“Don’t you want to know about that girl who jumped off the balcony?” Maddox asks to my rear.
I close my eyes and exhale. Do I? I ask myself because I so want Lori’s haunting to go away and the more information I receive, the worst this nightmare gets. On the other hand, I want to help Lori make whatever transition happens when you solve a ghost mystery.
When I turn back to Maddox, he’s holding a paper in his hand. “I don’t know how you know these things and I still don’t believe in ghosts, but you should read this.”
I take the paper, and Maddox opens the front door and lets a blast of wet air inside. “You didn’t get it from me,” is the last thing he says as he disappears into the brutal weather.
It’s a police report from the day Lori died, a Xerox of something old and faded. Underneath it lies a copy of the coroner’s report. I fold both up and head back to my table because Miss Mary or whatever her name is has arrived with a platter of desserts and is making an announcement. I sit down and slip Lori’s reports into my purse while I half listen to what the proprietor is saying about chocolate mousse and apple tarts.
“I’m going to get the fruit cocktail,” Richard announces to my right. “It’s ridiculous to eat all these unhealthy sweets they serve us.”
I hadn’t realized Richard was sitting next to me, had been so preoccupied with my mysterious masseuse and TB hauling home in the storm. I’m so not in the mood to listen to his diatribes and for spite, I ask for two desserts, a pecan pie topped with vanilla ice cream and a strawberry shortcake. I gaze at Richard and his cup of peach slices and moan with every bite I take of my rich pie.
“Go ahead,” Richard says to me. “Kill yourself.”
“I will.” I slide the fork over my lips seductively so that every crumb of that pecan pie rests in my mouth while I close my eyes in pleasure. “And I will love every minute of it.”
Richard doesn’t let me have the last word, however. “Typical.”
I can’t help myself, even though my brain is screaming to leave it alone. “Typical what?”
“Take as much as you can get, sister. That’s what you guys in New Orleans love to do, isn’t it?”
It’s common science, the way a levee breaks. No matter how high you build the hill, no matter how many you spread throughout a city’s waterways, the pressure that builds from massive amounts of water will eventually cause the earthen masses to crumble and break.
All the hauntings and aggravation of the past few days — not to mention the pain of Katrina and the years living in abject grief — have built up to this moment and my levee bursts open. I grip my fork tightly like a weapon and stab it hard into the uneaten scone lying on Richard’s plate. I raise myself up enough so that I’m right in his face. “Don’t you dare talk about my city, you asshole. Just Shut. The. Fuck. Up.”
Richard says nothing, his eyes wide in astonishment. I would have laughed had he not leaned back in his chair to get away from my insanity and it reminded me of James standing on the threshold of Gene Tanner’s office. Shit, what have I done?
I feel two strong hands on my shoulders and a soft voice telling me to drop the fork. I do as I’m told, now alarmed at my actions as if someone took over my body and did that crazy deed, while those hands guide me away from the table and the shocked expression on Miss Mary’s face. By the time I’m a few feet away, I realize it’s Henry at my side and he’s telling me we’re heading back to the hotel. Suddenly, Winnie’s there too, placing my purse on my shoulder and whispering that everything’s going to be okay. Before I can fully gauge what’s happening, Henry and I are heading out the door of Miss Mary’s, into the rain and the nearby van. Henry says nothing as we climb into our seats and we drive away, the windshield wipers beating out an exhaustive rhythm and his silence shames me more than any words would ever do.
“I’m sorry Henry.”
“It’s okay, Vi.”
I’m not convinced. He must be furious with me and now I’ll never be asked back on a press trip. “I didn’t mean to. Richard’s such an asshole and he won’t shut up about New Orleans.”
“I know, Vi. It’s okay.”
I look over and Henry’s not smiling. He’s pissed, I know it, and I just ruined my new career, stabbed it with a fork, no less. I pull my knees to my chest and bury my face there.
“Have you thought about counseling?”
He says it so softly I’m not sure I heard right. “What?”
“I don’t think you’ve realized what you’ve been through. Post-traumatic stress comes in a variety of forms. It can sneak up on you when you least expect it.”
Henry sounds like he’s speaking from experience, but I doubt that. He’s such an easy-going guy, always smiling, always peacefully amiable. Although right now he’s probably ready to strangle me silly. “It was a hurricane, Henry, not like I went to Afghanistan.”
“The worst hurricane in U.S. history.”
Being the journalist I am I want to say that Galveston suffered the worst hurricane in 1900, although that’s probably registered from the massive death toll. I start to compare Katrina’s damage costs to the Texas island, and maybe add the deaths of New Orleanians who died after Katrina, when my brain screams for me to shut up. “Maybe I am losing my mind,” I whisper out loud.
“You’re not going crazy, Vi. You had a horrible thing happen to you and it’s best that you get some help, to work through it all.”
Tears pool in my eyes. It’s one thing for me to worry about my sanity but not the man who is part of a new life that’s supposed to heal me, rescue me from boredom, grief and non-fulfillment.
As we climb the mountainside to the Crescent Hotel, I feel a hand touch my forearm, which makes the tears pour over. “Promise me you’ll get some counseling,” Henry asks.
I nod, even though I know he can’t see me, since he’s so intent on driving through the rain, and that warm hand moves away. We pull up to the overhang that leads to the hotel lobby and I wipe the tears away.
“Get some rest,” Henry instructs me. “I’ll go back and get the rest of the group and we’ll meet in the lobby in about forty-five minutes for the trip back to Bentonville. We’re not going to fly out today because of the weather so I have a hotel reservation for us near the airport. Flights should resume in the morning.”
Having to face another night with Richard makes my heart sink. As if Henry reads my mind, he adds, “I’ll talk to Richard and make him behave. I promise.”
“Thanks” is all I can manage and I grab the door handle to leave.
I don’t know why I confess my secret but something out of this world encourages me to do so and for the first time since I started seeing dead folks, I really listen and take their advice, whoever they are. I turn back to Henry. “I see ghosts,” I tell him, not caring what his reaction will be. I know my career is sunk so what difference does it make? “I saw those dead girls as clearly as day and I don’t know why except that maybe they wanted to be found. The cop today, he found their killer and solved an old mystery. I know how crazy this sounds but I swear Henry, it’s true.”
Henry doesn’t answer, nods his head.
I hear something else, an ethereal message that comes through now that I have left the front door open. Again, I embrace it, spilling my guts without even thinking. “And your brother wants you to know that it wasn’t your fault. He decided to take the car out that night and now wishes he hadn’t but he takes full responsibility for his death. He says you should not feel guilty about it. He’s in a very good place and is very happy and at peace.”
Henry looks shocked and pained at the same time, turns away from me and stares out the front windshield. I don’t know where that information came from and what I just told him but I sense Henry needs his privacy now that I have passed on the message. I quietly exit the van and head into the hotel holding my collars high to ward off the rain. When I look back to the van, Henry is still waiting there, his gaze staring vacantly out into the rain.
But I’m never alone anymore. I sigh and gaze up at Lori, dripping on my carpet outside the bathroom door.
“I can’t help you,” I plead. “Please leave me alone.”
She looks inside the bathroom, then back at me with those sad, pleading eyes.
“I don’t know what you want from me.” I sound like a two-year-old whining. “My life is over as I know it so can’t you leave me alone?”
Lori appears as if I stabbed her and begins to fade. I’ve hurt her feelings and the idea that I can do that to a ghost startles me.
Then I remember the police report. “Wait,” I tell Lori, and her image remains steady. “I might have answers.”
I pull out the papers Maddox gave me, and read the police report first, which states that Lauralei Annabelle Thorne — her first name is blurry which might be why the tour guides call her Annabelle — fell from a fourth-floor balcony at approximately ten-thirty September third, nineteen hundred and twenty-four. She was barefoot, no socks or stockings, and dressed in her college uniform, which appeared to be a size too small. In parenthesis, it notes that her skirt was on backwards.
“Odd,” I say, glancing up at my haunting. “Was the skirt tight because you were pregnant?”
She shakes her head and I continue reading. “The subject appears to have died from her head hitting the pavement after the fall.”
I look up again and Lori is still shaking her head.
“This is odd too,” I tell her, reading the last part. “It says your hair was soaking wet. The cop mentions it raining that night but not between the hours of eight and midnight so he wonders if he has the time wrong. The person who called in the accident did so around ten forty-five, so the cop, in his notes, has ‘before eight?’ at the bottom of this report. But, he adds, the basketball team went jogging around eight once the rains stopped and they left the building at this spot and returned one hour later and never saw the subject,” I glance up at Lori and add, “That’s you.”
I read aloud the last sentence that appears to be typed on to the report at a later date; the ink is different: “‘With no other evidence to support differently, the subject committed suicide at ten-thirty p.m.’”
That’s it? Nothing more? Certainly suspicious to me but the report is brief and conclusive. I look at Lori who implores me with her eyes. “Okay, okay.” I pull the other paper out and read the coroner’s report.
“The suspect died from a head injury after falling three floors to her death. There was significant blood pouring from the cranium, which appears to be the cause of death.”
Again, brief and conclusive. I look at Lori and she shakes her head, so I keep reading, “The subject had blood on her genitalia and thighs, the post-partum bleeding of a pregnancy. She likely had a child within the week.”
There’s more but I pause to let this last piece of knowledge sink it. “Where is the baby?”
For the first time since I have set foot in this hotel, Lori’s eyes light up and she appears almost happy. That’s it, I think, she died here after giving birth and she probably wants to know what happened to her child but how the hell am I supposed to figure that one out?
“So you got pregnant by James in the fall of nineteen hundred and twenty-three and came back here in September of twenty-four for what? To tell James about the child?”
She’s fading and I can’t tell if she nodded or not but the light remains in her eyes so I assume I’m on the right track.
“Then someone drowned you in the bathtub, dressed you in someone’s uniform — possibly the girl who lived in this room at the time since it didn’t fit and you weren’t going to school here then — and threw you off the balcony to make it look like a suicide?”
I’m on the right track, I feel it in my bones, but Lori’s starting to look aggravated again, like I’m missing something. Still, I focus on the murder.
“Was it James who killed you?”
She shakes her head but she’s really fading now, imploring me again with those sad grey eyes.
“The girl in this room?”
Now, she looks angry but I haven’t a clue who it might have been, so I’m angry myself. “I don’t know who killed you, Lori. And I have no idea where your baby went.”
She fades instantly, but not before sending me a look defining me as the failure I am.
“It’s not fair,” I yell to the empty space she leaves behind. “I didn’t ask for this.”
There’s a knock on the door behind me and I jump. The only thing that would be the cherry on top of this horrid day would be Henry standing on the other side with two men dressed in white holding a straightjacket. I could take Henry’s arm and say in my finest Southern accent, “I’ve always relied on the kindness of strangers.” Alas, there’s no Tennessee Williams for me as I gingerly open the door and peer outside and find Miss Georgia looking at me wide-eyed and cautious.
“Who are you talking to?”
I laugh nervously. “No one. Just the TV. Dr. Phil had some whiner on there and I tend to talk back to losers like that.”
She doesn’t share in my mirth, looks at me like the crazy person I am. And I’m not in the mood. “Something you want?” I ask a little too brusquely.
Kelly looks off down the hall as if she’s doubting her visit to my doorstep, but she responds, “We’re leaving in about twenty minutes, heading back to Bentonville.”
“Yeah, I know. Henry told me.”
Finally, she looks me in the eye. “I don’t know if you remember but I had to drive here the first night, so I have a rental that needs to be returned.”
How does this affect me, Beauty Queen? I want to ask. Instead, I politely say, “Okay.” Such a woman of words I am.
“I can return it to the airport in the morning but I checked Springfield and they have flights going out tonight so I thought I would drive back to Missouri instead.”
“Good for you.” What does she want, a pat on the back?
“I also checked the radar and there’s a lull in the rain for the next two hours, thought maybe you’d like to drive with me to Springfield.”
Hot dog. Now we’re talking. Maybe the universe is finally showing pity on my sorry ass. “Yes,” I answer way too enthusiastically, which makes her step back. “Yes, yes.”
“O-kay,” she says like a true Southerner, using three syllables instead of two. I can see she’s having second thoughts about asking me, probably thinking I’m nuts after all, but my instant eagerness won’t let her change her mind without appearing rude and I’m running with that.
“I really would rather not ride in the van with Richard,” I quickly add with a smile as sane as I can manage. “Know what I mean?”
Finally, Kelly relaxes. “He’s such an asshole.”
I nod and smile, still trying to appear as if I didn’t have a conversation with a ghost only minutes before and hadn’t stabbed a scone to death over lunch. “When do you want to go?”
“Five, ten minutes?”
“Yes, yes.”
Again, I’m way too enthusiastic and I can tell Kelly might be regretting asking me, but she smiles and heads back to her room. “Just knock when you’re ready.”
I throw everything I own into my polka dot suitcase, take one last look at my haunted room — sans ghost — and am at my next-door
neighbor’s door in four. Surprisingly enough, Kelly’s ready to go, although she pulls two designer bags behind her to the elevator, enlisting my help with her laptop and giant makeup bag. I struggle balancing my suitcase and laptop plus her stuff but I don’t complain; I’m heading home without having to face Richard or Henry.
Once we get to the car and load up the trunk — the rain has indeed decided to pause — Kelly hands me the keys. “Do you mind driving first? I had an exhausting night last night.”
“Sure.” Whatever. Just let me leave this place in peace.
We head north out of Eureka Springs toward Missouri and even though I’m glad to be away, my heart drops. I loved this town and had such hopes for my new career, so wish things had been different. I strike up a conversation with my co-traveler to escape the pain of thinking of the last few days. “What happened last night? Couldn’t sleep?”
Remember when Scarlet grins thinking of Ashley Wilkes in Gone With the Wind? That’s what Kelly looks like now, her elegant curls falling about her shoulders as she shrugs coquettishly. Seriously, the scene could be something out of a movie.
“That adorable cop you were talking to? Maddox? He kept me up all night, that rascal. I would have sent him home, but he was so good at repeatedly taking away my sleep, if you know what I mean.”
No, darling, I really don’t, I think inside my head as blood pressure builds. Silly me, thought my day was improving.
Thankfully, Kelly slides down low in her seat and rests her head against the window on top of a cashmere sweater and falls fast asleep. I’m grateful for the quiet, although right now I wish I had another fork.
The drive through the rest of Arkansas is uneventful but once we hit Missouri the rains start up again and I clinch the steering wheel so tight gazing out into the pelting rain that I’m afraid Enterprise will have to pry my fingers off when we get to Springfield. It’s like this for miles and I’m exhausted, fighting to keep my eyes open and alert. After an hour of slow moving along the interstate I decide to stop at the next exit and get some coffee. Amazingly enough, the sign announces exits to Branson and I almost start crying. I grab my phone and flip it open, hope to god that I can pull up Aunt Mimi’s number easily and not go flying off the road into water-logged ditches. After thumbing down the list I finally spot her and hit talk. She answers on the first ring.
A Ghost of a Chance Page 21
