by Natasha Deen
“You’re trying to turn solid, right?”
“Not anymore.”
Boys and their adherence to details just to win a fight. “You were trying to turn solid, though, right?”
“Fine.”
“Okay, that takes energy.”
“Yeah, I was totally bagged from doing it. But thanks for thinking I had strength left to vandalize the town.”
I took a breath and exhaled my impatience. “You were trying to become solid and stay that way, you were trying to find your body so you could enter it. You’re the scientist. Energy can’t be destroyed, right?”
“Yeah, the law of conservation of energy.”
“So all that energy you used in your experiments, where did it go?”
“Sometimes I could turn solid for a bit or move through different kinds of matter.” He waved his hands in disgust. “I don’t know where you’re going but if you’re trying to rub in that I failed—”
Man, he was Type A, all the way. “When Serge first became a ghost, he caused all kinds of havoc trying to figure out how he could do stuff without having a body. I’m not saying all the broken windows and stuff is all you. I’m saying is it possible that some of it might be you? That the energy waves caused when you were trying to turn solid could’ve have spread out and damaged windows and property?”
He opened his mouth, his denial in the tight lines of his face. Then he slumped into the chair by my bed. “Maybe.”
“Okay. Can we connect with Nancy and find out about the places where the vandalism occurred and see if any of it matches up to you?”
He nodded.
I patted the spot by my bed. “I’ll share. It’s way more comfortable than the chair.”
He gave me a small, quick smile. “Thanks.”
I shifted over—careful not to move too fast and hurt myself—and he took the empty space.
Kent didn’t bother to hide the tears in his eyes. “It’s really all over, isn’t it? I’m never going to any of the things I wanted.”
I reached out.
He took my hand.
That night, after Kent had left and Dad had stopped by for a hug—and another threat of a long talk—I lay alone in the hospital bed, wide awake but quieted by the chocolate milkshake Nell had snuck in. I tried to piece together what I knew about Kent and who could’ve killed him. Nothing was coming.
“Knock, knock.”
“Dr. Pierson?” I sat up in bed as he flipped on the light. “What are you doing here…and why are you wearing a clown nose?”
“Oh! Sorry!” He pulled the red nose off and stuck it in his lab coat. “I was in the kids’ wing. The clown thing is a favourite. I go in, pretend I’m Dr. Bob and I can’t do anything right.” He smiled. “You get them laughing and they relax, and it’s much easier to take blood samples or do a check up. Mind if I come in?”
“No”—I did a quick check to make sure the hospital gown was still covering everything—“not at all. I’m sorry about your house. Nancy told me about the vandalism.”
“Some people are jerks. But it’s nothing a little paint and sparkle can’t fix. It’s terrible, I heard they’re taking the vandalism to the hospital and Main Street.” Dr. Pierson stepped in, let the door swing shut, and walked to my bed. “I wanted to tell you thank you for saving Rori. I don’t know what I would’ve done if something had happened to my little girl.” He came to a stop by my pillow. “She’s my everything.”
“I had a chance to meet her—”
“Yes, I know.
“She’s a very sweet little girl.”
His smile couldn’t hide the worry or the weariness in his eyes. “Neither her mom nor I are getting much sleep these days. We’re constantly checking on her. I just don’t know what possessed her to run away.”
“She wasn’t running away. She went to her playhouse and slipped on the ladder.”
“It doesn’t matter where she was going,” he said. “She’s a six-year-old girl who walked out of her home in the middle of the night.”
Because you and your wife were screaming at each other, I wanted to say. Instead, I went with, “She’s home now and safe.”
“Thanks to you.” He gave a half-chuckle. “And a medical miracle, though I’m not a man who normally believes in such things.”
“Sir?”
“Her X-rays. It’s the damnedest thing. It looks like she’d suffered a subdural—sorry, doctor speak—a brain injury, but somehow it was fixed. And the cold. Considering her age, the injury, her heart should’ve stopped before we ever found her.”
“I’m glad everything worked out.”
“It’s thanks to you that she remains in our sight.”
Thanks to me and a ghost.
He reached out and squeezed my shoulder. “I should let you rest. I only wanted to express my gratitude.”
“My pleasure.”
He turned to walk away but when he was at the door, I stopped him by calling his name.
He turned around.
“Did you know Kent Meagher?”
“Sure, the whole town knows about that wunder-kid.”
“No, I meant personally.”
He laughed. “I’ve been told I have boyish good looks, but I don’t think I’m cool enough to hang with a university kid.”
I blushed. “Sorry, I meant when he volunteered at the hospital.”
“Oh, of course. Forgive my vanity in assuming you meant he and I were friends. Kent was a good kid, did a lot of great work for the hospital. You could always count on him to take initiative and pitch in.” He strode back to my bed. “We crossed paths a few times when I was doing patient rounds, and of course like the rest of the doctors, I made myself available to him if he needed someone to talk to about becoming a doctor.”
“But you didn’t really know him, on more than a superficial level?”
“Do we ever know anyone on more than a superficial level?” he asked with a smile. “I apologize. I shouldn’t tease you after your accident and the horrible shock of finding his body—” He gave me a quick, sad smile. “The Dead Falls gossip network. Uploads rumour and speculation faster than Google.” He sighed. “I hope the sheriff got to his mother before the rumours did. And you, you found the body. That must have been terrible.”
“I’m doing okay…for now”
“Sure?” he asked. “No emotional trauma or memory coming back? Not that I’m pushing—”
“Nothing, sadly,” I said. “Whoever knocked me out did a great job of hiding themselves. I don’t know if it’s a boy or girl who did it. And as for my ‘find,’ I didn’t see anything.”
“I suppose, on some levels, that’s a good thing.”
“Yeah, I think I’ll sleep better not knowing what his corpse looked like.”
“That poor kid. I’m sorry I didn’t know him better. I feel like if I had, if I’d extended myself maybe I could’ve...” He sighed. “I don’t know what I could’ve done, but it’s a terrible thing to find out someone you worked with was murdered. Makes you wonder if you weren’t paying attention. That maybe he was in trouble and we were all too busy with our lives to notice.” He tucked his pen into his lab pocket. “Was he a friend of yours?”
“Sort of. Lately, I hadn’t been able to get him on email or text, and I know he’d been going through a rough time with school—”
“Huh. You know he stopped by the hospital around Thanksgiving but he never mentioned anything about problems with grades. In fact, he said he was doing great. Funny, isn’t it? The things we’ll tell one person but not the other. I suppose he didn’t want any of us—the doctors and nurses—to think he was struggling in case it affected his chance of getting a residency here.”
“I imagine it was hard for him to get into the school and get that scholarship. Did he ever say anything to you about any of t
he other kids getting mad when he won and they didn’t?”
Dr. Pierson cocked his head. “Isn’t that more likely something he’d share with you?”
I shrugged. “It’s what you said about the things we share and the things we keep. I’m a girl. I think it was okay for him to tell me he was having trouble with school, but I don’t think he wanted me to think he was weak or worried about other people’s opinions of him.”
“Well, he certainly didn’t tell me anything. Besides, I can’t imagine anyone not liking Kent. He was the nicest guy and he’d worked through some difficult circumstances to get to where he was. Who would be mad at him for that?”
That was the same question I kept asking myself.
Chapter Fifteen
By the time I was released a few days later, word had officially spread all over town and social media. Kent was dead, his demise classified as suspicious by the police, and I had found him. The tablet clicked off as I flipped the cover closed. “Don’t make me go to school today,” I said as Dad walked into the kitchen, “and I promise I’ll never put you in a home. I’ll keep you in my house and take care of you until you die.”
His eyebrows went up. “You’re taking care of me in my old age?”
I nodded.
“Cooking and everything?”
I nodded again.
“You’re definitely going to school. I’ve tasted your cooking. And I’m terrified of the ‘everything.’”
“What if I found you the best old folks’ home in the city?”
“What city?”
“Any one you want.”
“All this, as long as you get to stay home.”
“It’s a low, low price.”
He poured himself a cup of coffee and took a long, slow sip from the cracked mug. “Deal.”
“Sweet.”
“In fact, take the week off.”
“Oh, you’re kidding.”
“Dead serious.” He winced. “No pun intended. This is a small town and you’ve found two bodies in just over a month. People will either support or vilify you. Until we know which one they’re choosing, you stay home.”
“What about walking Buddha?”
“Nancy or I will do it.”
“Junk food run?”
“Time you ate healthy.” He gulped the rest of his coffee and stuffed some toast in his mouth.
I groaned. “Come on, I want to stay away from the gossipy kids, not crawl into a hole—”
“Don’t even joke about something like that.” He shuddered. “No mention of you or anything that could be construed as a grave.”
“Deal, if you let me occasionally go to the grocery store, have burgers with Nell, and walk my dog.”
“Our dog. Yes to all, as long as Nell’s with you.” He ate the rest of his toast. “That girl would send Attila the Hun running for his mommy.” Dad gave me a quick kiss on the forehead and headed out.
I grabbed another cup of the good stuff and headed back upstairs, where I tapped softly on Serge’s door.
Serge opened. “Hey,” he whispered. “Kent came by last night. He’s still here.”
“Hey,” I kept my voice down. “How’s he doing?”
He stepped back and let the door swing open.
A solitary lamp through the room into dark relief. Kent was in a corner where the light couldn’t reach, curled into a shadowy ball.
“He’s been like that ever since he came by last night,” whispered Serge. “Won’t talk. Won’t move.”
“I had thought he’d transition once we found his body.”
“He’s not ready to let go.”
“I imagine it’s not easy,” I kept my voice low.
“At first, I lingered because I was angry but Kent’s not mad…”
“He’s heartbroken.”
Serge nodded. “I’ll take mad over sad, any day.”
“Should I say something?”
“Leave him.” Serge closed the door. “I have my issues with Captain Canuck, but I can’t imagine a worst punishment for him. I keep thinking of what Craig said about why Kent was in limbo…”
“And you’re thinking maybe it would have been best if he’d never woken up?”
Serge nodded. “Dead is one thing. But dead like him…it really is a fate worse than death.”
We stepped away from the door and left Kent to a silence he wanted but one I wasn’t sure he needed.
“I’ve got to find a way to get into Kent’s room.” Two days of being stuck at home and it was enough. I’d done my chores, watched as much reality TV as I could stomach. Five minutes into watching two rich women fight like toddlers, and I’d climbed in the car, and was now at the police station.
Nancy spun from the computer to face me. “Why?”
“Because he’s a total basket case and I need to transition him before he gets stuck here, permanently.” I unzipped my coat and brushed the snow from my hair.
“He’s not co-operating with you?”
“He’s in shock.” I sat down across from her beat up desk and flipped my braid over my shoulder. “Finding his body finally made his death a reality. He left to see his mom. If I don’t transition him, he’s going to shadow her and linger forever.”
“How did finding his body make his death real? Didn’t he realize—?”
I waved away the question. “It’s a long story about his delusion that he could re-enter his body and—”
“Pull some kind of Lazarus? Oh, boy. No wonder he’s messed up.”
There was a plate of lavender cookies with rosewater icing on her desk. I helped myself to two of them. “He still doesn’t remember anything—”
She watched me scarf down the pastries and pushed her cup of coffee my way. “You’re sure he’s not just playing you? Lying to you.”
I took a sip of the hot coffee, gave myself a second to enjoy the combination of coffee and sugar, then sat back. “That’s a lovely thought.”
“Oh kid, don’t be naive,” said Nancy. “Of course he’s lying to you. They all lie.”
“Optimistic. You kiss my father with that mouth?”
Her grin was quick. “It’s realistic, and if you’re going to survive this world and the next, you’d better learn it, quick. Everyone has something to hide.”
“I don’t think that’s the case with Kent.”
Nancy shrugged. “He may not know that’s what he was doing. People try to cover up the things they’re ashamed of, meanwhile, that lie they’re telling is helping a criminal go free.”
“The only thing Kent probably has to hide is a B- on a test.” I sat down. “When Serge died, he had all kinds of things to say about the people around him and the life he’d led. But Kent didn’t really know anyone here anymore. Plus, the poor guy’s a train wreck over being murdered and unable to use those brains of his to solve the problem. It’s like he can’t remember anything about this life. Oh and his mom’s on medication and it’s freaking him out.”
“That all sounded like English but you lost me on the last part.”
“Kent said his mom wasn’t taking anything. But she was. And she told us they were still tweaking her meds. Which means she’s only been on them for a short time.”
“Still sounding like English. Still beyond my comprehension. Why does this matter?”
“I’m wondering if maybe he’s here to help with that. Make sure she’s on the right meds and dosage. But I can’t shake the feeling that it’s weirdly coincidental that she started on the meds just around the time he was murdered.”
Her lips quirked. “You think his mom going on some kind of medication—”
“It’s making her loopy and confused. She’s like Kent. Can’t really remember anything specific about the night he died. She might have clues she can’t give us.”
“Y
ou think she’s got the key to figuring out his murder.”
“It’s not totally out of the realm—”
“And based on the ‘weird coincidence’ you suspect the murderer’s drugging his mom?”
She was full on laughing at me, now, but I didn’t care. I figured if Sherlock Holmes could have a motto of “once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth,” then I could have a moment or two of considering the fantastic. “Maybe.”
“And they’re dosing his mom because...?”
“They killed him, right? Maybe his mom knows something or saw something?”
“And what?” Her lips quirked. “They’re injecting her—”
“She’s on pills, not needles—”
“—pilling her—”
“Now you’re just being sarcastic.”
“—so she can’t rat them out? How do you think ‘they’ are getting the meds in her. Crushing it in her coffee?” She gave me a smart-aleck grin. “Maybe they’re hiding it in the strained peas. And when they make the airplane noise to get her to open her mouth that’s when they slip in the meds.”
“You’re spending too much time with Nell.”
“You’re not spending enough time with common sense, kid. She’s a grown woman. How is it even possible to force her to take medication? Your motive is out of the realm of reason.”
“Go ahead and laugh. But tell me again who was behind Serge’s death and what was the motive?”
There was a beat of silence. She lifted her arms in surrender. “Well-played. Promise you’ll tread lightly. I’ll call and set up a time with Marlo. I doubt think she had anything to do with Kent’s death, even as a witness, but we have to be careful and do this right. Capisce?”
“But—”
“No buts, ands, or any other conjunctions—coordinating, subordinating, or correlative. I’ll keep her busy while you poke around. But no finding out something important to the investigation and keeping it from me. You got me?”
I sighed. “Yeah, I got you.”
“Good.” She glanced out the window, watched as a guy on a Spider motorcycle drove by. “Man, that’s either really manly or really stupid. It’s got to be minus five out there and he’s riding a motorcycle.”
