Evelyn tried her best to process it all. “How do you know that will work?” she asked daringly.
Alannah sat up. “Because we feel it, darling.” She got off the loveseat and, hips swaying, walked up to Terrence. He took a step back as she grabbed his hand and put on her bloody chest. “We feel it right here. Don’t you?”
Completely in shock, Terrence watched blood pool around his fingers. “You’re so warm.”
Boiling, Evelyn grabbed at Alannah’s wrist, but her hand swiped through the woman’s arm.
“My apologies,” Alannah said to Evelyn. “Married men are my weakness.”
She released Terrence, and locking her sultry eyes on him, backed to a comfortable distance. That is, if there ever was a comfortable distance for a woman like that.
“Keep away from my husband,” Evelyn told her and then glared at Terrence.
“... Yeah, stay back,” he replied, not as firmly as Evelyn would’ve liked.
“Who is the boogieman?” Evelyn asked Mary.
The little girl shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t remember.”
Evelyn turned to the crowd. “Do any of you remember?”
They were silent.
Barker spoke up. “It’s not easy, you know, recalling one’s death. There are some things better left forgotten.”
“Yeah, except that doesn’t help us or you,” Evelyn replied. “Did Stephen Doyle do this?”
“Maybe,” Mary said softly. “I think so.”
The man in the white mask said nothing.
“Did Stephen, you know, to all of you?” Evelyn asked.
Peter shrugged. “We don’t know. That’s why we need your help. The moment you find the killer, we’re out of here. Otherwise, we’re benched in this house.”
Breathing loudly, Winslow nodded many times in agreement.
The jock continued. “If we had a better play, we’d tell you. So far Mary’s been the only one able to reach out through Terrence and you.”
“Did you deal with the gunman from the night of the attack?” Evelyn asked.
The ghosts traded looks and shook their heads. “We scared him away.”
“Well then, Stephen is our best bet at a lead,” Evelyn said. And our only lead.
“So you’ll help us?” Mary asked.
The ghosts looked at Evelyn, awaiting a response. Evelyn looked to her husband, who looked at his hand that was completely clean of blood. “Your call,” he said quietly.
Thinking back to why she became a private investigator, to help the downtrodden and neglected, Evelyn replied. “Yeah. We’ll help, but no more blackouts.”
Mary smiled. “Deal.”
Barker chuckled to himself and put his pipe back in his mouth. “Boy, am I glad to hear that.”
Within a blink, the room fireplace snuffed out, the dust on the furniture and books returned, and the specters were gone. Evelyn and Terrence stood in the musty room.
“Did that just happen?” Terrence said, rubbing the hand that touched Alannah.
Evelyn studied her quiet surroundings and empty chairs. It felt like the longest dream. When she awoke, she would be back in Detroit, in the small apartment that smelled like wood finish. However, a deeper truth screamed inside. One that said it was all real. “We need to find Stephen Doyle.”
“He tried to kills us,” Terrence argued. “He killed them.”
“Terrence, this is probably the most significant moment in our lives.” Evelyn did not want to sound dramatic, but it was true. “And the only thing that makes sense is that those people need rest.”
“What if they’re wrong and we’re hunting a serial killer for no reason?” Terrence replied.
Evelyn grabbed his hand, the one that touched the woman, and took it in both of her palms. “If it were me, wouldn’t you do the same?”
“I’d go to hell and back,” Terrence said with the passion that made Evelyn’s heart skip beats.
“They’re no different,” Evelyn replied. “We’re all human. We all deserve a chance.”
Terrence inhaled deeply and then cracked a smile. “I knew there was a reason why I married you.”
“That’s not the best thing to say after groping another woman,” Evelyn replied with a deadpan expression.
Terrence fidgeted. “You can’t blame me for that. The woman had me spellbound.”
“You’re really not making a good case for yourself,” Evelyn said and headed for the door.
“Babe. Come on,” Terrence pleaded in the way men do.
“I’m going to the Doyle house,” Evelyn said as she left the room. “You coming with?”
Terrence looked back to the place where the sexy woman once stood and then followed after his wife.
They climbed into their minivan. It was a sad vehicle with a chipped hood spotted with brown and burgundy rust. Evelyn tossed Terrence the keys and let him drive. Down Quenby Avenue were pastures of short green grass with clusters of tall trees every now and again. The sun was high and the sky blue. With the windows down, Evelyn let the country breeze soothe her soft skin. Her blonde hair danced in the wind and blew against her cheek. Cows and tractors blurred by. She thought that calling the police would be the best way to find the killer, but Mary’s plea was more personal. “You need to help us.” The words replayed in her mind, getting progressively more direct and personal each time. If she could get the police to help, then great. If not, Evelyn braced herself for the days to come. She was under no illusion that this would not get messy. By the bullet holes in her house and the bones in the basement, it had already gotten messy.
The old two-story farmhouse came into view beside two cattle pastures picketed with wooden posts and wide metal mesh. The house had a symmetrical design with wooden shutters like washboards and a covered porch that had three stairs leading into the jaws of the house. Evelyn and Terrence checked for cop cars. None. Since days had passed since the Doyles had vanished, the sheriff possibly assumed that they had skipped town. They may have gotten a warrant to search the premises. Evelyn didn’t know. The only thing she was sure of was that answers awaited her inside.
She stepped out of the minivan. Gravel crunched beneath her heel-less black boots. She wore a long-sleeved violet shirt and form-fitting jeans. Terrence was dressed in a short-sleeved collared button up with a violin patch above the right pec. At Evelyn’s command, they both wore plastic gloves.
A shed stood beside the house. That was where Evelyn saw Doyle’s white cotton mask. She would’ve taken a picture of it to send the police, but Stephen returned a moment later. Keeping her extendable baton attached to her waist, Evelyn peered into the windows. Curtains kept her from seeing what lay within.
“What should we be looking for?” Terrence asked while Evelyn lifted the welcoming mat, revealing disturbed pincer bugs and dirt.
“First the key.” Evelyn stood on her toes and ran her fingers across the top of the door frame. “Then anything that might tie Stephen or his twin sister Catherine to any of the victims.”
Terrence checked inside a nearby flower pot. No luck.
“Screw it,” Evelyn said and pulled out her lock-picking tools. It would leave scratches on the lock, and if the police came back to the premises, they’d know someone broke in. But Evelyn was not one to waste time.
“Aha,” Terrence said, removing the key from under a rock. He hiked up the stairs and twisted the key while Evelyn put her lock-picking tools away. The door opened smoothly into the welcoming residence. Pictures of Stephen and Catherine, both in their 40s with hooked noses and slender frames. Their eyes were buggy. Catherine had a lazy one. More family photos spotted the various stands. A few even showed Andrew Doyle, the other brother who was a few years away from his siblings, who had a similar nose and intense eyes.
Closing the door behind them, Evelyn and Terrence scouted the house. When they knew they were alone, they started their investigation. There were dishes on both sides of the sink and leftovers in the refrigerator. All the cupboar
ds were closed and there was a rag on the stove.
“I don’t think they ever came back here,” Terrence said.
“Or they did, but only grabbed the things they needed.”
The living room had an outdated box TV and blue sofa. There was a DVD player and a tall stack of country rock CDs. Upstairs, both of the twins’ bedrooms were roughly the same size. They had a bed, dresser, and other furnishings common in most houses. Terrence tried one room and Evelyn tried the other. When they were both done looking, they would trade to make sure neither of them missed anything. Evelyn pulled open the bedside drawer, finding sleeping medication, a box of pistol ammo, and a Cosmopolitan magazine. She didn’t know what to think about that.
Under the bed were a number of plastic containers filled to the brim with old clothes fit for a Goodwill drop-off. She put them back, finding more women’s fashion magazines. She thought she was in Catherine's room for a moment until she saw the big wooden letters above the inner door that said Stephen. She returned the items and tried the closet. As she walked to it, she heard Terrence rummaging in the other bedroom.
“Anything?” Evelyn asked.
“Um, I don’t really know… what we’re looking for,” Terrence replied honestly from the other room.
Evelyn curbed her frustration, remembering that he’d never done any investigative work. “Journals, photographs, mementos from the victims. Think Barker’s pipe for example. Or Alannah’s brassiere.”
“It was an accident!” Terrence shouted back.
Evelyn smiled to herself.
She opened the closet doors and sifted through a number of all-season jackets and hunter garb within. On top of the horizontal coat rack were a series of shoeboxes. Evelyn took them down, one by one, examined the contents, and put them back where she found them. In the second to last box, Evelyn found a number of keepsake items. Most of them were souvenirs from various national parks along with accompanying brochures. Evelyn sorted through them, taking a trip down Stephen’s memory. He had quite the road trip from Georgia to Yellowstone. Oddly, he was alone for most of it. Before Evelyn put back the box, she noticed a cardboard flap cut to the size of the box and intent on hiding an item below. Evelyn had seen plenty of these in her P.I. work. Most people used them to hide ecstasy tablets or naughty pictures. Things that helped launch Evelyn’s investigation. Sticking her finger in the circular hole of the cardboard, she removed it from the shoebox.
Her eyes went wide as she looked at the picture of a younger Stephen and Alannah sharing a smoothie with two straws. It was dated 1998.
“Terrence,” Evelyn called out. “I think I got something.”
15
Breath
There was no doubt about it. Stephen Doyle had a connection with Alannah. But, why didn’t the ghost reveal this information, and how did her body end up in the bone pit? Evelyn recalled her first encounter with Stephen. He and his sister showed up at her front door, invited themselves inside, and started taking pictures of the foyer. “It’s not your house,” Stephen replied when Evelyn demanded that he leave. Evelyn hadn’t thought much of the statement, but it seemed to carry weight now. Was it because of the bones that he said such a thing, or was there any other reason Evelyn hadn’t accounted for? Perhaps it was just empty words from a homicidal maniac.
Evelyn racked her brain, trying to link the investigation back to her estranged father. She had two connections that drew Maxwell Quenby in these murders. Number one and a huge red flag, the bones were hidden in his family estate. Number two: Maxwell’s connection to Mary. By the hair ribbon found in his secret study and the number of Mary’s drawings that showed them together, the two of them shared a bond. Evelyn hoped it was innocent, but her pessimism seemed to get the better of her.
The rest of the time spent searching the Doyle house turned up fruitless. If anything, Evelyn garnered a new outlook on her sadistic neighbors. Stephen owned a lot of polos, shorts, and slip-on shoes. He ate a lot, a whole lot, of chicken broth, and the most expensive thing in his house was a new washer and dryer. The Doyles lived simple lives: hand-washing dishes, folding clothes, watching old reruns of I Love Lucy on the tube. They had a few stuffed game trophies mounted on the walls, a leaning stack of board games inside the storage closet, and an uncompleted game of Scrabble on the kitchen table. Judging by old pictures of the house and their droopy-faced grandparents, the Doyles were long-time Adders locals. Evelyn made note of that. She needed to suspect that Stephen and Catherine knew the town and its secrets.
Evelyn and Terrence double-checked the rooms to make sure everything was put back in its proper place and then reconvened in the minivan.
“Back to the mansion?” Terrence asked.
Evelyn nodded. Soft blues filled their silence.
They bumped down the red brick road, passing under the sprawling branches that dripped clumps of moss. They hopped out of the car and cautiously returned to the lounge. The room was dark and dusty, just how they left it.
“Alannah? Mary?” Evelyn called out into the empty room. She felt completely stupid as she waited for a reply.
“Hello?” Terrence asked the lounge. “We have some questions about your relationship with Stephen.”
A few moments passed.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Evelyn said.
“Maybe they didn’t hear us,” Terrence said, trying to cheer her up.
Evelyn sucked up her pride and asked again to speak with the dead. No reply.
“If you want our help, show yourselves,” Evelyn demanded.
As seconds ticked by on the wall clock, seeds of doubt grew in Evelyn’s mind. Was the first encounter a vision? The sights, the smells, and everything else felt so real. By Terrence’s perplexed face, he had similar doubts. That was a good thing. It meant that he definitely saw it, too. Nonetheless, after having blackouts and a number of uncanny visions, reality blurred and Evelyn didn’t trust her mind. Unfortunately for her, the mind was her most reliable tool.
Tick-tock, the clock kept on. Waiting around wasn’t getting them anywhere. Evelyn felt a crushing weight to solve this mystery and return to her life with some semblance of normalcy. Good luck, a little condescending voice told her.
“What’s the play?” Terrence asked.
Evelyn glanced about the room. “We proceed without them.”
Part of her longed to learn more about the other victims, but she needed to prioritize. If she couldn’t find Alannah, she would need to find someone else. Leaving the lounge behind, Evelyn booted up her computer in the upstairs study because the secret study in the downstairs hall of portraits was in need of serious repair. The cotton-masked person, Stephen or his sister, took an axe to the thin wall and inner door. It wouldn’t help the resale value, nor would the discovery of human remains beneath it. Some people were superstitious. They might think the place was haunted.
Terrence had the video camera set out on the desk. Its tumble down the foyer stairs cracked the lens and distorted the footage. He attempted to replay the footage from the night of the invasion, catching glimpses of Alannah in her jade green dress and naked Winslow. Terrence shuddered. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that.”
“We might not be supposed to,” Evelyn replied, getting quick flashes of leaking wounds in her mind. Her pity for the victim was the only thing keeping her from vomiting.
Sitting upright in the leather rolling chair, Evelyn researched local missing persons on her laptop. It wasn’t hard to find the news column in such a small town press. The first picture showed Alannah’s perfect face and alluring smile. The second image showed police officers surrounding a red convertible parked off the road.
“Missing: Alannah Gimmerson, age 38,” Terrence read. “Authorities discovered the local performer/songwriter’s vehicle parked on the side of Meadows Road. The front tire was flat, undamaged but lacking air, and bags of groceries spoiled in the trunk. Authorities are seeking any information regarding Alannah’s whereabouts.”
Evelyn tapped the screen. “March of 2001. Mary Sullivan vanished in 2003.”
“And Mary was the last victim, right?” Terrence asked.
“To our knowledge, yes,” Evelyn replied. “Alannah could’ve been the pre-ultimate one.”
Terrence pulled at his little chin beard. “Hmm. What if… never mind.”
“What?” Evelyn asked.
Terrence continued. “What if the flat tire wasn’t random? If the killer let the air out, knowing that Alannah would pull over. The car looks clean to me and the doors are closed. It doesn’t look like Alannah resisted her attacker.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” Evelyn replied. She looked up at Terrence and smiled. “You’re not bad at this.”
“Maybe I can be the big-time investigator and you can be the humble guitar guy,” Terrence joked.
“I’d rather not.”
“You can wear my cowboy hat,” Terrence bargained.
“Tempting,” Evelyn replied dryly.
She swiveled back to the laptop. The screen’s glow reflected in her bloodshot blue eyes. She researched further, finding archived newspaper slides. There was a small section from a paper a few years back, inviting anyone to Alannah’s funeral where they buried an empty casket. Alannah’s mother, Ida, organized it. Doing the math, Evelyn figured that Ida was retirement age and sought out retirement homes and local assisted living facilities. She got a bite for an ALF facility a town over and headed that way. Terrence joined her.
The building was single story, with diamond-shaped tiles across the floor. Brochures seemed to be set out on every surface of the entrance area. The receptionist, a short and kind woman, asked, “What is the nature of your visit?”
Evelyn flashed her P.I. license. The receptionist used the intercom to contact Ida and then led Evelyn and Terrence to the dining area. The room was largely barren this time of day apart from several round tables in the back where residents mingled. An elderly couple nodded at Evelyn and Terrence as they walked into the social area. The receptionists pointed at an elderly woman dressed lavishly with a fashionable cloth scarf around her neck. Drinking hot tea, she worked on a puzzle that displayed an 18th century ballroom. Pieces were missing from the picture, but Ida was moving along nicely.
The Haunting of Quenby Mansion Omnibus: A Haunted House Mystery Page 15
