Summer Shadows

by Killarney Traynor

  That’s when she saw it – a wide, spattered, reddish-brown stain.

  At first she thought it was coffee, and she wondered why someone would cover it rather than just cleaning it. But there was something about it that didn’t fit with a coffee spill. She got on her knees and took a closer look. Stunned, she yanked her fingers back from the stain.

  It was blood.

  She gasped out loud. Dana was passing by and stuck her head in the doorway.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  Julia stood, blocking the stain. “Yes, fine. Is the movie over?”

  “No, but I had to go to the bathroom. What are you doing in here?”

  “Just taking down the wallpaper.”

  “Oh. Do you need help?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “Okay!”

  Dana slipped back out and ran down the hallway.

  Julia listened until the sound of her bare feet slapping the floor faded away and the dull hum of the movie resumed. Then she turned and examined the stain again, this time determined to look at it logically. There was nothing to fear, after all. The stain was as old as the wallpaper.

  The spatter pattern indicated that it hit the wall with force. It was about knee height, and some smudging indicated that something had been rubbed on the wall, but not enough to clean it off. She wondered if someone, sitting on a chair, got cut somehow and fell backwards, spattering and smudging the blood as they fell. But what sort of cut would have caused that much blood?

  Which, naturally, lead to the next question: under what circumstances had the wound been received?

  She shivered, then reminded herself that the stain was at least a decade old, if not older. There was no danger here and now. Ancient evils were only dangerous in the movies. In real life, there was safety in the passage of time.

  It was probably an accident, covered up by a lazy person. A lazy person who’d rather paper his walls than clean them.

  Julia recalled the hidden picture of Stephanie Lang. Perhaps that was what put the dark thoughts into her head in the first place. After all, there was no reason to think that there was anything suspicious about this stain – aside from the size of it, of course.

  She shuddered and rubbed her temples.

  Julia decided that there was nothing more she could learn from the stain tonight, and she was much too unnerved to work any longer. She would cover it up again and not mention it to the kids. It would only frighten them.

  I should show this to Robert. He’ll know what to say to put my mind at ease.

  After covering the spot as best she could, Julia shut the door to the bedroom and went into the kitchen to make another cup of coffee. She opened a drawer to find a spoon, and her gaze rested on the picture of Stephanie Lang. The sight of that lovely face was enough to send shivers down her spine. She picked it up and studied it.

  What was it about this woman? What made her so fascinating and so repulsive at the same time? Julia was beginning to wish she’d never heard of the Lang house or the murder mystery it contained.

  What was this picture doing here?

  The kettle’s whistle brought her back to the moment. She pulled it off the stovetop, then went into the dining room to find her purse. She shoved the picture in her wallet.

  I’ll show it to Robert tomorrow.

  Still nervous, she went around the house, checking the windows and relocking all the doors. Only when she was certain that everything was secure did she pour herself a cup of coffee. She held the warm mug in her hands until they stopped trembling.

  35

  The night was filled with uncomfortable and frightening dreams, all variations on the same theme. Julia was trapped in the small bedroom where fresh blood dripped off the walls. She would try to clean it, but the blood would get all over her. She would start to panic, and the dream would start all over again.

  The last dream was the worst: Amanda was helping her wipe the walls, chatting in the way she always used to.

  Julia was ecstatic. “Oh, Amanda, I’ve missed you so much! The kids have been crying. Where have you been?”

  “Right here, goose!”

  “But I thought you were dead.”

  Amanda laughed. “Oh, no. I’m not dead. It was all a silly mistake, Julia. I never left you at all.”

  Julia threw her arms around her, only to have her hands pass through the image. Amanda wasn’t there. She was crumbled on the floor, dead, and it was her blood on the walls. Julia heard Ron and the kids approaching the room. The last thing she remembered was running for the door to stop them, and realizing that she was covered in Amanda’s blood.

  Julia woke up sobbing, clutching the blankets to her hot face and rocking back and forth. The pain of the loss roared back to life, as sharp and fresh as ever. She didn’t think she would ever stop crying. She tried to keep it quiet – she didn’t want to wake the kids.

  As her sobs subsided, all that was left was one thought: Oh, Amanda, how could you leave them? Why did you leave me?

  Sleep took a while to come again, but when it did, there were no more dreams. There was only darkness, and silence… And a wish for peace.

  After Mass, Julia, the kids, and Amelia were downstairs in the basement, in line for donuts. Once again, Robert had been grabbed by someone needing to talk with him, so Julia had taken Amelia with them.

  Julia dropped a few dollars into the donation basket and poured herself a cup of coffee as the boys followed the girls at a more sedate pace. She was distracted, and didn’t notice when Mrs. Jurta stepped in next to her.

  “Good morning, Julia!”

  Julia’s coffee sloshed out over her hand and she winced as the hot liquid bit her skin.

  Mrs. Jurta snatched a napkin out of the basket and handed it to her. “There you are, girlfriend. Look, I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news.”

  “You can’t give me the puppies?”

  Her voice, Julia realized, sounded just a bit too excited. Mrs. Jurta didn’t seem to notice.

  “I might have a home for them,” she said, cautiously. “An elderly couple who already have a pair of pugs might be interested in taking them. I dropped them off at their house yesterday and if all went well last night, you’re off the hook. Can I still rely on you as my plan B?”

  Julia nodded. “Sure, no problem.”

  Mrs. Jurta reached out and squeezed Julia’s hand, then pulled her in and kissed her on the cheek. “You are a love!” she exclaimed. “How come someone like you hasn’t been married yet, huh? What’s wrong with the men today? How about it, Officer Wilde? Can you make sense of it?”

  Robert was striding over, grinning. “You’ve got me, Mrs. Jurta. It’s a mystery that even our crack team of experts couldn’t solve.”

  His tone was light and humorous, but Julia couldn’t bear to look at them, so she stared at the floor, wishing it would swallow her up. What was it with these elderly women and their matchmaking?

  Mrs. Jurta’s voice carried though-out the parish hall.

  “…and all I can say is, that a smart young man wouldn’t let this one get away, am I right?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Robert said, and Julia could hear the smile in his voice. “I think… Mrs. Jurta… Isn’t that Donald Mack trying to get your attention?”

  They turned and Julia saw the man waving to them from one of the far tables.

  “Oh, brother,” Mrs. Jurta sighed. She folded her arms and frowned. “What does he want now?”

  “Perhaps he’s thinking,” Robert said lightly, “that a smart man wouldn’t let the right one get away.”

  Julia held back a laugh as Mrs. Jurta fixed Robert with a withering look.

  Donald Mack was approaching. Mrs. Jurta sighed again and began to make her way to him.

  Julia looked back to Robert. Now that Mrs. Jurta was gone, he seemed preoccup
ied.

  “Everything all right?” she asked.

  He looked weary as he nodded. “Yes. Just getting back into the swing of things.”

  “The first day back to work usually has me in a tailspin, too. Is there a lot for you to catch up on?”

  “Catch up…?” He took a sip of his coffee, then shook his head. “Oh, no, nothing more than usual. I just… Well, I just got reassigned a new route today, which isn’t a big deal, I guess.”

  She waited a moment before suggesting, “But it troubles you.”

  “The reasoning bothers me.”

  “Oh?”

  “We’ve been having a problem with vandalism lately, and we think there may be a drug connection. We’ve been working on it for weeks, but haven’t been able to get any real leads. There’s the usual group of suspects, of course, and some of the guys have wanted to put them under closer surveillance.” He paused. “I’ve had my own ideas, but in the week that I’ve been gone, the chief has decided to go the other way.” He rubbed his chin and admitted, “Yeah, it bothers me.”

  “Do you think that they’re targeting the wrong suspects?” she asked.

  Robert shrugged. “Not necessarily. I think there’s a good chance that they are involved. But if we squeeze them too tightly, they’ll get nervous and go underground - and then we’ll lose them.”

  “What do you think you ought to do?”

  “We’ve established an M. O. and from that, we’ve been able to determine possible targeted areas. I think we ought to keep watching them and see what happens.”

  “Well, that seems reasonable.”

  He grinned wryly. “To you, maybe. But not to the guy in charge.”

  “Frustrating, huh?”

  “Yeah, but I’ll get over it. He’s the boss, not me, and the crimes haven’t been violent or anything. So I suppose we have a margin for error.”

  She looked at her hands. “Does Franklin… have a problem with drug abuse? Trafficking, I mean?”

  “We’ve got some users, but compared to Manchester, Franklin’s pretty clean. Chief Putnam likes to stomp on that sort of thing really hard. He’s got a son and a daughter in the school system, and he doesn’t like the idea that anyone might try to pass stuff on to them.”

  She turned her gaze over to the police chief. He may have upset Wilde, but it seemed he had his priorities straight about one thing, at least.

  “The local parents must love that,” she said.

  “Yeah. He’s pretty popular.” He stretched his back and then checked his watch. “He’s a good guy. Tough, and usually fair. He’s clean, too, and that can be rarer than you think.”

  “That doesn’t always mean that he’s easy to work with,” she suggested.

  He flashed her a grateful smile. “No. That, it doesn’t.”

  Their gaze held for a minute, until Julia remembered Mrs. Jurta’s earlier comments. She dropped her eyes to her cup.

  Robert looked at his watch again and stood up.

  “I’ve got to get going,” he said, moving his chair back into place. He was relaxed and moved easily, looking much more like the Robert that had been such a fixture at her house for the past week. “Is there anything you need before I go? Are you all set?”

  “We’re fine,” she assured him. “We’ve got to go shopping for the party tonight, and then we’ll be home for the rest of the afternoon.”

  “What time is the party?”

  “Um, six, I think.”

  “Oh, good. I’ll be back in plenty of time to pick Amelia up before then. You have my cell phone number?”

  “Yes. And you have mine, I think.”

  “Yours and Amelia’s. Thanks again.”

  “It’s really no problem at all. The girls have such a good time together. Good luck on your first day back.”

  He laughed and pulled out his keys. “Thanks. I may need it.”

  Julia watched him go over to hug Amelia goodbye for the day, then stride out of the room.

  He looks ready for anything, she thought, as she settled back into her chair. She caught Ron watching Robert’s departure with an admiring look on his face.

  Hero worship, Julia thought. It’s good to know that he has at least one good male role model in his life. I wonder what Miriam would say if Ron decided to become a cop like Robert.

  She grinned at the thought, and then realized that she’d forgotten to tell Robert about the wall. She thought about running after him, but decided against it. He already had enough on his mind. The wall had kept a long while, and it would last another day or two. She’d just have to make sure no one went in there before he’d had a look.

  36

  Sunday passed quickly for Ron. Aunt Julia had forgotten to buy a present for the birthday party that night, so they all went shopping and bought a basket that they filled with barbeque stuff. At home, Aunt Julia and the girls wrapped the gift while Ron and Jack watered the garden and played a game of catch.

  Around five o’clock, they started to get ready for the party. Ron was looking forward to it now that he was going to meet Dylan’s other friends to plan their next move on the house. He was glad that more people were involved. There was safety in numbers, even up against ghosts.

  As they were getting ready, Julia got a call from Robert.

  “They got an emergency call and it’s going to take a while,” she told them, when she finished the call. She saw the look on Ron’s face and added, “It’s not dangerous, just a lot of paperwork. Don’t worry – I asked.”

  “Does that mean I get to go to the party, too?” Amelia asked, beaming.

  “Yep. Go get ready.”

  It was a cool evening, so when six o’clock came, they decided to walk to the party. Julia fussed with making sure everything was locked, that they had everything that they needed, and then realized that she had forgotten her pasta salad. They had to wait for her to go back into the house to find it and a bag to carry it in. It was about six-fifteen before they finally set out.

  They were halfway there when Ron heard his name being called. He turned to see Dylan and Katy riding up on their bikes with their grandmother, Sheila, trailing behind on hers.

  Dylan rode up to him and jumped down. “Hey, Budd!” he said. He was wearing his helmet – a concession to his grandmother, no doubt. He fell in step with Ron while Katy rode in lazy circles around them. Sheila caught up with Julia and dismounted from her bike gratefully. Her face was pink from effort and she was winded. In her basket were a gift bag and a bundle wrapped in a plastic grocery bag.

  “We decided to ride over, since it was so nice out,” Dylan said conversationally. “And Grandma needs the exercise for her heart.”

  He said nothing about the haunted house, and Ron figured that he was being cautious in front of the others. Ron was glad of it; he’d decided that he didn’t want Dana and Amelia involved anymore. It was getting too dangerous.

  Caroline Ojacor met them at the door in an African caftan. The house was already humming with activity, and the spacious living room was crowded and warm.

  John Irwin arrived with a cooler full of soda and beer and was delighted when he found them in the crowd.

  “Hey, you guys made it, great! Now I just hope Joseph arrives before we all melt in here.”

  When Joseph Ojacor’s car was finally spotted, there was a lot of noise and confusion as people doused lights, told each other to be quiet, and made futile attempts to hide themselves. Ron glanced at Dylan, and the older boy rolled his eyes. Ron agreed – adults could be as silly as children.

  Joseph came in to their shouts of “Surprise!” The honoree pretended to be shocked, and the party spilled out into the backyard, where Caroline had set up games and grills.

  Two other boys came up to Dylan, and a natural order was established: Dylan was the head of the pack, while the other two, as Dylan�
��s older friends, outranked Ron, the newcomer.

  Jamison ‘Mac’ McCullough was gangly, wore glasses, and talked a lot about comic books and literature. He had brought his eBook with him and showed Ron his library. Ron spotted War and Peace, a slew of Shakespeare plays, Dracula, and the Harry Potter series, among others. He wondered if Mac really read all of those or if he was just borrowing his parent’s reader.

  George Simpson was a jock. He had the shoulders of a football player and seemed more interested in playing the yard games and eating than in the business at hand. But he had a good sense of humor and immediately took to Ron, for some reason. No sooner had Dylan introduced them than George insisted that Ron join his side for volleyball. Dylan decided to play, and all the boys ended up playing on the same team.

  They played for an hour, until dinner was announced. They ate at the same table with Dana, Amelia, and Katy. The girls mostly talked among themselves and left the boys alone, but their presence was enough to keep the boys from talking shop.

  After a bit, Julia and her new friends, Sheila and Mrs. Jurta, came to sit at the table. At a wordless signal from Dylan, the boys swallowed their food and excused themselves.

  Dylan found a spot behind an old oak tree with the remnants of a tire swing still hanging from its branches. It offered cover from the curious eyes at the table.

  George sprawled out on his back, one arm over his eyes, and Mac sat cross-legged and facing the picnickers while cleaning his glasses. His face wasn’t nearly as red as it had been when they were playing, but his hair was still plastered tight against his skull.

  Dylan rummaged through his backpack until he found his cell phone.

  “You all know why we’re here,” he said formally. “Ron and I are in the middle of a scientific investigation of the Lang mansion.”

  “The haunted place,” George said. “Yeah, we know it.”