by Pamela Crane
‘Yes, in fact I have. So I do understand you. But you can’t let it swallow you, Harper. I learned that the hard way – you have to be stronger than death. If not for you, then for your kids.’
She stood for a long, quiet moment, staring out the window. ‘If only it were that easy.’
Her sadness touched me in a way that I could feel. Was this what empathy felt like? Harper didn’t quite seem like the enemy anymore. She was far too broken, like me, to be the bad guy. With a light caress of my hand against hers, we connected.
‘I don’t really know much about what happened to your husband other than what Lane told me – that he died unexpectedly. Please …’ I patted the chair, hoping she would sit back down so we could talk, so we could forgive. If we were destined to be sisters, I could at least try to get along. ‘Do you want to talk about him – your husband?’
She accepted my peace offering and sat stiffly in the chair, her hand under her chin. ‘What can I say about Ben? He kept me on my toes until the very end.’
I didn’t know what Harper meant by that, but I’d nudge until I found out. Maybe it was the clue to why she was the way she was. Controlling. Rigid. Anxious. Maybe it was the answer to how to fix everything between us.
‘How did he die?’ I asked.
The whisper in my ear and the breath on my neck crawled up my spine and jolted me out of my seat: ‘Daddy was murdered.’
I spun around to find Jackson at my shoulder, expressionless but observant. I recently noticed that about him; he avoided contact but was always watching with those shiny black beads.
‘Murdered?’
I didn’t mean for it to come out so loudly, so harshly, so insensitively. But everyone knew that when a spouse turned up dead … well, the living one was usually the one who had done it. Harper even looked like the textbook murderess, with the downward slash of her mouth, the stiffness of her jaw. Spotless on the outside, filthy on the inside. I imagined Harper more worried about the bloodstains on her floor than the bloodstains on her hands. Yes, Harper was a picture-perfect killer.
‘Yes, I’m working with the police to figure out who killed my husband.’
That’s the moment I realized just how urgently I needed to get Harper and her crazy family out of my house. Because killers shouldn’t live in homes; they should live in jail cells.
Chapter 8
Harper
If you’ve never woken up from a dead sleep to the sound of a house full of smoke alarms blaring, I don’t recommend it. Especially if you have a heart condition. Or anxiety. Or young kids. And if you don’t already have a heart condition or anxiety, you might find yourself suddenly acquiring one or the other after such a wakeup call.
My digital clock radio – which Lane teased was old-fashioned and had gone the way of the rotary telephone – blinked 4:43 in the morning. The bedroom was pitch-black, the only light being a sliver of moonbeam white slipping through the gap where the blinds didn’t quite meet the window frame. In this otherworldly gray was where the screaming started. First the piercing siren call of the smoke alarm, followed by the screeches of frightened children. I threw off the covers and ran to the kids’ room to find Elise sitting up in bed, hair in a knotted mess and eyes wild and wide. Jackson’s side of the bed was empty.
‘Where’s your brother?’ I screamed over the noise, my gaze racing around the room.
‘I don’t know! I just woke up. Is there a fire?’
‘I’m not sure. Help me find your brother!’
Dragging Elise into the hall, I checked the bathroom for Jackson. Empty. Where the heck was he? Gripping Elise’s hand like her life depended on it, I rushed carefully down the steps toward the front door as Lane darted out of his bedroom in a confused bustle.
‘What’s going on?’ Lane yelled over the alarm as he followed me downstairs.
‘Do you see smoke anywhere?’ I called behind me.
‘No. I’ll check the rest of the house.’
‘I can’t find Jackson.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll find him.’
Lane took off toward the kitchen while I ushered Elise to the front door, where I found Jackson standing by the coat closet, thank God.
‘Where were you, buddy?’ I asked as I pushed the kids outside to wait on the porch while Lane sorted everything out.
‘I was in the downstairs bathroom. Then the alarm went off.’
How odd, when the closest bathroom was only a few feet from his bedroom door.
‘Why didn’t you use the upstairs bathroom?’
Covering his mouth secretively, his voice lowered into a whisper. ‘Because the ghost lady looks at me in the mirror when I’m going potty.’ He said it so convincingly I almost believed him.
‘What do you mean, honey? What ghost lady?’
‘The lady who died in the house.’ His gaze darted around, as if the ghost could be eavesdropping on us. ‘I see her in the mirror.’
I felt a Sixth Sense vibe coming from Jackson. I wondered if perhaps he had seen the movie and his imagination was playing tricks on him. Though if Ben had let our six-year-old son watch that, I would have killed him … if he weren’t already dead, that is. ‘You’ve seen a dead woman in the mirror?’
‘Well, she writes things on the glass. Tells me she’s watching me.’
Was Jackson envisioning things again? We had been through this once before – the hauntings, the child psychiatrist had called it. Jackson had made such strides since then … until Ben’s death happened.
‘Remember what the doctor told you, that it’s something you create in your head? Like an imaginary friend. I promise you, sweetie, there is no ghost lady here.’
‘I can prove it,’ he insisted.
Worry buzzed in my head like a housefly. It might be time for mother-son therapy again. Self-destruction was our family religion, and we worshipped at its feet.
By this point the smoke detectors had drawn the attention of the next-door neighbors and the family across the street, who stood in their yard wearing thick robes and confused looks. I shivered in my tank top and shorts, having forgotten to grab a robe on my way out. While the spring days were hot here in the South, the nights still held a chill.
The alarms continued to blare as a crowd of those within hearing distance collected on the sidewalk. I had yet to see Candace since all this began. Her early-morning vacuuming came to mind. Was this another one of her schemes to annoy us out of the house?
I peered into the window. Nothing appeared fire-worthy. No smoke. No flames. Just the alarm … and then sudden silence.
‘Stay here, guys. I’ll be right back,’ I told the kids.
I slipped through the front door, running the perimeter of the first floor. Living room, empty. Dining room, empty. Kitchen, clear. I found Lane on a stepstool in his office, ripping the smoke detector off the ceiling.
‘What happened?’ I asked.
Lane examined the plastic casing, then popped it open. ‘I don’t know. I’ll replace the batteries; if they’re low that could have set it off. They design these new smoke detectors to all be interconnected, so if one goes off, they all do. Stupidest design ever. I don’t see any smoke, though.’
He tossed the culprit on his desk, and I headed back to the entryway to retrieve the kids, nearly bumping into Candace on my way out.
‘Where were you?’ I stopped her with my question.
‘Uh,’ she looked confused, ‘upstairs, trying to figure out which alarm was triggering the others.’
I shrugged her off, too tired to deal with it, and headed outside to shuffle the kids back to bed and the neighbors back to their homes.
‘False alarm!’ I yelled to the onlookers, embarrassed and angsty. There was no way I’d fall asleep again with all of the adrenaline that soaked my veins.
Lane and Candace were already halfway up the staircase, heading back to bed, when I shut the door behind me.
‘Try to go back to sleep, okay?’ I kissed Elise and Jackson on their h
eads, then walked them upstairs.
‘Don’t you want to see my proof about the ghost lady?’ Jackson asked when we reached the top landing.
I exhaled my combined agitation and exhaustion. If anything, humoring him could help put this matter to rest, proving just how silly it all was. ‘Sure, show me.’
He led me to the bathroom, then pulled himself up on the sink, his tiny legs dangling below. With a big breath, he exhaled a fine mist onto the mirror, and letters appeared. When he finished, he hopped down and pointed to the words outlined in his moist breath:
I’m watching you
A chill tickled the hairs on my arms. Okay, so clearly someone was messing with him. There was no ghost lady, but there was Elise … and I wouldn’t put it past Lane to pull a good-natured prank on his nephew.
‘Oh, sweetie, you know someone is playing tricks on you, right?’
‘Yeah, the ghost lady. I know it’s her.’
There was no point arguing with him about it now. I’d have to find out who was doing this and make them confess to Jackson. As the words disappeared back into the glass, I grabbed his hand and led him to bed, then tucked him in for what was left of the night. ‘Back to bed. I don’t need you guys getting sick from lack of sleep.’
It was inevitable, the sickness. One single night of sleep deficiency always ended first in Jackson getting sick, then Elise, then Ben. And since I took care of everyone else – disinfecting their germy bedding, wiping their running noses, feeding them soup and grilled cheese, and losing sleep while tending to their constant needs – I was always the last to get the worst of it. Of course, while I was battling it head-on, the others still needed Mommy to disinfect, wipe noses, and spoon-feed them. It was a cycle I dreaded, so the kids’ sleep was high on my priority list. I just hoped and prayed the germs would spare us this time. I could only imagine how pissed Candace would be if my children infected her too.
With the kids groggily returned to their bed, I decided I might as well put on a pot of coffee and earn my keep. I could clean the entire house and tackle the growing pile of dirty laundry by late morning. There were at least six loads’ worth dumped on the floor of the laundry room. I’d need to remember to pick up some laundry baskets so that I could separate the whites from the colors. How did Candace not know such simple rules of housekeeping?
After resetting the coffee pot to brew three hours earlier than usual – I had to give Candace props for at least setting it every night – I tossed in a load of laundry to wash while I figured out where to start deep-cleaning first.
Lane’s office. It was more cluttered than the discount toy bin at the thrift store. He had mentioned a couple times offhandedly how he couldn’t find anything in there; it would be a nice surprise for him to wake up to a clean, organized office. Grabbing a duster and some extra folders I had brought from home, I was armed and ready.
It was worse than I thought. The windowsill was littered with dead flies, and my fingertip cut a trail through a blanket of dust on his desk. What kind of wife didn’t dust? A neglectful one. Maybe Candace best learned by example.
I grabbed a pile of bills, invoices, and receipts strewn across the desk and tapped the edges to straighten them out. Setting them aside, an envelope on top caught my eye. The return address peeking out from the tiny plastic window in the corner belonged to a birthing center. Glancing at the open doorway to find myself predictably alone, I closed the door. Debating whether to open the envelope or not, it only took a moment before I slipped the contents out and unfolded the paper.
A bill. For an ultrasound and fetal test. This couldn’t be right. Candace couldn’t possibly be pregnant so quickly … could she? Unless she had conceived right before they got married … which would account for the shotgun wedding.
So she had trapped my brother with a baby. Lane wasn’t the type of guy to impregnate a girl then ghost her. No, he would do the right thing and make an honest woman of her. Except that Candace was anything but an honest woman. Every step toward friendship we had made vanished. Fool me once, shame on you. But I wouldn’t let this lying, scheming snake in the grass fool me twice. And I sure as heck wouldn’t let her fool my naïve brother.
Thump. Then another soft thump approaching.
The creak of the floorboards sent my fingers to work hastily shoving the bill back in the envelope. After tucking it into the pile, I pretended to be dusting when the office door swung open. I glanced up and exhaled relief. Thank God it was Lane. It was too early for an encounter with Candace.
‘Why are you still awake?’ he asked, rubbing his eyes.
‘I couldn’t fall back asleep.’ I lifted the duster. ‘Figured I’d get some cleaning done. What’s your excuse?’
He shrugged. ‘I’m too wired after the whole alarm debacle.’
‘Want some coffee?’ I offered.
‘You know I never say no to coffee.’
I followed him to the kitchen, finding the sink I had spent an hour last night emptying and cleaning had been refilled with a mug ringed with tea, an empty water glass, a cereal bowl with flakes crusted along the rim, and a plate with melted cheese and salsa stuck to it. Candace and her midnight snacks. I was instantly filled with irritation. Lane grabbed two mugs – mine in a shape of an owl, his the shape of a panda – and poured us each a cup.
‘What’s up with the kiddy mugs?’ I asked as I rinsed the dishes and loaded the dishwasher – again.
‘Candace thought they were cute. What, you don’t agree?’
I never used to worry about how I worded things with my brother. But when it came to his wife, I was forced to tiptoe around each syllable, lest it get back to her and I ignite her wrath. Right now, however, I was too tired to curb my words.
‘Sometimes she just seems more like a child than an adult. I mean, look at the state of your home. She’s an utter slob, Lane, while you’re a neat-freak. And her clothes! Her boobs are hanging out of every top, which I don’t exactly want Jackson exposed to, and she’s always running around in a bikini. It’s not even summer yet. Who does that in front of children? Elise is so impressionable, and seeing the slut-wear that Candace struts around in … I’m afraid Elise is going to think it’s acceptable to look like that. She should wear age-appropriate clothing, Lane.’
‘Whoa, girl. Slow down.’ Lane held up a hand to stop me.
Maybe I had gotten a teensy bit overdramatic. ‘Sorry, but I don’t know … I just don’t see what you see in her.’
Of course I saw what any hot-blooded male saw in Candace. Youth. Carefree. Slutty. The strappy tank tops – always worn braless – and the tiny shorts that showed her ass cheeks. Skimpy maxi dresses that revealed more skin than they hid. Prancing around in nothing but a bathing suit and silk kimono, her breasts hard and fake, just like her. And that hair, an oil-spill down her back. The blue highlights just screamed for attention, as if her breasts weren’t getting enough already. Candace was what happened to little girls who wear makeup and don’t have a curfew.
Did she even own any proper foot attire other than flip-flops? And the tasteless jewelry, all bangles and dangles and charms and feathers. If Candace was indeed to become a mother, she needed to start dressing like one. A proper one.
Lane rested his hand on my shoulder. ‘I know you don’t understand it, but everything you don’t understand is exactly what I love about her. She’s so beautifully different from everyone else. She is fluid and restless and passionate and adventurous. She’s unconventional, sure, but that’s what drew me to her. I wish you’d give her a chance.’
‘I’m trying.’
Okay, maybe I wasn’t trying hard enough. The problem was that I understood how girls like Candace worked the world, bringing it to their feet. They knew how to make men smile, but they also knew how to make men weep.
By this point, sunrise was approaching. I stood at the bay window, watching the sun poke its fingers through the trees. After adding peppermint creamer to Lane’s coffee and daring a splash in my own, I
picked up both our mugs and joined Lane at the kitchen table, wondering if I should say something about my morning discovery. This was Lane, the brother I told everything to. Well, almost everything.
‘Did you know Candace is pregnant?’ I blurted.
His startled expression was a mixture of shock and curiosity. I couldn’t read him. Was that a yes or a no?
After a breath, he nodded. ‘Of course I know we’re expecting.’
I had assumed as much. ‘Do you know if it’s yours?’
He glared at me as if it was a crazy question, but it was no more crazy than his whirlwind wife having a honeymoon pregnancy. ‘Yes, it’s mine.’
‘Is that why you married her – because of the baby?’
‘No,’ he scoffed. ‘We love each other, Harp. I’m thrilled about the baby. So what if it was unplanned? It’s part me, part her, and wholly perfect. I’m happy and in love and I’ve always wanted a family … even if it came a little unexpectedly.’
How blissfully, ignorantly romantic.
‘Are you sure she loves you back? I’m not trying to downplay your relationship, Lane, but women do that – trick men into marrying them by purposely getting pregnant. And you’ve got quite a nest egg saved up that could be pretty enticing to a young, single, jobless woman.’
Lane had always been a saver, ever since watching our father leave our mother penniless and broke. With a pretty good salary from working his way up at the hospital, not only did Lane earn a good income, but he loved to spoil others. Never himself, though.
In a way, his trusting nature was endearing. But it also made him blind to the manipulation that women were capable of. Hadn’t our mother’s own well-practiced manipulation tactics taught him to know better? I couldn’t help but feel the need to protect my brother, because he simply wouldn’t protect himself.
‘Why are you trying to stir things up?’ He shook his head with a disappointed droop. ‘Yes, Candace loves me. And she got pregnant after we both professed our love to each other and were already talking about marriage and children. Candace and I both wanted this, together, so please stop with the assumptions.’
