Terrence turned to march up the stairs. Evelyn called out to him.
Hand on the railing and foot on the second step, he turned back.
“If it wasn’t for this ordeal with my father and the murders, I would’ve sold this place in a heartbeat,” Evelyn said.
“What’s done is done,” Terrence said with a sunken face. “No use dwelling on it.”
“It’s okay to be mad at me,” Evelyn felt like she had to say.
“That’s the thing, Evelyn. I don’t want to be mad at you.” Hand sliding up the smooth rail, Terrence hiked the curved stairs.
Evelyn stood in the massive foyer. She looked at the broken windows, wondering how much damage this old house could take before it fell in. She marched down the hall where she had painted Mary’s mural and entered into the red velvet lounge. Bookshelves, a brick fireplace, and various large portraits lined the walls. Without warning, the blackened wood burst into flame and all the lights flickered on.
“You look dreadful, darling,” Alannah said, lounging on the lover’s seat with one arm stretched above her head.
“I just sold my chance at a family to help you,” Evelyn replied coldly. Apart from Andrew, the five victims occupied various sections and chairs in the room. “The least you can do is tell me who threw the brick.”
Peter Calhoon stepped forward. He wore his number thirteen purple and yellow varsity jacket and rubbed his right wrist, right under the bloody stump. With guilt, he said. “My dad threw it.”
By the looks on the others’ faces, they had seen him too.
Infuriated, Evelyn marched out of the room, grabbed the brick, and fished out her car keys. Slamming the minivan door behind her, she raced to the Calhoon house. He must’ve done it when I was watching one of the others. Evelyn’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white. She could feel herself reaching her long overdue breaking point. You could only get shot at, see someone have their head explode, and deal with estranged family for so long before you needed to smash something.
Her brakes screeched to a stop out of the Calhoon residence. Their house was large and modern, probably constructed in the last twenty or thirty years. Upon Evelyn’s first visit here, before Calhoon knew about the bones in her basement, he and Terrence were hitting it off by talking about football. Both Mr. and Mrs. Calhoon were very supportive of Evelyn’s investigation. That had changed.
Though it was 10:38 p.m. and the lights were off apart for the upstairs bedroom TV, Evelyn punched her finger against the doorbell multiple times and then hammered her fist against the door’s face. She could hear Mr. Calhoon swearing as he neared the opposite side of the door.
Hair disheveled and wearing pajamas, Mr. Calhoon yanked open the door. With tired eyes and a pissed-off face, he loomed over Evelyn. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”
“You left something at my house.” Evelyn presented the brick.
Mr. Calhoon fumed. “Leave, or I swear--”
“So you’re admitting that you vandalized my home?” Evelyn replied with fire in her voice.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mr. Calhoon denied. The man was a good liar.
“I’ve done nothing but try to help you,” Evelyn said. “And yet this is how you treat me. Why? Because of my father?”
“The one who killed my son?” Mr. Calhoon asked rhetorically and took an angry step toward Evelyn. She held her ground and looked directly into his eyes. Her fingernails dug into the brick in her lowered hand.
“Maxwell’s innocent. I have proof,” Evelyn said firmly.
“Liar,” the man barked.
“He was with my mother the days of the murders,” Evelyn explained.
“His lover, you mean? Someone who would lie to protect him. What a testimony!”
“You don’t want to believe me, fine,” Evelyn said. “But stay away from my house.”
“I didn’t throw that brick,” Calhoon seethed.
“That’s not what your son said,” Evelyn replied, her blood pressure rising.
Calhoon grabbed her by the scruff of her coat. “What did you say?”
“Peter. Your son. His apparition saw everything,” Evelyn said.
Mr. Calhoon’s lip quivered. “You’re a psychopath, just like your father.”
With a powerful shove, he pushed Evelyn onto the front lawn. She landed on her bottom and glared at him as he slammed the door. Clenching the brick, she guessed it wouldn’t be hard to break the window from here. What are you doing, Evelyn? an internal voice asked her. She forced herself up, quickly brushed off the dirt, and then returned to her minivan before she did something stupid.
She pulled into a gas station. Under the dim light over the awning, she rested her back against the minivan and pinched the bridge of her nose as the gas pump refilled her car. You need to slow down, she told herself. Eyes closed, she saw Stephen Doyle’s head exploding and felt his warm blood cascading down her face. She had him at gunpoint. Her father, a shell of a man with a beard-covered face, pulled the trigger without hesitation. Was Lily covering for Maxwell this whole time? Was Evelyn trying to prove the innocence of a serial killer?
No, she had to trust her gut.
Currently, her gut told that her Calhoon was going to do something stupid. Evelyn needed to stop that, and the best way to do so would be to get people looking at him. If he knew the police were watching him, he wouldn’t make a move, or, at the very least, he might hesitate.
Evelyn pulled out her phone and dialed Officer Bailey.
“Yeah?” the woman answered sleepily.
“It’s Evelyn. I have an idea who threw that brick.”
“Who’s that?”
“It’s Calhoon. We had a falling out recently. He may try to get back at me.”
“We’ll talk to him tomorrow.”
Evelyn thanked her and hung up. She pulled up Sheriff Yates’s number. On a number of occasions, he’d claimed to be a friend of the Quenbys, praising their donations to the department. Nonetheless, Evelyn didn’t trust any of the men who had attempted to bribe her out of town.
Pulling the pump out of her vehicle, Evelyn listened to the ringing. She was patched into the sheriff’s office. Sunshine wasn’t working this late. A different receptionist took her call.
“I need to speak to Yates,”
“He’s not in right now.”
“It’s an emergency. Tell him it’s Evelyn Carr.”
With hesitation, the night worker put Evelyn on hold. By the time she was on the road, Sheriff Yates answered. “I usually don’t take calls this late. Consider yourself a lucky lady.”
Evelyn told him about the brick and Calhoon, ending with, “You said people would come after me because of what my father has done. Now, I’m asking for your help.”
“You sure it was Calhoon?”
“I’m positive.” Evelyn would’ve shown him the burner phone’s GPS path, but the evidence would be inadmissible because of its illegal nature.
“Hmm,” Yates said contemplatively. “I have to say, Evelyn. Maybe this is a sign.”
“A what?”
“Maybe instead of going on a witch hunt, you and Terrence, you know, end your vacation early.”
“You’re saying I should run away?” Evelyn asked. “Why can’t you talk to Calhoon? Tell him you have an eye on him. Scare him a little bit.”
“Yeah, and then someone else who hates you will rise up and take his place. You want my two cents: contact Mayor Timberland. He’ll probably offer you a fourth of the price for the property since you offended him, but take it anyway and skedaddle. There’s nothing here for you.”
“You said you were a friend of my family.”
“I’m a friend of their money,” the sheriff said honestly. “And that well dried up a long time ago.”
“Wow,” Evelyn replied, pulling off to the side of the road. “You’re really something else, Sheriff.”
“Hey now, don’t blame me. I told you
our community was a fragile thing, and clearly you don’t fit in the bubble. I would say that it’s only a suggestion that you leave but...”
“So that’s it then? Because of my father’s supposed crimes, I’m the one who suffers.”
“You know it’s more than that. You disturb the peace, and Adders wouldn’t be Adders without its peace and quiet. Now rest up. I imagine you’ve got a lot to pack tomorrow.”
“I’m not leaving until I prove my father’s innocence,” Evelyn stated. “Or until I find Bella Day. Remember her? The nine-year-old we’re looking for. No, I guess she doesn’t matter. It’s only me and the breath in my lungs that disturbs the peace.”
“Have a good night, Evelyn,” the sheriff said coldly and hung up.
Evelyn rested her forehead on the steering wheel. Another burned bridge. After a moment to reflect on the conversation, Evelyn returned to Quenby House. She arrived after midnight and looked up at the mansion under the moon’s glow. Drooping white flowers dangled from the vines that twisted around the mighty colonnades and suffocated the building’s white paint. Letting out an exasperated sigh, she marched up the steps and went inside.
She knocked on Terrence’s bedroom door.
“Come in,” he said.
Evelyn found him seated in bed, resting his back on the backboard and a laptop on his outstretched legs. He wore a white t-shirt and boxers. “You look worried.”
“Really?” Evelyn replied sarcastically. “The sheriff told us to buzz off. He’s not going to help us find the culprit.”
“Yates?” Terrence cursed. “He must’ve been upset we didn’t sell.”
“I’m sorry, Terrence,” Evelyn apologized. “I was selfish and bullheaded. We should’ve taken the money.”
Terrence looked like he was squirming to say something, but didn’t. He asked, “What about the victims? Bella Day? Your father? Why are you having doubt now?”
“I’m chasing ghosts,” Evelyn admitted. “Literally. Figuratively.” Evelyn chuckled at the ridiculousness of the situation. “I’m giving this case my all, and my reward is a bus ticket the hell out of here.”
Terrence set aside his computer. “The Evelyn I knew never worried about the payout. It’s always been about helping others. Sticking up for the little man.”
“I don’t know, Terrence. I’m tired of all of it. It’s like I’m running, but I’m not going anywhere.”
Terrence gestured for her to come over.
Hesitant and guilt-ridden, she made her way to the side of the bed. Terrence squeezed her hand. “I haven’t been completely honest with you.”
Evelyn crinkled her brows.
“When those guys showed up last night, they told me about how they wanted to buy the house way before dinner. I was half-tempted to sign off there and then, but I knew your father gave this place to you. Heck, it was the only thing your father ever gave you. When you arrived, I needed to see your reaction to the men’s offer. Your response wasn’t what, um, I had hoped. Still isn’t, but this land, it's yours, Evelyn. And though I don’t agree with your choice, I respect it. Because at the end of the day, we’re going to be the only ones in the world that knew what you did for the people downstairs, not for a reward or fame, but because it's the right thing to do.”
“Thanks.” Evelyn sat down next to him. He scooted over, giving her room to lay down beside him. Evelyn smiled at the situation, knowing that the twin bed was too small for the both of them.
“Yeah, I don’t know how well this sleeping arrangement is going to work,” Terrence said jokingly as he struggled to keep both legs on the bed.
“You could come back to my room.”
“Nervous that Alannah’s going to try to seduce me?”
“Should I be?” Evelyn asked with a small smile.
“She did say she liked my cowboy hat.”
“That’s it. I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”
They snuggled on the tiny bed. Evelyn knew one thing: come hell or high water, they’d have each other.
Evelyn woke up hours before sunrise. She untangled herself from her husband and cringed as she stood up from the creaking bed. Seeing that Terrence was still fast asleep, she headed downstairs. With a pensive look, she studied the plastic sheeting on the two front windows. The killer didn’t need to use a secret passageway; he could simply step inside. That was not a jolly thought. She headed to the kitchen and poured a glass of orange juice. By the tightness in her gut, she remembered how little she ate yesterday. That reminded her…
She found her purse and pulled out her tablet. With the light still off, she sat in the study on a cracked leather office chair. Yawning, she loaded up her tracking app. That’s odd, she thought. Calhoon’s vehicle was parked in a field a dozen miles from his house. Evelyn checked the clock. 5:01 a.m. She checked on Mayor Timberland’s car. He was parked in the same field. Quickly, Evelyn cycled to Dr. Gregory. They were all in the same location. Deputy Painter and Sheriff Yates were the only ones she wasn’t sure about, because she never got a chance to put trackers on them.
Unsure how much time she had, Evelyn rushed out of the study, threw on some dark clothes, put her blonde hair into a ponytail, and grabbed her extendable baton. She thought about waking Terrence but didn’t want to wait for the men’s meet to adjourn. Groaning, Evelyn left her husband to his sleep and sped down the road.
Inky blackness shrouded Adders. Outside of her headlight beams, she could barely make out the silhouettes of trees and farmlands. The moon was almost full, and the universe painted the dark sky. Evelyn drove past the mayor’s property. She turned into a dirt road that had a metal guard blocking the path. Evelyn got out of her car. There was a chain, but the gate wasn’t locked. Quietly, Evelyn put her hands on the metal bar and pushed it open. When she had enough for her van to fit through, she climbed back into her vehicle and continued onward.
A thin line of skinny trees flanked either side of the road. Behind them, cattle pastures sprawled into the darkness. Evelyn turned off her headlight and quietly rolled her van forward.
She saw the barn appear as she rounded the road’s bend. It was a big red building with an A-frame tin roof and massive double doors. Rays of light burst from the thin gaps of the tall vertical slats that made up the walls. Metal mesh fence with chipped posts bordered the barn from three sides.
Timberland’s red sports car, Calhoon’s Lexus, Gregory's BMW, and two sheriff cruisers were parked outside. The whole gang. Evelyn reversed her minivan and parked it on the other side of the bend to make sure that if the men walked out of the barn, they wouldn’t immediately spot her vehicle. Under the cover of night, Evelyn scurried over to the barn. She weaved through the parked cars and slowed in front of the structure. Calming herself, she peeked through the gap between the double doors. The light inside reflected on her blue iris.
The interior consisted of two rows of cattle pens, one on the right wall and one on the left. They had closed wooden gates but currently held no livestock. Packed dirt and straw made up the path between them. It led to a small table near the back where the five men sat. Evelyn could hear their voices, but she was too far to decipher the words. A loft formed a U above. The bottom--the widest portion and full of haystacks--hovered over the table. One ladder could access it from the inside.
Evelyn pulled away from the gap and snuck around the side of the barn. There was a chicken coop attached to the side of the building and a stack of pallets nearby. Carefully, Evelyn climbed the pallets, feeling them wobble beneath her feet. When she found her balance, she pulled herself up onto the chicken coop. The tin roof bent in for a moment and then popped back into place. Evelyn froze, waiting to see if any one of the men had heard it. It didn’t seem like it. She’d need to be quieter. Putting the ball of her hands against the roof’s edge, she pulled up, sliding her torso onto the roof’s edge. With slow and controlled steps, she walked the incline to the place where the loft jutted out of the rest of the room. There was a window on the left and
right side. Evelyn approached the nearest one. One of the four glass panes had been knocked out. The others remained. Evelyn heard the voices clearer, but not clear enough. She needed to get inside. Using a point of her pocketknife, she loosened another pane. She threw it like a Frisbee into a bush and did the same to the other panels. When she cleared out the glass, she pulled out the window plus-shaped pane divider and crawled inside.
Using hay bales as steps, she walked down to the loft’s floor. She pulled out her cell phone, got on her knees and elbows, and filmed through a crack in the floor.
Deputy Painter leaned back in a rusty metal chair with his boots on the cracked circular table. His felt hat rested beside his feet on the table. He said, “Let me take care of her personally.”
Sheriff Yates, sitting beside him, pushed the deputy’s feet off the table. Painter almost flipped backward. He caught himself and glared at the sheriff.
“There are much cleaner ways of handling things,” Yates told him. “I brought in this meth head the other day. It wouldn’t be hard to plant some of his product in her possession.”
“But that’s only temporary,” Painter argued.
Mayor Timberland sat on the chair opposite of him. “I agree. She is dangerously close to learning the truth and needs to be dealt with permanently.”
“Yeah, and now Maxwell’s killing again,” Painter added. “Maybe with her help.”
Standing away from others, Dr. Gregory shook his head. “Evelyn isn’t the problem. It’s Maxwell. He’s back. We all know it.”
“One girl goes missing and now it’s Maxwell,” Timberland said with doubt.
“I’m a man of certainties, Joshua,” Gregory stated. “Maxwell is our killer. We knew it then and we know it now.”
“Be that as it may, you can’t deny that Evelyn’s a threat,” Timberland said.
Gregory pursed his lips.
The Haunting of Quenby Mansion Omnibus: A Haunted House Mystery Page 32
