She let out a heavy sigh, then donned her coat and stuffed her cell, wallet, and room key into the pockets. She definitely needed something, so if the office didn’t have coffee, then maybe she’d grab a soda from the machine. She was just stepping out into the frosty air as the sheriff was pulling into a parking space nearby.
She gave him a quick wave, then checked her door to be sure it was locked. Stepping off the sidewalk and skirting around the nose of her own vehicle, she drew up alongside the cruiser and climbed in.
“You’re early,” she said.
“Yeah. Bad habit of mine,” Skip replied, then pointed toward the floorboard on the passenger side. “That thermos there next to your left foot is full of coffee. It’s fresh.”
“You read my mind,” she replied with an almost thankful tone in her voice. Shifting in the seat, she leaned forward and reached for the dinged, gray metal cylinder.
“I just figured Artie still hasn’t put any coffeepots in the rooms,” he told her.
“You figured correctly.”
“Not surprising, the cheap old coot. Go on ahead and use the cap,” he offered. “It’s clean, and I already had my fill at home.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“Oh yeah, and it’s just black. Hope that’ll do.”
“That’s fine. Right now I don’t care, as long as it’s hot and has caffeine.”
Skip was sitting slightly twisted in his seat, the back of his shoulder resting against the inner driver’s side door and his left hand lazily hooked onto the top of the steering wheel. Reaching up with his right hand, he used his thumb and forefinger to smooth down his mustache while regarding her quietly. After a few heartbeats had thumped by, he asked, “So... About an hour’n a half? Maybe two?”
“What?” Constance asked while twisting the inner cap back onto the top of the thermos she was now squeezing between her knees.
“Sleep,” he said. “No offense, young lady, but you look like crap.”
She took a sip of the freshly poured java, then nodded. “Oh… Yeah… About two, I think. Which makes a total of maybe six in the past two days. Last night I just couldn’t stop thinking about...”
“Yeah, I know,” he agreed as her voice trailed off. “That’s not all that unusual. Oh, and trust me, I wasn’t trying to insult you. I know I look like crap too. Three fingers of bourbon and a sleeping pill didn’t do me much good last night either. Never does this time of year.”
“Yeah,” was all Constance could think of to say in that moment. She took another sip of the hot brew, then stared thoughtfully at the thick fingers of steam rising from the metal cup. “Have you checked on her this morning?”
“Yep… Always do.”
“How is she?”
“On the outside, just like I said: starin’ off into space.” He paused and drew in a deep breath. “On the inside, I’m afraid nobody really knows what’s goin’ on except her. And since there’s not a damn thing I can do to fix it, I try not to think about it too much… Hard not to, though... Guess you found that out last night.”
Once again, words failed her. “Yeah.”
“So, do you want to stop over at That Place and grab breakfast first?”
She shook her head. “No. I’ll grab something later.”
“Okay… Well, go on then. Buckle up,” the sheriff instructed with a wave of his hand, then shifted around in his seat and levered the cruiser into reverse. He cast his gaze over his shoulder and began to back the vehicle out of its parking space as he added, “We’ve got police work to do.”
IN the fresh light of morning, the house at 632 Evergreen Lane on the north side of Hulis Township was still a simple one and one-half story bungalow, sitting on an average-sized lot, with a bare-branched, somewhat malformed pin oak tree rising out of the front yard. The white paint on the clapboard siding was still dull and peeling, and the gutter was still separated from the fascia on the left front corner; and it was still held up only by the grace of the downspout that was barely clinging to the wall itself. And the weathered plywood was still covering the windows.
However, now the old dormant tree looked like nothing more than an old dormant tree. The house looked like nothing more than an old abandoned house, and the plywood looked like nothing more than what it was—weathered plywood covering windows.
And just as the light had washed away the eerie shadows, it also revealed a few other salient issues, such as the glass missing from the storm door, some absent shingles, and a desperate need for tuck pointing on the brick chimney.
However, the one thing that truly stood out to Constance was that in this light, the house gave no outward indication of the horrors that had occurred inside over the years. Still, even that fact couldn’t keep the uncomfortable prickling sensation from crawling across the back of her neck once again.
They had pulled in and parked behind a patrol car that was already in front of the house. After climbing out of his own cruiser, the sheriff ambled over to the driver’s side of the first vehicle while Constance waited in the yard. The deputy inside rolled down her window as he approached.
“Morning, Skip,” she said.
“Mornin’, Mel,” he replied. “Thought Johnson was supposed to relieve you around seven?”
“Clovis radioed. His kid’s sick and he’s running late,” she replied.
“Ahh, okay,” he grunted. “Didn’t know. Haven’t been by the office yet this morning. So, all quiet I guess?”
“Just like always,” Mel replied then nodded toward the yard where Constance was standing. “That the Fed? Clovis said they sent another new one this time.”
He rested an arm on top of the car and leaned in a bit closer, lowering his voice. “Yeah. Gotta do the annual tour.”
“Think she’ll figure it out?”
“Guess we’ll see. Not holdin’ my breath, but I gotta say, she’s different from the others. So... Maybe...”
“Different how?”
He shrugged with his eyebrows and continued to keep his voice low. “Just somethin’ about her seems a little driven.”
Mel glanced toward Constance, who was standing in the center of the yard with her back to them as she visually inspected the exterior of the house. Turning back to Skip she said, “So… Have you told her anything?”
Carmichael gave his head a small shake. “Just the official spiel, like always.”
“But if she’s really different–” Mel began.
He cut her off. “Different doesn’t mean she’ll believe… Nope… Better to just let things take their course…”
The deputy nodded. “I’m sure you’re right.”
“Believe me, I know how you feel, Mel,” Skip offered in a fatherly tone. “It sure wouldn’t hurt my feelings to get an answer to all this either… Just don’t wanna get too hopeful, you know?”
“Yeah, Skip. I know.”
He shrugged, then straightened his posture and hitched up his belt. After repositioning the flashlight he was carrying tucked under his armpit, he nodded toward the house. When he spoke, he allowed his voice to return to a normal volume. “I expect we’re gonna be here for a bit. Why don’t you go grab some breakfast, and maybe Johnson’ll be in by the time we’re done, and that way you can go home.”
“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Mel replied, reaching for the steering column and cranking the engine on the patrol car. “Thanks, Skip. I’ll swing back by in a bit, unless I hear from you or Clovis.”
“Sounds good.”
The sheriff took a step back and waited for the car to drive off before meandering over to join Constance on the overgrown concrete walkway somewhere near the center of the yard.
“Everything okay?” she asked as he drew up alongside her.
“Yeah, nothing earth shattering,” he grunted as they began walking toward the house. “Got a deputy with a sick kid. Might mean rearranging some schedules.”
She nodded. “Sorry I didn’t introduce myself to the deputy. I’m just not feeling ov
erly social this morning.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” he replied, motioning for her to go ahead up the stairs. “All she’s interested in right now is hitting the sack.”
“I can imagine.”
“I see you took my advice,” Skip said, nodding toward the porch in front of Constance as he stepped up and dug a hand into his coat pocket.
“What? Oh...” Constance replied, glancing down at the running shoes that were laced onto her feet. Looking back up, she cocked her head to the side. “No offense, Skip, but you seem to have an odd preoccupation with my footwear.”
“I just notice things is all,” he told her with a shrug. He pulled out a key ring, then clucking his tongue, he waved it toward her like a pointer. “For instance, the fact that you also have a goose egg on the back of your head, probably from hitting it against the desk in your room last night when you were plugging in your laptop computer to the Internet. Plus you’re expecting a call from someone and it’s starting to bother you that he hasn’t called yet.”
She cocked an eyebrow and stared at him.
He answered the unspoken question, continuing to gesture with the keys. “You keep reaching up to touch a spot on the back of your head and then you wince. You probably don’t even realize you’re doing it. You’re a federal cop on a case, so I’m just about positive you’re dragging a laptop computer around. Greenleaf Motel doesn’t do Wi-Fi because Artie’s too cheap to buy the equipment, and the jack for the wired connection is under the desks in the rooms. Hell, the only reason he has wired connections is because his son’s an electronics guy and he did it for free with some surplus from other jobs. So if I had to guess I’d say you came up too soon and bang, there you go. Goose egg.”
He pointed toward her right coat pocket and continued. “As far as the call goes, you checked your cell phone four times on the way over here and at least twice while I was talking to Deputy Slozar. Either you have a fascination with clocks, or your waiting for a call, or maybe a text.”
“Okay. So how do you know it’s a he I’m waiting for?”
“Educated guess. I’ve told you, this isn’t my first rodeo. Every one of your predecessors called their predecessor about this case. And every one of ‘em was all antsy waitin’ for a call back. Last agent on this was Drew, and he’s a ‘he,’ best I could figure. My guess is that’s who you’re waitin’ on to call. Either that or a boyfriend. Maybe husband, but I doubt it because you don’t have a ring or show any signs of having worn one. Of course, I could be wrong. Maybe you go the other way or somethin’, which is none of my business.”
“If I did, I have a feeling you probably would have already figured it out,” Constance said.
“Yeah, probably,” he returned.
She sighed. “Uncanny. That’s all I have to say.”
“Nope. I just pay attention is all.”
“Okay. Then I guess it would be uncanny if you could tell me what I ate for dinner last night,” she joked.
“Cobb salad with ranch dressing. In your room at the motel.”
She shot him an alarmed, wide-eyed stare and took a visible step back, tensing her posture.
“Keep it holstered, Constance,” the sheriff half snorted. “I’m not spying on you. Stella told me your to-go order this morning when I stopped in to get the thermos filled.”
“Why would she do that?”
“Because you’re a stranger in town and she’s a damn gossip that won’t shut up to save her life, that’s why,” he explained.
“Ahh,” she nodded. “After her call to the retirement home yesterday I should have guessed that.”
“Yeah, you should’ve, but I wasn’t going to say it.”
She ignored the gibe. “Well, at least now I know you aren’t just a dirty old man with a shoe fetish.”
“Me, no, but since you brought it up, Ed Ruble over at the hardware store on Main? Now he has himself a pretty serious thing for ladies’ shoes.”
Constance shook her head and raised an eyebrow. “Stella again?”
“Nope. Figured that one out on my own. Easy enough to do.”
“I’m not sure I even want to know how.”
“Like I said, I notice things. It’s my job to.”
“It’s still uncanny.”
“Whatever. Anyhow, as far as Ed goes, honestly he’s harmless. But while you’re in town you might want to avoid him if that sorta thing makes you uncomfortable.”
“Well, I don’t think I’ll have any need for a trip to the hardware store, but it’s okay. I’ve got some experience with men who have shoe fetishes, so nothing to worry about.”
“Well I guess we’re even then.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I’m not sure I want to know about how you’ve got experience with that,” he replied.
Without further comment, Carmichael turned and shoved a key into the lock. After giving it a twist, he depressed the latch beneath the deadbolt and pushed the now unsecured door inward. Stepping back, he gestured toward the opening. “Ladies first.”
Constance looked past him and trained her eyes on the gaping maw that was pretending to be a doorway. The bizarre conversation had momentarily taken her mind off the chill in her spine, but the sensation had never actually left. Now her thoughts returned to it, and she could feel the gooseflesh rippling at the base of her neck. Ben had told her to trust her gut, but she wasn’t so sure this was her gut talking. Of course, she also couldn’t say that it wasn’t. All she knew for certain was that she was operating on even less sleep now than she had been before, so exhaustion could still be playing a role.
At least this time she wasn’t letting it spook her—well, not completely, anyway.
She nodded then stepped across the threshold and into the dark front room. Outside it was overcast, just as it had been the day before, but at least the sun was climbing behind the clouds instead of falling below the horizon. Even so, only a dim, gray light spilled in, and it brought an eerie illumination to the interior.
Sheriff Carmichael followed her through and left the door hanging wide open so that they could see. He pulled the five-cell flashlight from beneath his armpit and switched it on. The yellow-white beam formed a bright pool on the floor, casting an ever-softening glow out from the center as he twisted the lens to adjust it wider.
“A few years back there was talk of tearin’ this old place down,” he offered. “Sorta been wishin’ they had ever since.”
“I assume it has been vacant for a good while?” Constance asked, glancing around at the empty walls and scuffed hardwood floor.
“Coming up on about seven years, give or take,” he replied. “Like I said, it has been off and on. It was empty back in seventy-five, as you already know, and what happened didn’t exactly help its value. Someone did finally buy it around seventy-seven for next to nothin’, or so I heard. I was in KC by then. They fixed it up a bit.” He shone the light along the floor, then through an arched doorway and toward the back of the house. “Re-did the kitchen, tore off the old back porch. Normal stuff.” He played the beam around a bit so she could get the lay of the floor plan. “Those folks lived here awhile, then moved. Don’t know why. After that it changed hands a couple more times. Last owner was actually living here when the first body showed up seven years ago. Well, I guess in a couple of days it’ll be eight years...”
She turned toward the sheriff. “That wasn’t in the file. I assume that owner was investigated?”
“Much as need be,” he replied. “Ida Smith. She was eighty-nine, and when she found the...well...what she found... Anyway, it didn’t do her heart much good, as you can imagine. She never was the same after that. Kinda went downhill fast, then she passed away about eight months later. Place has been empty ever since.”
“Well, that definitely rules her out.”
“Yeah, I’d say so.”
“Who owns it now?”
“Hulis, pretty much. Ida didn’t have any family left to speak of. T
own took it over. Tried to sell it, but after the second body showed up, there wasn’t much interest, as you can guess. So, they just boarded it up.”
“Why haven’t they just torn it down?”
He snorted. “Beats the hell outta me. But I’ve got nothin’ to say about it. That’s all the town council.”
“Well, it actually looks like it’s in decent shape for sitting vacant as long as it has,” Constance observed.
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” he sighed. “Could use some work, but it’s still standin’. Sometimes when I drive by here it seems like the place is just mocking all of us. I know that sounds kinda crazy. It’s just a damned old house.”
“With a seriously damned history,” she offered.
“Yeah...it’s got one of those all right. But it’s still an inanimate object.”
“What happened to it being haunted?” Constance asked. “I thought I was the skeptic in this crowd?”
“You mean the skeptic who’s ‘seen stranger things’?” he quipped, tossing her comment from the night before back at her.
“Seeing isn’t necessarily believing,” she replied. “Not always, anyway.”
He fell silent for a moment, then huffed, “Yeah, I guess so. Anyway, what I said yesterday about the house being haunted… That was just talk. I don’t really buy into any of that supernatural crap.”
Constance thought back to some of the cases she’d worked in the past. She wasn’t going to admit it—especially now—but her skepticism was as much a hopeful optimism as anything else. Like he had just reminded her, she’d seen some pretty strange things, and there were a few she still had to take purely on faith.
Without realizing it, she muttered quietly to herself, “I guess you just never know…”
In The Bleak Midwinter: A Special Agent Constance Mandalay Novel Page 14
