by Raven Snow
“Not badly,” said Trish. “My brother and I were in the back seat. We were relatively untouched by the crash. Anita was in a car ahead of us. She broke her arm and…her collar bone, I think? Either way, she walked out of there too. It was just our parents who were unlucky.”
Rowen shook her head at the senseless tragedy of it all. She couldn’t help but notice something Trish had said though. “Why was Anita in another car?” she asked.
“She drove herself down. She’d just gotten her driver’s license. That girl drove everywhere back then, and she rubbed it in our faces constantly. She wasn’t the kindest big sister.” Trish waved a hand like all of this was unimportant. “Enough of this depressing talk, huh? You came here to ask about my brother.” She gave a sad sort of laugh. “Though, I suppose that’s plenty depressing all on its own, huh?”
Rowen went ahead and pulled out her tape recorder. “Just tell me anything you think we could use,” she said. “Start wherever you like. Do you have many happy memories of your childhood?” It seemed a bit cruel to bring that up after the conversation they had just had. “Sorry,” she added quickly.
Trish laughed. “It’s fine,” she assured her. “Let’s see. We grew up in the house my sister lives in now. I’d like to say we were close back then, but we weren’t really. She was five years older than my brother and I. That might as well be a lifetime apart at that age.”
Rowen nodded. Willow and Peony were only a couple of years younger than she was, but they still felt like the babies of the family to her. “Were you the youngest?”
Trish nodded. “My brother and I were a year apart. We spent a lot of our time together, playing make believe and such. We took music lessons together. We were on the community softball team. Our parents made sure we were in a lot of activities. They liked their kids to be social. They didn’t want us cooped up in the house all the time.”
“Was Anita the social sort, too?” Rowen asked. This time, she was being nosy. She wasn’t sure what Anita had to do with what had happened, but she knew it was something.
“Oh, yes,” said Trish. “She was too social, if anything. Always out and about with boys. She was your typical teenager. It drove our parents insane. They couldn’t keep up with her.”
“I take it they were good parents, though,” said Rowen. “It sounds like they wanted to make sure you all had good childhoods.”
“They were the best,” Trish said, smiling sadly. “Anita’s wild years aside, they had that whole happy, wholesome family thing going on. We put lights out for Christmas, Mom volunteered at school, we went on family vacations. They did it all. We were very happy. Willard really connected with dad who was a family doctor. People in Lainswich loved him. Willard grew up thinking a doctor was just about the most amazing thing a person could be. He wanted to follow in his footsteps for the longest time.”
“I heard about that,” Rowen said. “The him wanting to be a doctor part, I mean. Ted and Jeff told me that’s what he wanted to do when he took a job at the department store.”
Trish sighed. “It’s a shame how that happens, isn’t it? We didn’t have much when we got out of foster care. From then on it was just the two of us scraping by. We barely had the money to pay rent some months, much less put him through college.” She forced a smile. “But listen to me being all depressing. It wasn’t that bad. We had a lot of fun together over the years. We made a comfortable life for ourselves here. We took a few vacations, had a lot of laughs. He still played the piano…The house is going to be a lot quieter without the music.”
“Did you play an instrument?”
“The flute,” said Trish with another nod. “It was just a hobby. We would play together most nights though.”
“It’s good you got along so well.” She didn’t mention that she found it a bit creepy that a couple of siblings had lived their whole lives together like this. Regardless of what Trish had said, it did seem like a rather depressing existence. “I never asked what you did for a living.”
“I work at a funeral home,” Trish said with a smile.
Rowen raised her eyebrows. “Oh,” she said.
Trish laughed. “It’s more enjoyable than it sounds. Someone has to do it, and I’m not squeamish around the dead.” That might explain why she seemed to be taking Willard’s death unusually well. “And I know what you’re thinking. I couldn’t have had Willard’s funeral there. It would have made work…Too strange, you know? Better to have a degree of separation with these kind of things.”
Rowen hadn’t been wondering about that, but she supposed it made sense. “Well, it’s good that you enjoy your work.”
Trish shrugged. “I never had any dreams of being a doctor or anything. Of course, I didn’t want to skate through life like Anita either.”
“You think she skates through life?” Rowen took a sip of her water, trying to seem nonchalant with the question. She couldn’t help it. She liked hearing less than flattering things about that woman.
At least Trish seemed more than happy to provide her with those unflattering factoids. “She was eighteen when our parents died,” Trish explained. “She got money from their Will and used all of that up before she got herself a husband. Then she used all of his money up. She just slides through life on the coattails of others.”
“I heard the house belonged to Willard?” Rowen asked, ignoring the nudge Eric gave her. She didn’t think the question was out of line.
Trish’s face darkened at that question. “It was,” she said. “It was what our parents left him. It should have become his when he turned eighteen. Anita refused to move out and, well, it was just a mess. I don’t know if you ever met her husband. He was a lawyer. From what I hear, he called in a bunch of favors and got the whole thing tied up in the courts.” Trish gave a heavy sigh. “Willard never gave up, of course. I backed him up. It took ages, but you have to do what’s right, you know? Anita did something that was wrong, and you don’t let that sort of thing go. We were so close to sorting it all out.” She shook her head sadly.
“What happens now?” Rowen asked. Obviously, Willard wasn’t going to be pursuing it any further.
“He left the house to her.” Trish frowned “So that settles that, I suppose. I couldn’t rightly tell you why he did it.”
“Ted and Jeff said something about her maybe losing her home soon,” Rowen offered, wondering if there was any truth to that.
Trish shrugged. “If there was, I didn’t hear about it,” she said. “Though, he was the one spending more time with Anita at the end there. That was all him. I could never forgive her.”
“Forgive her?” Rowen repeated.
Trish shook her head. “It’s a long story,” she said, implying she didn’t much want to talk about the specifics of the grudges she held. Rowen certainly wasn’t going to press her. She was mildly ashamed she had even asked. “The short version is that I think Anita is a real piece of work. It was Willard who started getting all sentimental on me. These last few months, he was visiting her all the time. Said he wanted to make things right. It was his idea to go down for this dinner party. He practically dragged me along.” Trish took a deep breath, crossing her arms over her chest like the conversation was upsetting her. “You can see where ‘trying to set things right’ got him.”
Rowen wasn’t sure what to say to that. Things were getting a little awkward, and she didn’t want to upset Trish. “Did your brother have any hobbies?” she asked, changing the subject.
The rest of the interview was straight forward. Like the interview with Ted and Jeff, Rowen got everything she needed. She had plenty for a decent article. She also had a lot of questions she needed to review with Rose later. She hadn’t officially committed herself to solving this mystery. It wasn’t like her own family was being blamed for any of it. It was more that she’d just taken it on by default. Solving mysteries in Lainswich appeared to be something she just had a knack for. Besides, she cared a lot about Ben, and solving this thing for him would mos
t definitely make Rose happy.
Rowen already had all she needed when she was getting ready to leave. Her purse was in her lap, and Eric was sitting at the edge of the sofa as she tried to get around to saying her goodbyes.
It was Trish who was drawing things out. Rowen wasn’t sure if she was just lonely or what. Either way, she was either missing or pointedly ignoring the signs that her guests wanted to leave. “I hope this isn’t too forward of me,” she said, finally. “I don’t mean to be rude.”
“Go ahead,” said Rowen, doubtful Trish could say anything that was going to offend her. Besides, she had just spent the last hour sitting there, probing Trish with questions. The least she could do was answer a few of her own.
“You’re Greensmiths, right?” Trish laughed and shook her head. “I mean, I know you’re Greensmiths, obviously. I guess what I’m trying to say is…” She trailed off, her face going a bit red.
Rowen thought she knew where she was going with this. “You want to know if I’m a witch, right?” she asked.
Trish laughed. “I guess that’s what I’m getting at, yes.”
Rowen smiled. She got this a lot. “Well, I am a Greensmith,” she said. “Our reputation proceeds us. We do think of ourselves as witches.”
“I remember your grandmother,” said Trish, looking a bit more comfortable now that Rowen had just come right out and said the word, ‘witch.’ “We were all so scared of her. We used to dare each other to take shortcuts through her yard. “One time she came rushing out the front door like she was going to chase us off. We started running, and she just laughed.”
“That sounds like Grammy.”
Trish’s expression grew a bit more serious. “Anita always talked about you lot like you were horrible sinners. She still does. I never placed much stock in it.”
“I appreciate that,” Rowen said, though she wasn’t sure why Trish was bringing it up in the first place.
“I did wonder, though,” said Trish, speaking slowly like she was approaching a difficult subject for her. “Do you really do spells and hex people and…speak to the dead and such?”
Eric glanced over at Rowen, looking a bit uncomfortable. Rowen was feeling a bit odd herself. She had a feeling of what Trish was getting at, and it was more than a little awkward. “Did you…” she began, sensing Trish’s hesitance to just outright ask her. “Did you want me to try and contact Willard?”
Trish looked down at the floor when she asked. “I…” she began, but trailed off. She took a deep breath. “That’s a horrible thing to ask, isn’t it? I’m sure my parents would be scandalized I was even bringing it up, but…You do this for a lot of murders, don’t you?” she asked. “I’ve heard you help Ben out a lot. You contact the deceased and see what they have to say about their own murders.”
“I do,” said Rowen. “But they don’t usually have much that’s helpful to offer. Sometimes they’ve moved on altogether. I didn’t contact Willard in this particular instance because no one asked me to. Plus, I didn’t think he would know much more about who killed him than any of us do. If he had known, I doubt it would have happened the way it did.”
Trish nodded. “I guess you’re right,” she said, still looking at the floor.
Rowen felt a slight stab of guilt. “I can still contact him,” she offered. “I mean, if you want to make sure or if you just want to talk to him.”
“You can?” Trish looked up, her expression hopeful. “That’s not a horrible thing to ask is it? Is it wrong morally to want to disturb his spirit like that?”
“No,” Rowen said quickly. “I just have to warn you, sometimes a spirit has already moved on. Sometimes they move on fast.” She didn’t want to get Trish’s hopes up. “That’s a good thing, but it does mean we might not be able to get in contact with him.”
“I understand,” Trish said quickly. She moved to the edge of her chair, seeming more than a little eager. “I would like to try, though…If you don’t mind. It would mean the world to me.”
Rowen looked at Eric. He gave the smallest of shrugs. Rowen could hardly refuse Trish. After all she had lost, speaking to her brother would almost certainly be a relief. “If you want, sure.”
“I don’t want to keep you,” Trish added quickly. “I mean, if you have somewhere to be. I know it’s a long drive home for you two.”
“It’s no trouble,” said Rowen, even though it was. She couldn’t exactly say no now, could she? Not now that Trish looked so excited.
“Just tell me what you need,” said Trish. “Should we do it now or later tonight or…Goodness, I’ve never done anything like this before.”
Rowen scanned the room for a good place to set up. This was turning into a very long day.
Chapter Seven
There were a lot of ways to contact a spirit. A séance was the easiest way, but Rowen found that most people liked more tangible proof that they were communicating with a spirit. Oftentimes they liked something like a Ouija board. That was more interactive; they could see that, touch it. They were less likely to assume you were just trying to trick them. Rowen thought the Ouija board might offer Trish a bit more comfort.
Of course, Rowen didn’t have a Ouija board on hand. It wasn’t like she traveled around with one in the trunk of her car. Fortunately, one was easy enough to make. Trish had plenty of cardboard boxes, so Rowen used one of those.
With Eric’s help, she cut out a rectangle and a small planchette. She used a marker to write down letters, numbers, and a big “Yes” and “No.” It didn’t look pretty, but it would do the job.
It wasn’t necessary to wait until nightfall, but it was nearing evening by the time they were all set up. Trish hadn’t had any candles. Rowen had tried to convince her that they weren’t necessary, but Trish had insisted on running out to the store to buy some.
They set up a circle in the living room with the tea lights, and Trish drew all the blinds and switched off the lights. She watched with interest as Rowen readied the circle.
“What do I do?” asked Trish.
“Just sit there,” said Rowen. “You being here should be enough. It sounds like you were really close to Willard. If anything is going to draw him back to this plane, it’s you.”
Trish smiled at that. “Should I put my fingers on that piece of cardboard there?” she asked, indicating the planchette.
Rowen nodded. “In a minute” she said. “When Eric and I do. Just rest them on it lightly.”
Trish nodded. “I’ve never done anything like this before,” she said for the umpteenth time.
“Don’t worry,” said Rowen. “You’ll be fine.” She took a very deep breath and looked around the circle to make sure everyone was sitting and relaxed. “Clear your minds,” she said. She did just that as she spoke. “Picture Willard.” She couldn’t really do a great job of that. She imagined Eric couldn’t at all. He hadn’t been to the funeral and was unlikely to have even seen a picture of the guy. Still, it was what the protocol was for this sort of thing, so it was what Rowen instructed everyone to do.
“We’re here to speak with Willard Lydell. Willard, if you’re with us today, we ask that you make your presence known. We wish you no harm. We only want to communicate with you. Your sister is here, Willard.” Rowen put her fingers, lightly, on the planchette. Eric did the same, and Trish was right behind him. “Are you here with us Willard?” she asked. “If you are, please signal ‘yes’ on this board for us.”
Nothing happened at first. Rowen wasn’t too surprised by that. She did, however, glance at Trish a few times. She didn’t want her to be upset if she didn’t get the results she was hoping for. There was no guarantee it would work. She had tried to prepare her for that.
Trish was chewing on her bottom lip. She swallowed. Her fingers twitched on the planchette, nudging it forward just a bit.
“Be careful,” Rowen warned. “Keep your fingers light. We need him to move it if he’s here, not you.”
Trish nodded. Her hands were still shaking,
but she let them hover over the planchette so that they wouldn’t move it.
“Remember, he may have moved on already,” Rowen said, reminding her again. “That’s not a bad thing. It really isn’t. If he’s at—” The planchette jerked. Trish gave a small gasp but kept quiet. They all watched as the cardboard piece beneath their fingers gave a strong jerk toward the ‘Yes.’
“Willard Lydell,” said Rowen, feeling relief swell in her chest. “Is that you?”
The planchette moved away from the ‘Yes’ only to dart back onto it once more. It looked like they had their spirit —or, at the very least, someone who claimed to be Willard Lydell. Rowen knew it wasn’t Trish moving the planchette on the board. She could feel a presence. There was definitely someone there with them.
