John entered the kitchen. He poured a cup of coffee and sat at the table with her. “Is there anything you would like to tell me?” He stared at her with a stern look but a softer tone to his voice.
She turned away from him. “Only that I’ll make some calls today and try to find that art dealer, and then I’ll pay a visit to Marie at the nursing home this afternoon.”
He shook his head. “All right, Andrea. I’m not going to say another word about this, at least not this morning. I’m leaving for the office. I can’t neglect my work any longer.”
Andrea’s search for answers continued after he left. She found three listings under Hanus in the phone book and began to call them. Two of the people didn’t know anyone by the name of Samuel, and the third one didn’t answer. She underlined that name to call back later.
Frustrated and anxious, she went to the foyer for her purse. The manager of the restaurant had given her the address he’d once had for Samuel Hanus. Maybe someone at that address would know more about his whereabouts. Once in her car she checked the map and headed for the highway south of town. The interchange marked on the map would bring her out on a road that went straight to her destination, Mulberry Lane. She watched the signs carefully as she drove to avoid missing the exit. There it is, she thought as she saw the sign.
As she left the highway, she spotted a gas station and stopped to ask directions. An attendant walked up to the car, smiling. “Can I help you, miss?” He wiped his hands with a cloth he took from his pocket.
“Will this road take me here?” Andrea showed him the map and pointed to Mulberry Lane, then ran her finger down to the main road.
“Yep, you go right when you leave here, and after a mile or so you’ll see a sign says Hawthorn Feed Store. Turn left there. You’ll be on the way to Mulberry Lane. I’m sure you’ll find it okay.”
What a delightful person and such a friendly smile, she thought. With her map on the seat next to her, she thanked the man and left the gas station. Following the directions he’d given her, she had no trouble finding Mulberry Lane — an older, residential area consisting of well-kept houses with finely groomed yards. She had never seen so many colorful trees.
As she drove down the street, she searched the addresses. Near the next intersection, she found the right number on a mailbox. The house sat high from the street, a fine looking red-shingled bungalow with white shutters. It reminded her of her parents’ house back in Chicago. She pulled into the driveway.
She felt odd as she walked up to the door, wondering how she would approach someone she’d never met. This was not like her. She felt like she was intruding, afraid these people would think she was crazy or something. After knocking on the door, she stood on the stoop waiting for someone to answer. No one came. She knocked again. Still no one came to the door.
She had just turned around to leave when a young woman holding a baby opened the door. Andrea turned back around. “Hello. I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m looking for a Samuel Hanus. Would you happen to you know where I can find him?”
The woman looked puzzled. “Who are you? Why do you want to know about him?” she asked, bouncing the fussy child in her arms.
Now Andrea really felt foolish. “My name is Andrea Devon. I’m interested in art, and I was told Mr. Hanus is an art collector. You see, there’s this painting I saw… I was told he could tell me something about it since he’d once owned it.” She continued to smile, hoping not to upset the woman.
She nodded. “Oh yes, Mr. Hanus liked his paintings. He moved to Dearborn right after we bought this house. I have his address inside. I’ll get it for you; just wait here.” As she went to leave, the baby began to cry.
Andrea stopped her. “Wait. It looks like this is a bad time for you.” She reached into her purse and took out a piece of paper and a pen to write down her phone number. “Here. When you have time, would you call me with the address please? I would like to find this man as soon as possible. Maybe you can call me tonight sometime. That is, if it’s not too much trouble.” Andrea handed the woman the paper.
“Sure, I’ll call you tonight. I’m sure I put his address in the desk drawer. Don’t worry, I’ll find it. By the way, my name is Melissa Pentello.”
Andrea waved as she climbed into her car, anxious to get to the nursing home to see Marie. It was hot, and dark clouds had formed in the sky. She hoped she could beat the rain. She had no umbrella, and she wasn’t in the mood for getting wet. By the time she reached the nursing home, the clouds had thickened. Before she could park the car, the downpour started. She had to run to the entrance, trying to avoid as much of the rain as she could.
Once inside, she ruffled her hair with her hands before going to the desk. The sound of thunder outside told her the storm would be around for a while.
A nurse at the desk asked if she could help her. Andrea knew it was early for visiting hours, but she’d figured they might let her go in anyway. “It’s a bit early, but I’d like to see Marie Holden. Thought I’d stop by—”
“Wait just a minute,” the nurse interrupted.
Andrea watched her walk over and whisper to another nurse. They both looked at her, and then one walked away while the nurse who had greeted her came back with a serious look on her face. “May I ask your name, please?”
A cold pit formed in her stomach. “My name is Andrea Devon. Is there something wrong?”
“Are you a relative of Marie’s?” A frown appeared on her forehead.
Andrea shook her head. “But I’m very interested in her. I’ve been here before to see her and there was no problem.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Devon, but Marie passed away two days ago. She’d been very ill, and at her age… I’m sorry.” The nurse put her head down as though in silent prayer.
Shocked, Andrea walked away from the desk with tears streaming down her face. She ran from the entrance across the parking lot to her car, the rain beating on her hard and fast. Loud thunder, accompanied by streaks of lightning, only worsened the situation.
She sat in the car a long time, crying and thinking of that sweet old lady, and how she would never talk to her again. Would this end her investigation of what had happened to Anna? She hoped not. There was still so much more to learn.
Chapter Eight
The pouring rain and dark clouds matched Andrea’s dismal outlook. She started the car and turned the wipers on. The rain beat on the windshield with such force it made driving difficult as she went out into the street. She drove slowly until she came upon a shopping center, where she pulled into the parking lot to wait for the rain to subside before attempting to go home.
Her thoughts lingered on Marie, and what more that old woman might have told her. Now she was gone… and had taken some valuable information with her. Would she ever find the answers now? Who in the town would know about Anna?
Soon the rain slowed to a drizzle. Exhausted from so little sleep the night before, all she wanted was to get home and lie down. She didn’t think she could sleep, but the rest would help. Marie’s death would hang on her every thought for a while. She could picture the old woman’s face in detail, along with her voice and everything else about her. She liked the woman.
Tears streamed down her cheeks as she drove home. By the time she arrived, the rain had stopped and the sun shone brilliantly. She went straight upstairs to the bedroom, took off her clothes, and put on a short-sleeved robe. As she went to the closet to put her shoes away, she looked at the wooden box on the floor. The temptation was too great — she had to open the lid. The photograph was still there. She breathed a sigh of relief.
She held the photograph up to look at Anna. “What happened to you to make you come back here and torment me?” she whispered. “Or have you been here all this time, just waiting for someone like me to come along?” Sighing, she set the photograph back in the box, closed the closet, and went to the bed. Feeling tired and defeated, she lay down.
Andrea closed her eyes and began to relax. Sudden
ly, a vision came to her — the long, wide hallway outside of the bedroom with the Victorian décor she’d seen in her earlier vision. The attic door stood open. A figure appeared in the doorway… a tall man.
She jolted up in bed. A sound had startled her—the doorbell downstairs. She hurried down and opened the door. Mr. Williams stood there with a folder in his hand. She was surprised to see him. “Mr. Williams, what are you doing here?” she asked as she held the door open for him.
He scowled as he stomped into the foyer and took off his hat. “Since your husband is in such a big hurry for this—” he handed her the folder “—I thought I’d bring it to him instead of mailing it. The report has all of my findings, and my bill is inside.”
Andrea took the folder and tried to apologize for John’s behavior, but all she could do was thank him for bringing the report. Mr. Williams said nothing more. He just put his hat back on his head and tipped it a little, then marched out the door. His tires squealed on the pavement as he sped out of the driveway.
She knew there was nothing in the report that would change things. The problem in the house didn’t come from something structural. She had no doubt in her mind. But convincing John that it was the work of a ghost would be another problem.
With no interest in the report, she set the folder down on the table in the foyer for John to see when he came home. Though it was hot and humid from the rain, Andrea still had to make something for dinner. She went to the kitchen and started by having a glass of iced tea.
The phone book on the table caught her eye, still opened to the page with the third listed Hanus underlined. She went to the phone and dialed the number. A woman answered and Andrea asked, “Do you know a Samuel Hanus? I’m trying to locate him. He’s an art collector.”
“No, I don’t know anyone by that name.” She sounded as though she had been disturbed by the call. Andrea didn’t pursue it any further. She said goodbye and hung up the phone. Although disappointed, she would stay focused on her mission to find the art dealer and ask him questions about the painting.
Her thoughts returned to Marie and everything she’d learned from the wonderful old woman. If only she could have talked to her one more time. She really believed Marie could have given her more information about Anna. Now she had to concentrate on other sources.
The afternoon grew late and Andrea had to start dinner, but before she did, she felt a strong urge to look at the photograph again. She hurried up the stairs to the bedroom and went directly to the closet. As she went to open the wooden box, she hesitated, not knowing what she would find. She took the lid off and held her breath. Again, the photograph had disappeared.
She searched the closet but didn’t find it. In a frenzy, she started searching the bedroom. She found it hard to believe that a ghost could move things, but what else could it be? There was no one else in the house but her, and she knew she hadn’t taken it out of the box, so who had? What’s she trying to tell me?
She went through neatly folded clothes in the dresser and all of the drawers, thinking it might be there. Then she searched under the dresser, the bed, and picked up the pillows to look beneath them. Andrea searched every inch of the room, but didn’t find the photograph.
John’s voice called from downstairs. “Andrea, I’m home.”
Quickly, she straightened the blankets over the bed and set the pillows back in place. She rushed to the doorway and shouted back, “I’m up here. I’ll be right down.”
She glanced in the mirror on the dresser. Her face looked flushed, and her hair was a mess. She picked up a brush and ran it through her long strands while she smoothed it down with her other hand. It wasn’t in her best interest to have John see her looking this way. She thought it would be better to keep herself looking good.
John stood in the living room when she came down. “Did you see the report from Mr. Williams? It’s out here on the table,” she said as she stood in the foyer. “He came by this afternoon and dropped it off rather than mailing it, and he wasn’t in a very pleasant mood.”
John rushed out to the foyer and grabbed the envelope from the table, still clinging to the foolish hope the report would have some answers, even though Mr. Williams had already told him there was nothing in the house to cause drafts. He opened the envelope and looked over the report. Then he flipped back to the first page to read it again. Finally, after looking it over several times, he leaned back in his recliner in disgust.
He glanced over at her. “This guy makes no sense. The only thing he came up with is the attic should have better vents. For that, I’ll have to pay him his outrageous fee. I know there has to be something in this house. Don’t tell me it’s a ghost, either. It just doesn’t seem possible for us to have such bitter cold and frost, and now you keep on telling me about a woman crying and calling your name. What am I supposed to think, Andrea?”
“There is something going on in this house, but you’re not going to find it in that report or anywhere else. I just wish you would accept the fact that it’s a ghost. I think this ghost is trying to tell us something. I’m telling you, John, it’s the woman in the photograph — this Anna.”
“Yeah,” he grumbled. “This ghost is trying to tell us to move out of this house. That is, if there is a ghost. I’m not ready to believe that some female from beyond is spooking us.”
“You told me I could have some time with this. I’m sure I can find out more about this Anna and the house. It could make a difference.”
“And what did you come up with so far, Andrea? Some of your wild tales from old people you don’t even know, or did this ghost tell you something I should know about? Something you’re not telling me?”
She wanted to strike back at him, but she held her calm and proceeded to tell him about her visit to the nursing home. “I wanted so much to have another conversation with Marie, but unfortunately she’d passed away.”
“That’s too bad. I know you liked that old woman and wanted more information from her, but I still don’t think she really remembered all she said she did. You know how some old folks can be.”
Andrea clucked her tongue and went on. “I also went to a house on Mulberry Lane to talk to the person living there, to find out where that art dealer moved to. So you see, John, I am making some progress. Just wait until I can get more information.” She hated to see him shaking his head like he was, but that was the way John sometimes acted with her.
As they went to the kitchen for dinner, the phone rang. It was Melissa Pentello. She’d found the address for Samuel Hanus and gave it to Andrea. He lived on a street called Sunset Drive in Dearborn. Andrea would have to depend on her map again to get her there.
“Who was that?”
“The girl I told you about. The one on Mulberry Lane. She did have that art collector’s address. I can try to reach him by phone, but I really would like to talk to him in person.”
She picked up the phone and called information. The recording said the number was unlisted. Now she had no choice but to go and meet this art collector.
John set his fork down and looked at her. “When are you going to make this trip to Dearborn? You don’t even know your way around this town yet, let alone the state. I don’t like this.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “I hope this man will be able to tell me about that painting. I want to know where it came from, who owned it, and how old it is. That will help us find out more about Anna, and then maybe we can figure out how to help her go on.”
John said nothing. He just stood with his plate in hand, and then went out to the patio. Andrea stayed in the kitchen at the table, wondering what he would have said if she had told him about the photograph disappearing again. Because of the way he’d acted, she was glad she hadn’t. With John outside, and looking like he would be there a while, she took the opportunity to go upstairs and look for the photograph.
It sat on her pillow again, in clear view. She cupped her hand over her mouth and ran over to pick it up. She hurried to the
closet to put it back before John found out about it. For a few moments she stood over the box, wondering what to do next. There didn’t seem to be any easy answers, but she believed by knowing about Anna — and discovering what had happened to her — she would be closer to an answer.
She knew John remained out on the patio, but she didn’t want to take any chances he’d find her up in the bedroom by the closet door, so she hurried back down to the kitchen to clean up from their dinner. When John came in from the patio he asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
He went to the sink for a glass of water. “You look pale. Are you sick? Is this whole thing getting to you?”
She didn’t answer him and refused to talk to him about it. Exhaustion had taken over after the long day. Andrea finished in the kitchen, and they both went to the living room. John turned on the television with the remote as he sat in his recliner. Not interested in watching anything, she went out to the patio, leaving him alone with his newspaper and show. She had hoped he would talk to her about the possibility of a ghost in the house, but that hadn’t happened.
A tranquil breeze blew across the yard to the patio. The flowers and the blue sky with its soft white clouds clustered in large groups across the horizon gave her some peace. The sundown in the western sky brought bright red and pink color to the edge of the earth.
With the disappearance of the sun, the sky lit up with stars and a half moon. She’d lost track of the time sitting out there, deep in thought about what she would do the next day. She went inside and up to the bedroom.
John took his shower while she lay across the bed, resting. When he emerged, he snuggled up next to her and said softly, “I’m sorry I spoke to you so harshly, babe. I know this has been very upsetting for you, and I don’t want you to go through it anymore.” He put his arms around her and held her while they listened to the sounds of the night. The crickets outside sang in perfect harmony. Andrea thought of all that had happened and the wonderful house they were in. There was no way she could leave it.
What Happened to Anna? Page 10
