Summer Shadows

by Killarney Traynor

  “Just tell Packer to sit,” Mrs. Jurta advised Ron. “He’s a good dog, but he needs a firm hand.”

  Ron did as he was told and Packer dropped to his haunches, cocking his head at Ron and looking wounded. Then he was up again, running in happy circles around him.

  “He’s energetic,” Julia observed.

  Ron couldn’t stand it anymore. “Mrs. Jurta, what happened twenty years ago?” he blurted out.

  He hadn’t realized that the girls were listening in until Dana said, “Did it have something to do with the haunted house?”

  “Haunted house!” Mrs. Jurta chuckled. “What haunted house? Don’t tell me you kids believe in ghosts.”

  “She means the old house at the end of the street,” Ron said patiently.

  “The one that’s empty,” Amelia added. She nodded at Ron, as though they were in this together.

  “Ohhh…” Mrs. Jurta nodded sagely. “The Lang house. It does look spooky, doesn’t it?”

  “But it isn’t haunted, right Mrs. Jurta?” Julia asked pointedly. Jack seemed to be shrinking in her grasp. “It’s just an old, sad, empty house.”

  “Yes.” Mrs. Jurta caught on. “Yes, it’s a very sad house, with a very sad history.”

  She turned to Ron. “The crime you were asking about happened there – twenty years ago, a man beat his wife to death in that house.”

  Dana gasped and exchanged horrified glances with Amelia. Ron felt a cold shiver run down his back. Mrs. Jurta was pleased with their reaction and seemed to be waiting for a cue.

  Ron was happy to supply it: “Why did he kill her?”

  “Oh, jealousy, of course. Stephanie Lang was an artist - young, beautiful, and talented. She was from a good Boston family, and she was already becoming famous when she and her husband moved up here, must be twenty-two years ago now. Such a tragic loss.”

  “What happened?” Ron persisted, ignoring the warning look that Julia shot him.

  Mrs. Jurta ignored her, too, and settled in to tell her story.

  “Well now, I didn’t really know the Langs much at all when they first moved here,” she said. “I still had my kids at home and I was busy teaching, but Stephanie was everywhere. Her husband spent most of his time out of town working, or so he said, but she stayed here. She set up a studio in the house, and there were always people going in and out of it. She had this way about her - she knew how to make you feel comfortable.

  “I first got to know her when she asked if she could paint my daughter, Elizabeth. Liz was a cute kid in those days, so of course I said yes.” She paused, smiling nostalgically. “They got to be good friends, the two of them. Stephanie gave Liz one of the sketches she had done, but the portrait - she submitted that to a gallery in Maine. It’s still there.”

  Despite the roundabout way she was telling the story, Ron found himself fascinated by it. It sounded like something he’d see on TV or in a movie. Julia and the girls seemed interested as well.

  He asked, “And what about her husband?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Oh, he was a very different story. He was a very ambitious man, very handsome.” She paused again, thinking. “His name was Brad, well-educated, from a political family somewhere. He worked in the art world, too, but he was a dealer, not an artist - he owned a gallery in Concord. Real snob, liked to drive around town in his fancy car and make a big show.”

  “Why did he kill her?” Dana asked, almost whispering.

  “Well, Stephanie was gorgeous and talented, and her husband didn’t like it one bit. He wasn’t an artist, and he didn’t really have any talent as a business man. He was possessive, jealous of her abilities. They kept up a good front, but it was easy to see that there was trouble. I tried to talk to Stephanie about it, but she just brushed me off and told me everything was fine. I didn’t push it, mores the pity. Maybe if I had, she’d still be alive today.”

  She paused for dramatic effect, and then continued.

  “One cold night in October, Brad came home in a bad mood. He was losing money and, just a week before, his gallery had been robbed and the thieves took almost everything. His insurance would cover what had been taken, but he had been in debt long before that. Lang had burned all his bridges with the banks and friends, and he had no one to turn to. So he came home early that night and accused Stephanie of seeing other men. They started to fight and he began hitting her. By the time he was done, she was dead.”

  Dana and Amelia both looked sick and Julia seemed horrified. Ron wanted to urge Mrs. Jurta to finish, but she was busy trying to calm the dogs down again. When she was able to speak, she said, “Where was I?”

  “Brad had just killed his wife,” said Ron.

  “Oh, right. He was a cold one, that man. To put the police off the scent, he called 911 and reported finding her dead and the house robbed. He put on a good show. The police believed him, and even took him to the hospital for a sedative.”

  “What’s that?” Amelia asked.

  “It’s a knock-out pill,” Ron answered, wanting to get back to the story.

  Mrs. Jurta nodded. “As I said, they took him to the hospital and everyone was all worried about him and sending meals to his house and everything. And then it came out that his wife had a million dollar insurance policy on her life. Presto – just like that, everyone knew.”

  “Knew?” Julia asked.

  “That he’d killed his wife for two reasons – jealousy and money. He needed the money to pay off his bills, you see, and the quickest way to get is was by bumping off the woman he’d grown to hate.”

  Mrs. Jurta stated her conclusion like it was the summation in an Agatha Christie novel. She seemed to enjoy it far more than what Ron thought was right; but still, it was an exciting tale.

  He looked down the street at the old empty house and shuddered when he tried to imagine the scene.

  Dana asked, “Then what happened? Did he get away?”

  “Oh, no, he didn’t get away. He was arrested, tried, and sentenced to life. That house has been empty ever since. They say that his family refuses to sell it, that they still think he’s innocent, but I think that they can’t sell it. No one wants to live in a murder house, whether or not it’s haunted.”

  As though on cue, a breeze whipped down the street and tugged on their clothing, cooling their skin. The trees and bushes swallowing up the old house waved and bowed toward it, then grew still again.

  As silent as a tomb, Ron thought.

  An alarm went off. Mrs. Jurta looked at her watch and said, “Time to feed these hungry critters. Hand Packer over to me, young man. If you feed him, you’ll have to keep him. It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Lamontaigne.”

  “‘Julia’.”

  “All right, then you must call me Helen. Come along, Amelia.”

  “Oh, good bye, Horatio!” Dana bent and hugged the dog close. “Isn’t he the cutest dog you’ve ever seen, Aunt Julia? He’s only a month old and he already knows how to sit.”

  “Horatio?” Julia said. “That’s an unusual name for a dog, isn’t it?”

  “One of the volunteers at the ASPCA is a big Shakespeare fan, and he thought it’d be funny to name him after one of the characters in Hamlet.” Mrs. Jurta sighed. “He’s a very smart little pup. He’ll make a great pet.”

  “Isn’t he a little big for a puppy that’s only a month old?” Julia asked.

  “Actually, he’s a little small. He was the runt of the litter and someone saw him being thrown from a car on Route 101.”

  “That’s horrible,” Dana gasped.

  “Feel free to stop by whenever you want,” Mrs. Jurta said cheerfully. “And if you ever want to take Horatio for a walk, you be sure to let me know, okay?”

  “Oh, gosh, sure!”

  “Come along, Amelia,” Mrs. Jurta said, lifting the leashes. The dogs jumped up and jerked forward, pulling their
foster owner along. “It was nice meeting and talking with you all. We should get together some time.”

  Dana waved and ran alongside of Amelia for a few steps before stopping at Amelia’s driveway. Horatio kept looking back at Dana, confused that she was not going with him. Amelia urged him to keep going, and soon they disappeared into Mrs. Jurta’s yard.

  “Come on, everyone,” Julia said. “It’s lunch time. They’re gone, Jack.” She kissed his head. “You can let go now.”

  The two of them went into the house, and the screen door snapped shut behind them. Dana trudged slowly to where Ron was standing, her shoulders slumped.

  “What a cute puppy,” she said. “I miss him already.”

  She wanted sympathy, but Ron wasn’t feeling it. He was still thinking about the house. It loomed at the base of the road, an eyesore to some and a mystery to him. The murder had been solved, justice was served, and the matter was done. But something about the house seemed disturbed and unsettled, restless even.

  It spoke of unfinished business.

  Dana followed his eyes to the house, squinting in the sunlight. “Do you think it’s haunted by her?” she whispered.

  What if it is? he wondered. What if Stephanie Lang still wanders the halls, asking why he killed her?

  It was a good plot for a movie, but this was real life, and Ron Budd didn’t believe in ghosts or fairy tales.

  Dana persisted. “What do you think, Ron?”

  His stomach growled loudly.

  “I think I’m hungry,” he said.

  They went inside and left the ghosts to themselves.

  14

  The sun had long since set when Julia slipped outside on the porch with her rosary and her journal. It was quiet, the street dimly lit by flickering blue television lights through the windows of her neighbors’ houses. She settled on the steps, brushed away a mosquito, and took a deep breath of the sweet scented summer air – exhausted, but not ready to go to sleep yet. She fingered her rosary and started her prayers, but her mind jumped through to-do lists and events of the past day, making it difficult to concentrate.

  The kids were asleep inside, curled up side by side on layers of blankets and pillows. She hoped that it would be the last night they would have to sleep on the floor.

  Crickets sounded in the night air. A car passed by the house, its headlights shining briefly in Julia’s face. She shook her head to clear her thoughts and hastily finished the rosary. After she was done, she opened her journal, adjusted her position on the porch so that the porch light shone on the page, then nibbled the end of her pen as she tried to figure out what to write.

  She hadn’t written anything in a couple of days. So much had happened.

  She thought about the kids. They hadn’t been in Franklin all that long, and yet already she was seeing them relaxing. Dana, of course, was excited about her room, her budding friendship with Amelia, and the puppies. They couldn’t adopt the puppy, and she’d be leaving Amelia behind when they went back to Springfield. What kind of toll would that take - not just on Dana, but on Amelia as well? She was a sweet kid, but a liar. And where was her mother? Julia couldn’t recall anyone having mentioned her.

  She pushed that aside and thought of Jack. He was still clingy, yet he was eagerly helping wherever he could, and even leaving beloved Yellow Teddy inside whenever he went out to play. That was an improvement, for sure.

  Ron was a different story, of course. He was subtly fighting her authority on most things. The other kids still instinctively obeyed him first. In all the time that Julia had been guardian, she had yet to see a smile crack his solemn expression.

  Yet there was hope there, too, she thought as she recalled the incident with the squirrel. It had been nice to see how her new, temporary neighbors had stepped in to help, without her even having to ask. It made this whole summer adventure seem a little less lonely. She thought of the girls clinging to her, terrified by the little rodent - and Ron, thrusting himself into the fray and earning the admiration of the older boys. The expression on his face had been interesting: embarrassed, pleased, and almost pathetically eager to receive it. Perhaps it was a good thing that she had decided to hire J. C. and his crew to fix up the lawn. At first she’d done so only get rid of the grubs and make the house more marketable. Now she thought that Ron might enjoy the chance to interact with other boys a little closer to his own age.

  Ron seemed to take a shine to Officer Wilde, too, listening to him and watching him with keen attention. Julia wondered how much Ron was missing his father. He’d be too proud to admit such a thing, of course; but at his age, he probably felt his father’s absence more than the others.

  Julia yawned. She looked at her watch, surprised to see that is was 11 o’clock. It explained why she felt exhausted.

  She wrote quickly, Good day today. Painted kids’ rooms and met a neighbor, Mrs. Jurta. Learned about the spooky house at the end of the street. Will have to make sure the kids aren’t unnerved by the story.

  She closed her journal and stood up, stretching. In the distance, the old Victorian house loomed ominous and dark. She could just make out some details, and despite herself, felt a cold shiver wiggle down her back. It looked like a haunted house out of a movie. No wonder the kids had been frightened by it. Thank goodness the murder had been solved and the murderer caught.

  Yet as she turned away from it, Julia couldn’t help feeling that she was being watched.

  Honestly, Julia, there’s nothing there. You’re as bad as the kids.

  She didn’t notice the non-descript black car that was parked several houses down from hers and, of course, she didn’t see that the car was occupied. Even if she had, she wouldn’t have been able to see that the driver was watching her house, gripping the steering wheel tightly, thinking, the matter is closed. There’s no reason for anyone to suspect. I’m safe.

  Nevertheless, the driver remained, watching as Julia went inside.

  The driver knew that as long as the kids and their aunt were in the neighborhood, there was that slight, slight chance that they would uncover what had been hidden. Surely there was no reason for them to go poking around, but what if they did?

  Stephanie…

  Some problems never went away. Even after death, Stephanie still seemed so present, and just as dangerous as she had been in life.

  No one will find out. I won’t let them.

  If necessary, something would have to be done about the little family. Too much had been risked, too much endured to allow things to fall apart now.

  The idea that summer would soon be over and that the family would return to Massachusetts was reassuring. Surely, the driver thought, there won’t be enough time for them to cause any damage. Yes, they’ll leave, and I’ll be safe.

  Only when the lights went out in the little house did the non-descript black car leave.

  15

  Despite her exhaustion, Julia tossed and turned on her makeshift bed, going in and out of dreams, most featuring loathsome men with blood-stained knives or bats. She woke up soaked in sweat, with Jack’s arm draped around her neck.

  She groaned and turned to look at the clock. 5:30 a. m. The dawn was still lavender-gray, and it was no use trying to go back to sleep.

  She dragged herself out of bed and paddled into the kitchen. She needed coffee.

  A list of needed supplies was taped to the refrigerator door. Julia snatched up a pencil and wrote in bold, heavy lines, Air conditioner for the living room. She underlined it three times. It was an expense that she’d hoped to avoid, but now she didn’t care about the money.

  “No wonder the wallpaper’s peeling,” she said aloud. “It’s so awful in this house.”

  She prepared herself a strong cup of instant coffee and dropped an ice cube in it, then sat on the porch steps where it was somewhat cooler.

  She sipped her coffee slowly, rel
ishing the bitter taste and the feeling of the caffeine coursing through her deadened senses. She felt like a zombie coming back to life.

  Her nerves were still shaky from the dreams, and she was too restless to sit quietly. After finishing her coffee, Julia went inside and changed quickly into her jogging clothes and sneakers. She grabbed her iPod as she went back outside, but she was too nervous to put her earphones on and risk blocking out any sounds of distress from the kids, so she left them on her shoulders and was content to listen to her music from a distance.

  As she jogged, her lungs worked hard against the oppressive humidity, but she could feel her spirits brightening. She ran faster and faster, almost giddy from the adrenaline rush. Worries and cares fell to the wayside. A favorite song came on and she found herself singing along in between gasps for air. As the music swelled to a crescendo, she closed her eyes, just for a minute, and belted out the last few words.

  That’s when she ran into the police car.

  She bounced off the door and back into the present, hearing Wilde’s laughter through the open window.

  “Assault on a police vehicle,” he said. “Very unusual. Are you all right?”

  She pulled the earphones off and returned to the window. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention,” she said.

  “I could see that. You all right?”

  “Oh, fine, just embarrassed. I was caught up in a song.”

  She was dripping sweat and dressed in mismatched, stretched out workout gear. He was dressed in his dark blue uniform, his black hair brushed, remarkably alert for so early in the morning.

  “Hey, it happens,” he said. “I like to embarrass Amelia sometimes by singing along with her pop tunes. Can’t stand them, but I know the lyrics.”

  She laughed. “There’s a healthy relationship. How is Amelia?”

  And now that I think of it, how’s her mother? Where is her mother? How come no one ever mentions her?

  “She’s good. I just walked her over to Mrs. Jurta’s.” He looked up at the sky. “Looks like it’s going to be a nice day.”