by Rena Leith
“At least they died together.” Gillian sighed. “I’m a little surprised she has no memories at all of that moment. I would have guessed that her senses would have been heightened. The fear alone…”
“She may have blocked it. Traumatic amnesia.”
“You mean dissociative amnesia.”
Jack waved a dismissive hand. “You know what I mean. But her father, too! That’s shocking.” Jack lifted the lid again and peeked, shook his head, and closed it.
“And Mary Ann inherited the whole kit and caboodle. Rather casts her in a suspicious light,” Gillian said.
“And her granddaughter is still around. I wonder if she knows the story of this little cottage?” I shivered.
Jack nodded. “I’m sure of it. I think that’s why she’s made a friend of you, Cass. Something else is going on.”
“Why didn’t the granddaughter get the house?” Gillian asked.
“I don’t know if Doris’ father actually owned this place. Doris only said they lived in the area. They may have visited here,” I said. “I should be able to find that out pretty easily. They had to make sure the title was clear before I bought the place. If Doris would show herself, we could just ask her.”
A hollow knocking emanated from inside the laptop. We all looked at each other. Jack fumbled as he tried to open it up. A tiny Doris emerged, dusting off her virtual skirt and sleeves. As she stepped forward into the room, she grew larger. Jack continued to lift the lid, relief apparent on his face when he realized that the computer was now back to normal. Just to be sure, he flipped through a few files and apps. Then he patted the lid affectionately.
“Now you have to solve all our murders.” Doris lifted her chin. “But I suspect you know who did it.”
“Mary Ann Deluria?” I ventured.
She gave a sharp nod.
“It’s a place to start. But I have a couple of questions for you, Doris. Is this your cottage?”
“No.”
“Ah.” I’d been hopeful that we’d solved at least one mystery. “But if it belonged to Mary Ann, why didn’t Marcy claim it as her granddaughter?”
“It was never Mary Ann’s. It belonged to my mother,” Doris said.
“Your mother?” Gillian asked. “Who’s your mother?”
“Her name was Shelagh. You have a picture of her.”
Gillian sorted through the photographs, laying them out on the table one at a time.
“There.” Doris pointed to one of the pictures we’d been looking at of Doris and her father in front of the cottage. On closer inspection, the woman with them did bear a strong resemblance to Doris.
“Why didn’t your father marry your mother?” The three of them looked like a happy family in front of the cottage.
“He asked her, but she refused. She was a bohemian. She was an advocate of free love and believed that the government had no business in the personal lives of its citizens. She was a feminist and didn’t like what the law allowed a man to do to his wife.”
“She didn’t trust men,” I said.
“No, she didn’t although she loved my father.”
“You said you don’t trust men.”
“Yes.”
“Did your mother raise you?” Gillian asked.
“No. My father did, but we visited her often.”
“So she owned the cottage in her name?”
“Yes.”
Jack cut in. “So I’m guessing you’re haunting the place because, in a sense, it was your home, but you died before you could inherit it.”
“My sister Francine inherited it. She was born after I died.”
“Shelagh and Francine or Francie, the writers who used to live here. Remember the séance where they wanted to call up Shelagh’s ghost as a muse, but they got Doris instead?” I asked. “Now it makes sense why you appeared, Doris. You’re the one with unresolved issues.”
“Wait a minute,” Gillian said. “How do you know about Francie? You died before she was born.”
“She was part of that first séance and the writers who called me here.”
“How does that work exactly?” Jack asked.
“Not now, Jack,” I said. “Doris, your mother must have kept some of your things after your death. That’s why your ring and your car are still here.”
“It didn’t occur to me until now,” Gillian said. “But you asked us to keep your mother’s cut-work embroidery. I’m sorry that I didn’t understand when you said it.”
“Please let us know which of your mother’s possessions you value, and I’ll keep them, of course,” I said.
“Thank you,” Doris said. “The writing desk was hers. I remember her sitting there, writing.”
“She was very beautiful,” I said.
“Yes, she was.” Doris faded away.
I turned to Jack and Gillian. “I think we should give her some time to herself.”
“Makes me a bit suspicious of Marcy’s motives,” Jack said.
“It does cast her interest in you in a different light,” Gillian said. “Are you going to confront her?”
I shook my head. “No reason to do that. I want to spin it out to see what kind of game she’s playing.”
“I think you should give Dave and Mina another go. They’ve lived here a while, and they live in proximity to the crime scene…scenes.” Gillian put her hands on her hips. “Should I pack some of this stuff up neatly? We could do some sorting and organizing, but it’s going to be hard to top that revelation.”
“Yes. Thanks. I’m thinking I need some more plastic file boxes and folders to sort into. Who knows what other gems are in here.”
I took Gillian’s suggestion to heart, gathered some of the photos into a plastic sleeve, and went in search of my two nearest neighbors, leaving Jack to finish the pantry shelving and Gillian to sort through and organize the paper remains of Doris’ family’s lives.
As I walked between our houses, I glanced up at Wilhelmina’s, but it was dark and the curtains were drawn. I’d never seen it so uninviting.
Dave’s lights were on, so I knocked. A moment later he opened the door. “Hey, there. My favorite neighbor. Come on in.”
It was as though the other night had never happened. I thought about asking him what he’d meant but decided it might be more prudent to forget about it…for now.
He shut the door behind me and then quickly moved into his living room ahead of me to offer me a chair. “What would you like to drink?”
“Iced tea?”
“The Long Island variety?”
“No. I don’t think I could handle alcohol right now.”
He frowned, and I knew he was dying to ask but wouldn’t allow himself until he’d satisfied his hosting duties. In many ways, Dave was transparent and his emotions played across his face, which made me like and trust him. However, there were other layers to him that were not so easy to ascertain. Sometimes he seemed to be speaking in code. He didn’t express hostility, but he seemed to expect me to understand.
While he puttered in the kitchen, I looked around his funky beach house. He owned lots of unusual things, such as oil paintings of a Moro pirate and his mate, five-foot turned antique candle stands, and a lava lamp. He seemed to like lots of open space because there was no clutter, paper or otherwise, and all the furniture had low, clean lines.
When he set an iced tea with sprigs of mint in front of me on a cork coaster, he asked, “What’s going on in your life that’s fraying your edges?”
“I was worried about being lonely here, but my place seems to have turned into Grand Central.”
“You’ve been partying without me? I’m hurt!” Dave put his hand over his heart.
I laughed. “Hardly. You know I’d invite you if I were actually throwing parties.” Then I had another thought. “Dave, what do you think of the gamers?”
“I don’t have an opinion of the online stuff. I don’t do it. I’m a live action kinda guy.” He winked at me.
“That’s a no
-brainer.” I laughed. “No, I meant the bunch that occasionally inhabits our beach.”
“There are several groups of gamers and cosplayers at the college, and many of them like our beach. The vampire crowd.” He thought for a moment. “The steampunk group, but they also hang out at a Victorian club in town. The superhero bunch doesn’t hang around down here.”
“Okay, so riddle me this, Batman, what about the gamers believing they’re vampires?”
“Not the steampunk crowd. Totally wrong vibe. The others…” He shrugged.
“That was pretty definite.”
He paused again. “Perhaps that was a bit cut and dried.” He laughed, a gentle, easy sound. “Look, there are certainly people up in the City who think they’re vampires and people who want desperately to be vampires and there are blood drinkers, but I don’t believe your average gamer, even the vampire gamers, thinks for a half-second that he or she is really a vampire. They’re just suspending their disbelief for a while to play the same as you do when you read a book.”
“There is a lure to wanting to live forever,” I said.
“You could also argue that authors write books and painters paint pictures in order to live forever. To live in memory. Forever young. And isn’t that the essence of the vampire legend?”
“So you think part of the reason for pretending to be vampires is a desire for immortality? Wouldn’t that buy-in make them more likely to have murdered Alan? To play out some ritual? To get in touch with other planes of reality? I’ve heard about things like it in the news.”
Dave got up and paced over to the patio window. I could tell he was really uncomfortable, and I wondered why. Some childhood memory, perhaps?
Finally, he turned. “I think you’re really barking up the wrong tree. I don’t care what you see on TV or read in the papers, a fantasy life is not a sufficient motive for murder. Look for a motive of passion. Love, hate, gain, or jealousy.”
I remembered the list of suspects we’d been working on before I came over. We’d listed jealousy and gain for a couple of people.
“So you agree with Brendan,” I said. “The gamers are disillusioned romantics, creating a world that’s more interesting to them than the one they’re living in.”
“You could say that. We all try to recreate our everyday lives with a little…” He shrugged and smiled his lopsided grin. “Pizzazz.”
Now was the time. “Dave, what’s your take on Marcy.”
The laid-back Dave visibly jumped. “She’s…ah…we need a vet in the area.”
That was about as noncommittal as you could get. “How long have you known her?”
He shrugged and regained his composure. “Her family is from the area but moved north when they came into money. I know she moved back relatively recently. I don’t really know her.” He put a slight emphasis on the word know. “I don’t have animals, so I have no need to visit a vet. I enjoy the free animals who live around me, and they have no desire to see a vet.”
“But she attended the séances.”
“Yes.”
Clearly, he wasn’t going to tell me anything more.
“I have a few photos of some people who might have lived or worked near here a number of years ago.” I sensed reluctance. “They’re probably a bit before your time.” I spread them out quickly on the coffee table.
Dave thumbed through them, shaking his head. “Not really my time period.”
I gathered them back up. “Thanks, Dave. You’ve given me a lot to mull over.”
He walked me to the door. “You’re welcome anytime.” But he seemed much more serious and contemplative than when I’d arrived.
I hadn’t found out much about the history of the place, but I walked out to the lane and turned uphill to Mina’s place and was glad to see it open and radiating welcome. Mina met me at the door and gestured me in.
I followed her into what I would describe as a parlor as opposed to the living room. It was a lovely, formal room of chairs, plants, small tables, and framed pictures. On the table between two Queen Anne chairs, a tea service awaited us, the teapot adorned by a purple quilted cozy.
Mina removed the cozy and poured two steaming cups of tea. Then she offered me a plate of lemon bars. My stomach growled. It was lunchtime.
I only sipped the tea, having just had an iced tea, but I selected a lemon bar and took a bite. Yummy. “Did you make these?”
“I did. My mother’s recipe handed down. I’m glad you like them.” She sipped her tea. “Are you ready to hear a little of the history of our town?”
“Absolutely. How did you know?”
She tilted her head. “You’ve been here long enough to have gotten through the essentials of moving in. I thought you might be ready for a little depth.”
“Exactly so.” The tea was delicious and nice and hot. I wondered if she had tea by herself if she received no visitors. Either that or she was seriously psychic.
Mina settled back in her chair with her cup. “My family has been here for many generations, and I’ve seen many changes. It’s an unusual little town in many ways, and just like every other small town the world over in many others. There are layers of folks here. The old ones form the spine of the community. As new groups arrive, they become the sinews, the flesh, and our communications, our sharing is the blood.”
I took a sip to give myself a moment to think about her metaphor. “I like that. It’s very inclusive that people are incorporated into the body and life of the town. I recently acquired some photographs of people who either lived in my cottage or spent time in the vicinity. Some have partial names or nicknames on the backs. I’m wondering…”
“If I know who they are.” She shrugged delicately. “I might. Do you have them with you?”
I opened the plastic sleeve and pulled out the photos.
Mina took them from me, looking over each thoughtfully and then reading the names on the back. “This is Al Hanrahan. Big Al. He knew my father, but he left the area after some business deal went bad. I don’t really know much about it. My father never mentioned him again after he left.” She flipped through a few more, pausing at the car. She flipped the picture over and laughed. “Breezer. That’s an old term. Nice car. I don’t care for today’s chubby cars in their boring neutral shades.” She finished the stack. “I’m afraid I wasn’t much help, but maybe something will come to me later or perhaps you have other pictures?”
“I do have some others back at the house.” I slipped the photos back in their sleeve. “I was wondering if you could tell me a bit about my cottage, its history, and the people who lived there. Maybe you know something about the first woman who died on the beach?”
Mina refreshed our tea. “Oh, Doris wasn’t the first person to die on your beach. Hundreds of people have died there since the dawn of time.”
“Good point, but I’m interested in Doris and how her story is intertwined with the cottage.”
Mina nodded knowingly. “I see you’ve gotten to know your ghost.”
I stared at her, thinking back to her first nervous visit to me in the cottage. She knew Doris was there. Why had she been nervous about her?
Chapter 16
In her uncanny fashion, she said, “The last time I saw her, she was a hurricane of anger, rampaging through your house. When I visited you, I expected a repeat performance. I’m delighted to be wrong.”
“The last time you saw her?”
“I was there at the séance that conjured her, and I was there when she chased us all out with death threats if any of us ever returned.”
When she smiled, I could see hints of what she must have been like when young. “Can you tell me anything more about her?”
She shook her head. “I’m afraid I don’t have the answers you seek. At least not those particular answers. However, I may know some others who can help you. Let me see what I can do. This is a complicated little town with some well-hidden secrets.”
I finished my tea. “Thanks. I really appreciat
e it.” I stood. “If you want to see some of the other things we found in the house, please come down whenever you can.”
Mina stood. “I will.”
The wind was picking up as I walked down to my place.
I let myself in and found Jack and Gillian sitting at the table, still going through papers. “Are you guys still at it?”
“We couldn’t stop ourselves from diving a little more deeply than we’d intended into the papers. Doris joined us while you were out. Even Thor fell asleep in one of the boxes.” She stretched and yawned. “I think we satisfied our curiosity. There are some tantalizing bits and pieces. Doris’ family was one of about half a dozen who’ve been here for generations. Their histories are entwined to the point that some legends grew up around some of them. Hers reminded me of Romeo and Juliet except that they were murdered instead of killing themselves.”
“That’s kind of a major difference.” I picked up the coffee pot and topped off her mug.
She shrugged. “True, but the significance is that their families were against their relationship. That always leads to trouble.”
Jack added, “Trouble. Death. Dismemberment.”
“You are so cheerful, Jack. Give me your cup.”
He held it out to me, and I topped it off.
“According to Mina, Big Al is Al Hanrahan, and he was a businessman down here but ran into some trouble. Mina’s father knew him.” Gillian made a note. “We can try to find him.”
“Did you get the shelving up in the pantry and over the washer and dryer? If so, I’ll let you guys leave and go back to your lives. Thank you so much. I can’t believe how much work we’ve gotten done. I feel at home now.”
“No problem, and I am ready to sleep in my own bed.”
“Tell you what. I’ll treat you to a late lunch if you haven’t eaten. There’s a fruitarian restaurant called Melon-choly I’m really curious about. There’s a vegan place called Callie’s Flower. And Soupçon for sandwiches…and soup!”
“I like the sound of Soupçon. Let’s go there,” Gillian said. “Have you eaten there?”
“Yes, actually. I like their food,” I said, picking up my keys.
****
When we got back from lunch, I parked my Subaru at the curb in front of my cottage and turned off the engine. “Looks like we have company.”
