There was an odd shape there, an almost-human-shaped smudge of grey.
“That's the second time my camera's caught that shape. Both times it was with Bernie. It's not my lens.” Mina already knew that, but she couldn't let him see it. She looked up at him, swallowing.
“And with the bones being found there, it can't be a coincidence. Now, I already had someone doing research on where your mom was before she came here. That was before our deal. They contacted me with what they'd found. After I saw this, I had to go to Nevada to follow the lead. There are some things I'd like to talk to you about. I know I made a promise, and I'll keep it, but Mina, I've seen a lot of weird things in my line of work. I've never seen anything like this.”
Mina gripped the edge of her seat. The image was disturbing, but after what she'd seen and heard, it only confirmed her suspicions. What caused the chill to travel up her spine was the thought of Calvin finding out the truth about Bernie; about what her mother had done. But protecting her mother's reputation paled now in comparison to her concern for Frank. He was still here. And she needed to make sure his secret stayed hidden.
Mina pulled the heavy camera closer and began flicking through the images. She had to know what else he'd been up to.
“No—Mina, give that back!”
She only held it tighter, clicking forward to the beginning, when he'd first arrived. Shots of her house. A few of Bernie. Then there was a picture of herself, going to get the mail. Leaving the house with Gladys. Close-ups of her face. Every time she'd left the house, if he was around, he'd taken her picture. They out-numbered shots of Bernie five-to-one, and Bernie went out every day. No wonder he was in trouble with his boss.
There were a few at the end that were different. There were artistic pictures of the abandoned gas station on the other end of town and what looked like close-up details of the ancient town hall.
Mina blinked, handing the camera back in a daze. She didn't know what to make of it.
“Don't be freaked out. It's not what you think.”
“Oh, good, because I thought I'd grossly underestimated the situation when I called you a stalker.”
“I swear, I'm not doing a story on you, and I didn't hack your website. Why would I do that? It's just that ...” He pinched his mouth shut, frustration etched on his face. Then he let out a ragged breath. “Something about taking your picture made me want to be a real photographer again.”
He looked completely vulnerable. His calm confidence had been replaced by anxious eyes, and his knuckles were white as he gripped the camera. Mina couldn’t afford to take a chance on Calvin. He had to be playing her.
She scooted to the edge of the car and swung her legs over the edge. Lou looked back, cussing as he pressed the brake again. She dropped onto the road, chewing her lip as Calvin looked at her, his expression pleading.
As much as she wanted to believe she'd never speak to Calvin again, she knew she'd have to find out how much he knew—and how to keep him quiet.
Chapter 16
Bringing Back Bernadette
Evan Locke scowled at the cover of People magazine. How could they have chosen Bruce Bryant for most desirable man in America? It's true, he was a good ten years younger than Evan, and passably attractive if you didn't count the weak chin. As CEO of a successful and relatively new software company, he had acquired an impressive amount of wealth very quickly. Translation: He was a glorified computer nerd.
Perhaps Evan was a little older, but he had a better physique, a strong jaw, and pale silver eyes that had more power over a woman than Brucey could ever dream of, even if the geek built one himself and had a remote control. Besides, a little salt-and-pepper maturity was considered desirable these days. Evan admired the signature streak of grey in the mirror. In a poll, women said that it made him look sophisticated, but also genuine. Never mind that it was as fake as the body double from his last movie. His agent always said the things his fans didn't know could fill a bank vault and were equally secure.
Evan had been assured this was in the bag. That was before the fiasco with Bernadette. Naturally people had taken her side, at least until she'd made a laughing stock of herself. PETA and animal sympathizers everywhere had been worked into a frenzy about the dog thing. Some applauded her work on the Ferrari, but mostly it just stripped her of her class. And when she'd started working at a country diner he guessed people would have their laughs and move on.
She'd done enough on her own that it would take little effort to make her look unstable and paint him as the victim. She was crazy, and he'd turned to another. People understood mistakes committed in the midst of despair and passion. They weren't limited to the elite. The fickle public would forgive, and eventually forget.
But then a truly odd thing happened. The pity people felt for her turned into respect. It all went back to this crap economy. She was relatable, she was willing to work, she was humble and charming. Her popularity was on the rise, while his was sinking.
That meant one thing: He needed to get her back.
It had to be very public, and he had to make all the right moves, display the perfect balance of humility and regret, strength and charm. He used to be able to pull that kind of thing off without effort. He did his best work in person, where he could wrap his victim in silken threads, until they were bound so tightly they couldn't escape, but so comfortable they didn't want to.
He had no patience for the social networking that was required to influence or connect with people now, but he knew it was all part of the game. He let his assistant Gina handle that side of things. She was already whispering things about a possible reconciliation, posting on Twitter about how misled he'd been.
If Bernadette didn't come running back to him soon, he'd go to her, and he'd bring the whole nation with him. It was Gina's idea. Operation Bringing Back Bernadette. Had a nice ring to it.
Chapter 17
Gardening and Ghostbusting
Mina sat on a cushioned folding chair in Matilda and Leona Bell's living room, her legs and arms pulled in close.
The idea that a ghost with a vengeance was following her sister around was crazy. But Mina had never known a normal life, so she could accept crazy. She couldn't ignore everything she'd seen.
First there was Susan, then Frank, now Griz.
She understood why Bernie's mother would have it out for Frank. But although there were plenty of living people who didn't care for Susan, she didn't understand why she'd go after her. And nobody disliked Griz.
He'd taken a tumble right outside the diner. His face was all scraped up, and his dignity, but other than that he was all right. How long until someone wasn't?
When she heard about Griz, she knew it was time to come out of hiding. As painful as the loss of her blogging career was, and as difficult as it was to face something she couldn't explain and didn't know how to deal with, something had to be done.
She'd told Gladys about her paranormal problem, and it felt surprisingly good to let it all out. She'd expected Gladys to be shocked, or try to convince her to check in to a special facility, but she'd taken it surprisingly well. She'd insisted on bringing her to one of her Obituary Society meetings. Technically they were the Auburn Women's Society, but word was when they gathered, it wasn't long before they were discussing the latest tragedies and upcoming funerals.
“When I cross the finish line I hope there's someone left to talk about me,” Gladys had said. “They just better not be talking about how terrible my hair looked at the viewing.” She'd given Mina a stern look. “You keep a close eye on Goldie when she fixes it. Make sure she doesn't try anything wild. You should have seen what she did to Ellen Peterson.”
“What if Goldie crosses first?” Mina had asked.
“Pshhh. The devil's been chasing after Goldie her whole life, and he hasn't caught her yet. She'll be smoking a cigarette at her fifth Vegas wedding when the rest of us are in our graves.”
And Mina had a basic understanding of how the meetings
worked.
Mina got up and busied herself with arranging and re-arranging the folding chairs in the Bell sisters' living room. She knew the handful of women that made up the society wouldn't hurt a fly. But she felt like she was intruding. And she was nervous about what Gladys had in mind.
She didn't dare tell anyone else about the ghost of Bernie's mother, but there was something about Gladys. With her giant bifocals and lavender hair, and her way of seeing what was at the very core of a person, she made more than her share of people nervous. But the ones who ducked out of sight when they saw her coming were the ones who couldn't handle the truths she doled out. Gladys had a wisdom that went deeper than the roots of the oldest trees in Auburn. Mina knew she'd understand.
But she still wasn't sure why she'd brought her to this meeting.
The doorbell rang, and Matilda let in Ada Foster and her niece, Lila. Ada beamed, carrying a cake coated with thick chocolate icing.
“Ada, is that what I think it is?” Gladys asked.
Ada nodded. “My famous Inspiration Cake.”
There were oohs and aahs as she placed it on the refreshment table.
Gladys pulled Mina to her feet and pushed her toward the table.
“Get a plate. Matilda's always saying if it weren't for the food, Leona wouldn't bother coming.”
Mina filled her plate with cake, a peanut butter brownie, a frozen creation with cream and strawberries, and something that looked like a Little Debbie product dusted with powdered sugar to help it blend in with the homemade goods.
When she sat down, Lila took the chair on Mina's left. Lila was the only young member of the group, but she was clearly one of them. It was as if they shared an invisible bond, as transparent and mysterious as super-glue.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gladys herd Leona Bell toward the seat on Mina's right. As if on cue, Lila and Leona both scooted in toward Mina. She glanced back and forth between the two of them, wondering if it was too late to bolt for the door.
Betsy Barker walked past, leaving the scent of fruity perfume in her wake. She sat down, popping a strawberry in her mouth. Before she'd finished swallowing her eyes widened.
“So what have we heard about our unfortunate Jane Doe?”
Mina glanced toward the thermostat on the wall. Had someone turned up the heat?
“I can usually get a thing or two out of Frank,” Betsy continued. “He'll tell me just enough to get me to leave him alone. But he's not budging on this one.”
Ada nodded. “It's a shame. Nobody deserves to be left like that, without a proper funeral or grave or anything.” She leaned forward, her blue eyes sparkling. “That's why I've been thinking. We already have something of a reputation, you know, for our interest in the ... living impaired. I think we need to write an obituary for her.”
Matilda sat up straight, her brow furrowed.
“How would we do that? We don't know a thing about her.”
“Oh, that doesn't really matter,” Ada continued. “She's a woman, like us. Deep down we all have a thing or two in common.”
“You should do it, Ada,” Leona said, her cheeks growing round as apples as she grinned. “You're so good at that sort of thing.”
“Thank you, Leona. I think I will. I'll write about how we don't know how she came to be here, but that no matter what her past, we welcome her to Auburn. We'll mourn with her for losses unknown, and our hearts will swell for loved ones who never said goodbye. May they, and she, rest knowing that at least someone said it.”
Mina swallowed and crossed her legs, fingers tapping against her plate. She knew more than anyone in this room about the woman whose bones laid unceremoniously under that sidewalk for so many years. Her throat tightened as she realized how she'd been thinking about the woman. She was someone who threatened her mother's reputation, Frank Larson's job, even his freedom, and her relationship with her sister. She'd hurt people Mina cared about. She'd pointed a gun at her mother.
But Mina understood why. And who knows what other tragedies had shaped the woman's life. Surely she deserved better than being dumped under a sidewalk. Mina was sorry she couldn't offer something for the obituary.
After the brief moment of silence, Betsy exhaled loudly, rolling her eyes.
“Doesn't seem like you thought that out ahead of time or anything, Ada.”
Ada shot Betsy a sharp look.
Just as Ada gathered her breath to reply, Gladys cut in.
“Well what about a proper goodbye? Shouldn't we have a ceremony?”
“A nice Lutheran ceremony.” Matilda finally looked satisfied with something that had been said.
“Well, who knows if that will be allowed,” Betsy continued. “The bones being evidence and all.”
“Do we have to call her the bones?” Leona asked.
“Whatever we call her, she's evidence,” Betsy said, eyes lolling around again. “We'll have to talk to Frank about the protocol.”
“And maybe we can do some fundraising to buy her a plot and a stone,” Ada added.
“Oh, that will be expensive,” Matilda said.
“Well, it's not every day we have a murder victim in our midst.” Leona's words sent a quiet shock through the room. The ladies all pressed back against their chairs, and an eye or two flashed to Mina.
“Y-you know what I mean,” Leona continued. “People might want to help welcome her, that's all. Especially after reading Ada's nice obituary.”
Ada glanced at Mina and shifted in her chair.
“Well, I've been meaning to talk to Harold Wentworth about those east plots I bought. I have to keep them, they're right next to Isaac and Phoebe and Mother and Dad. The last time I brought flowers I thought mother would be rolling in her grave at the state of things. Anyway, if they still look like they did the last time I saw them our new friend won't want any of those. They're not much of an improvement from the sidewalk in front of Doug's.”
“The whole place is in disrepair,” added Matilda.
The conversation seemed to have slid into a familiar flow, all the ladies joining in with their favorite subjects and complaints.
That's when the two women flanking Mina scooted in again. Mina smiled stiffly at them.
Leona leaned in, her hand half-covering her mouth.
“I heard you have a problem.”
Mina jerked back in her seat, panic seizing her. Gladys told them?
“Don't worry,” she continued in a quiet voice. “We don't know any of the details. Just that you have ... an unwanted friend. Believe it or not, we've dealt with that type of thing.”
Lila nodded. “Technically we're still dealing with it.”
Leona quirked her mouth to the side.
“True. But I feel like we're getting close.” She grinned. “I'm the official supernatural authority for the group now. I do all the research.”
Mina couldn't help but feel the stirrings of curiosity. She imagined the group of women crouched on the mauve carpet, surrounded by tchotchkes and doilies, conducting a seance. What exactly went on here?
Lila touched Mina's arm softly, letting go when Mina tensed.
“Oh, it's nothing like what you're thinking. I mean, it's not like 'Tuesday's meeting: Gardening and Ghostbusting'. It's just, you know, we live in an unusual town, where the veil is thin, as Gladys puts it.”
“Thin? It's more like my Sunday panty hose, so many holes my toes stick out the ends,” Leona said.
Lila glanced at the other ladies, as if making sure none of them were listening. “After our situation,” Mina detected pain in Lila's features, “we tried leaving things be. But we realized it was irresponsible. Someone could get hurt.”
Mina's gut clenched. Did they believe the stories that were beginning to circulate about the accidents outside the diner not being accidents? If so, they already knew she had some connection to the stranger's death. She shouldn't have come.
“That's right,” Leona said. “And just because we're old, doesn't mean we're g
oing to sit around and do nothing. So I've been looking into it. Maybe I can help you.”
Mina nodded slowly. She wasn't at all sure about this.
“It's all right,” Leona said. “You don't have to tell us anything you don't want to. But we need to know what you're dealing with.” She looked at the group of women, then back at Mina. “Here, take my arm.”
As they stood, Leona smiled at the group.
“Mina wants to see the sweatshirts I painted for the art fair in Nebraska City. I left them out back to dry in the sunshine.”
If Leona meant to keep anyone from following, she'd succeeded. The others looked relieved when the three women went out the back door without extending an invitation.
Mina blinked in the yellow light, then squinted at the white and pastel sweatshirts, painted with brightly colored flowers, hanging to dry.
“They're nice, huh?” Matilda's cheeks looked about to pop from the smile on her face. “The others are tired of my enthusiasm, but I don't mind them. I can paint one for you.”
“That would be nice,” Mina said. The shirts didn't look like something a younger person would wear. But there was something lovely about the combination of delicacy and boldness. Something unreserved, like Leona herself.
Leona stared at the hanging shirts, a wry smile on her face.
“So, it turns out it's really not as mysterious as people think. Sometimes, for one reason or another, people get stuck here. Sometimes they have unfinished business. It usually comes down to being afraid or confused, even if they seem troublesome. They need someone to tell them it's okay to go on ahead, follow that light. It's all in the way you talk to them. They want to be treated with respect and patience, just like the rest of us. There are some things you can do, like burning sage, to help things along. Then you guide them, let them know what's expected, and that it'll be all right. Hopefully that's the kind you're dealing with.” She looked down. “There is another sort.”
Lila's expression hardened. “The kind that wants to stick around. All they did in life was bring misery to others, and they aren't about to stop now. They're mad at the world for the wrongs that were done to them.” Then she paused, her face softening. “Or maybe they never really had a shot. No one showed them the right way. They lived in pain and confusion. It was all they had to give others, and they died that way too.”
The Stranger's Obituary Page 11
