but since last time there might have been some kind of evil blocking communication, the kid shouldn’t watch. I’m going to need the rest of you involved, in order to break through its power, so she really shouldn’t be around.”
The round Darla snatched her daughter’s wrist with determination. “I’ll go upstairs and stay in bed with her. Not even I would want to see that. Come along, BonBon.”
BonBon was flatfoot stubborn in her shiny, black Mary Janes. “I can be here, Mommy. I want to do whatever they are doing. I can do things better. What is a séance, Mommy?”
“I’ll give you five dollars and tell you a story,” Darla said with sweet impatience.
“NOOOOO, I want to stay here!” The brat stomped her foot and was turning red in the face.
Porsha growled at the resistant girl, “Get up those stairs and don’t come down ’til morning, or I’ll beat your butt!”
“No you wo-won’t,” BonBon stammered, unsure.
Porsha took a quick step forward and lifted a hand in threat, whereupon the defiant girl screamed and ran up the stairs, followed by her mother.
“Here now!” accused Gavier. “That is no way to speak to a child.”
“I just don’t have time or the nerves to put up with the brat you trained her to be, cousin. Besides, I wasn’t expecting I’d need to do any such thing. I know what I’m doing.”
“Well… well…” he sputtered.
Theona joined the group from the kitchen, and upon seeing the scattered shards, went to get a broom.
The shadows of evening were creeping in. The group reconvened at the dining room table to prepare for their call to the dead. On the verge of believing, Spike helped by lighting the chandelier’s candles. They quickly gave off a smell of paraffin wax mixed with burning dust. Gavier straightened the chairs, moving them close together on one side, so, as Porsha had put it, “all could hold hands for united power.” Settling down at the head of the table, the medium clasped Aloise’s left hand and Claire’s right hand. The rest, including Theona, followed the example, joining in. And the séance began.
TEN
Porsha dropped her chin to her chest, her long black hair closing over her face like a curtain. “Aunt Mavis, we wish to speak to you. We have joined together, here, as friends and family, seeking answers.”
The others kept their heads stiffly up, eyeing each other in unease. B.B.’s small fingers shook within Penny’s thin ones.
“Aunt Mavis,” Porsha continued, “we wish to hear from you on an important matter. Because I only call on important matters. Please come forth and attend this meeting.”
There was a long silence.
Porsha looked up, her hair falling away from her eyes. “I’m sensing someone else,” she said. “A man.” Like being zapped with a Taser, she suddenly threw her head back, her back arching dramatically. Everyone’s eyes locked on the strange medium, not knowing what to expect.
Who was the man? What did he want to say? Having seen the movie Ghost before, the group imagined Porsha to sit up with a crazed look in her eyes as the mystery person would possess her body and speak through her lips in a low register.
A voice did speak, but not through Porsha. Somebody else. “Theona baby…”
Porsha raised her head back up and took on a shocked stare at Aloise. The old woman’s eyes were squeezed shut. She spoke in a scratchy low voice, filled with lust. “I’ve always had the hots for you, but didn’t ever tell you.”
Theona pressed closer to Aloise. “Oh, Mr. Proctor!”
“Cutting carrots next to you was fire, baby!” Aloise continued, shrugging her knobby shoulders to her ears in passion. “Then we went to a potluck dance and you wore fishnet stockings? Woo! Woo! Woo!” Thin lips started making kissy gestures.
“Mr. Proctor,” Porsha cut in with impatience, not liking her séance hijacked, “let’s get back to business, here, please.”
Aloise smiled big, showing off a nice set of dentures. “Sure, what’s on your mind, kitten cakes?”
“Where is Mavis Mervel?” Porsha got right to the point. “We’re trying to communicate with her.”
“She never left the house,” he responded. “Find the treasure! My time’s up! Bye.”
“Wait!” the medium shouted with frustration, her eyes bulging. “Where is her body?”
Aloise answered, being back to herself again, “Right under her head, silly. I would like some ice cream or a milkshake.”
Theona stood up with a screech of her chair. “I’ll go get it.” She had a bright smile of a schoolgirl and hurried off.
“That horny little ghost,” Porsha quipped. “I can see what unfinished business he had.”
Claire shared a look across the table with her mother. It was one filled with surprise and amusement.
“Aloise,” Zoey cut in, not knowing or caring about the rules of the séance in a moment like this. “Is there any information you can get from Aunt Mavis Mervel?”
Porsha rolled her eyes in jealousy.
“She has red eyes that glow in the dark.” Aloise licked her lips. “Ice cream’s on its way! Yum, yum!”
“He’s a horny and hungry dead man,” Gavier blurted in his nasally tone.
“You fool, where’ve you been the last thirty seconds?” barked Uncle Spike. “He’s gone.”
Zoey became suspicious of Aloise’s surprising abilities. Testing things, she asked a control question to check for accuracy. “What do you know about Mr. Proctor?”
Aloise said matter-of-factly, “He wants me. All men want me. They can’t help themselves. But no! Can’t touch this.” She fluffed her hair. Suddenly distracted, she abruptly looked around in search. “My dog is around here somewhere. Snotty, where are yoooou?”
“Oh, Aloise.” Penny laughed. She said to the group, “Her dog was Chester, a Scottie.”
Theona came in with one scoop of ice cream in a small bowl. She placed it in front of Aloise who happily ate.
“What good that did.” Porsha stood, breathing out. “Sorry, peeps. Even with a séance, you can’t force the dead to speak. Mavis didn’t make herself available.”
Claire stood too, and smoothed her fleece sweater. “Why do ghosts have to be so cryptic, though? If they have unfinished business, shouldn’t they just tell us what it is, so we can help? Mavis could save us a lot of time that way.”
Others nodded and spoke their agreement.
“All I can say is, even the dead have rules.” Porsha sc
ooted her chair against the table. “True, it would save the living a lot of time, if murder victims could just say whodunit, but you’ll never find a psychic that can pry that out of them. The most they can get are vague clues. Clues to where the body is, the weapon, and so on. So for now, we have to hope that Aunt Mavis will eventually give clues. And in the meantime, I’m looking for treasure. No more distractions for me. That’s why you detectives are here,” she said to the Kanes. “Nuff said. My work here is finished.” She strode away.
*
The storm continued to rage on, whistling and blowing down the chimneys. When the Kanes finally retired to their room for bedtime, they decided to sleep in their clothes. It was a “keeping warm” thing, down to their socks. Also a fear factor thing. Yep, because of the ghostly attack, they were left utterly spooked, the both of them. Little did they know, things were about to get even more ghostly.
“There’s an extra blanket over there.” Zoey aimed her cell phone’s flashlight at a chair. “If you want to roll up in it, Claire dear.”
So they both rolled up in their blankets and pulled the covers up over those to keep extra toasty. Sleep started taking over, when there was a rap, rap, rapping at the door.
It awoke Zoey, who untangled herself from her coverings and slowly approached the door. “Who is it?” she said.
A weird little squawking voice replied, “Nevermore.”
“Am I dreaming?” she asked herself, rubbing hands through her messy long hair. She reached for the lock.
Hearing her mother unlocking the door, Claire sprang up. “No, Mom. Don’t open it!” She pulled back her beauty mask.
Too late. Zoey abruptly pulled open the door.
Claire let out a quick scream.
“It’s just the raven,” her mother said.
The silky black bird came walking in. “Nevermore,” he squawked, then flew to his perch, fluffed up his feathers, and settled down.
Zoey relocked the door. Spotting a knife-like letter opener on the vanity, she snatched it up and said, “Claire, I’m going to show you how to add a double-lock. Your great grandmother showed me this trick.” She stuck the sharp tool between the molding, so the handle crossed the door. “This works very well, or you can use a regular table knife.”
