by Natasha Deen
“A baby she named after a prostitute. Doesn’t that seem…I wonder sometimes, if she knew what I was before I was born. If she felt it when I was in the womb and couldn’t stand the thought of having a kid like that—”
“You figure she thought she was about to give birth to Satan’s baby?”
“Well—”
“Listen, your dad can be grumpy but there’s nothing demonic about him.” She tilted her head as she considered her words. “Except his cooking. That’s just unholy.”
I laughed.
She hadn’t let go of my hand and I loved her for that, for keeping the connection between us.
“Mary Magdalene wasn’t a prostitute. She was a moneyed woman who helped Jesus, and it’s only history and men that have been unkind to her.”
“Oh, I didn’t know.”
“Mags, maybe your mom did know what you were. Maybe she sensed the powers you possessed, and that’s why she named you after Mary Magdalene.” She interlaced her fingers with mine. “Maybe she wanted you to have the name as a reminder, to know that no matter what life had in store, how hard it got for you or how much you were misunderstood, you had the same power to change the world as the woman who first carried your name.”
It was a nice thought and a lot more benevolent to both my mother and me than the thoughts I carried about my name and the woman behind my birth. I didn’t say anything but I squeezed Nancy’s fingers and smiled.
“How about you?” I let go of her hand to reach behind the seat for the plastic bag of chips and chocolate. “How are things in the police enforcement—other than Kent’s murder?”
“Thankfully, the vandalism’s stopped.”
“Any luck on finding out who was responsible for all the destruction?”
She shook her head. “That kind of damage is a crime of opportunity. It’ll take time to track down people’s whereabouts. Other than that, Frank said they’re nowhere on the fire around the mill.”
“Weird, right? Why would you burn a park?”
“I’ll ask the idiot who did it when I arrest him.” She shook her head. “It feels like people are losing their minds over the murders. Serge was bad enough, but Kent…the longer it takes to find his killer, the worse it’s going to get. Right now, we’re talking property damage and an unoccupied area of a public park. I don’t want to think about what an escalation will mean for people’s personal safety.”
I didn’t want to think about it, either. She was right, and the need to find Kent’s killer loomed large and dark over me. How could I have done so many years of helping ghosts cross over, then fail when it mattered most?
Chapter Twenty-One
A couple hours later, I walked through the front door and headed up the stairs Serge’s room. It was empty. The synthesizer music from that ’80s cop show Serge loved seeped through the gap of my bedroom door. I went inside and found my soul brother and my boyfriend on the bed with Ebony and Buddha in between them.
Craig smiled and sat up.
Serge turned his gaze from the TV as I came inside. “Hey, how did it go?”
“Lots to talk about. Any word from Kent?”
“He came over for a little after you and Nancy left this morning, then left this afternoon. I haven’t seen him since.”
“We need to find him,” I said. “His dad’s been taken in for questioning.”
Serge straightened so quickly, he surprised the cat. Ebony leaped from the bed, then glared Serge’s way.
“Sorry, little girl.” He turned back to me. “Tell me again about Kent’s dad.”
I gave him the rundown on Courtney’s statement.
“They don’t seriously think Mr. Meagher killed his son, do they? That guy couldn’t even go in Kent’s room.”
Craig stood. “You guys need to get going. There’s no telling how he’ll react and if it goes bad, you’ll have to contain him.”
“No offer to help?” asked Serge.
“I’ll do as much as I can,” he said. “This doesn’t feel right.”
“You don’t think his dad did it?” I asked.
Craig shook his head. “I may not have access to Kent’s life but somewhere out there is a ferrier who does. I’m going to go and see what I can find.” He moved to the door then stopped and looked at us over his shoulder. “Kent’s a good guy. I don’t like the thought of him wandering for eternity, stuck in the in-between. And I really don’t like the thought of him going poltergeist because his murder was never solved.”
I looked at the clock on groaned. “It’s too late for us to go to Kent’s. We’ll head over first thing tomorrow.” Hopefully, we’d find him before misery does.
“I don’t like it, either,” said Serge as he watched Craig walk away. “A bad guy’s predictable. But a good guy—ghost—who goes bad? There’s no predicting what he’ll do.”
“Hi, Mrs. Meagher.” I stamped my feet on the mat and shivered in my boots. “Did I come at a bad time?”
“I don’t know,” she said dully as she stepped back to let me in. “Doug’s still at the station, being questioned by the cops. I’ve been telling Nancy he’s a bad guy, and now, he’s been arrested and I find myself arguing that he couldn’t have done it, that he’s not a bad guy.” Her jaw trembled. She pulled her sweater close to her body and folded her arms across her chest. “I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe he did this.”
Serge gave me a quick nod then headed down the hallway to search for Kent.
“Is there any part of you that thinks—?”
“No! He—he just wouldn’t have.” She wiped her eyes. “When we were married, I was the one who had to kill the insects in the house. He couldn’t do it. Not even when it was a wasp in Kent’s nursery. Doug doesn’t have the stomach for death.”
“There was an eyewitness who saw them fighting.”
“Parents and kids fight. That doesn’t mean anything.”
Serge emerged from the hallway. He’s not here.
Does that mean he wasn’t around so he doesn’t know? Or does that mean he was here, found out, and has gone wandering?
My questions got a shrug from Serge. I don’t know, but if it’s all the same, I’m going to head out, see if I can find him.
Okay, I’ll stick around and see what I can find out. Nell was still looking into who’d prescribed Mrs. Meagher the medication. But since I was here and she was drugged…“Mrs. Meagher, how are you really feeling?”
She shrugged.
“I noticed you were on some anti-anxiety meds. Are you keeping up with the dosage? I’ve heard if you don’t, it can cause problems.”
“I’m regular,” she said.
“The last time we talked, you said they were adjusting your dose. Did you get a chance to talk—”
“Why do you care?” She leaned forward, swayed. “Why are you asking me this?”
“Because Kent’s not here to check up on you—” Bad move. She dissolved into tears.
Twenty minutes later, my efforts had gotten me zilch. I kept asking Mrs. Meagher about Kent and his relationship with Mr. Meagher, but got nothing but the same information I had all the times before. And that was only when she could stop crying long enough to answer me.
There was nothing thing left to do but leave, but before I did, I hazarded one final question. “Ma’am, when I was helping Mr. Meagher sort through Kent’s stuff, I couldn’t help but notice…notice very expensive clothes. Do you know where Kent would have gotten the money for them?”
She shook her head. “Our finances were strained. I know he worked in town. Maybe he saved up.”
“Did he ever mention his job in the city?”
“Which job?”
“The one helping the family?”
Mrs. Meagher stared at me. “There wasn’t a family. He didn’t have time. If he wasn’t at school, he was v
olunteering at the hospital.”
That’s what I had remembered about his schedule, too. “There were rumours of him and some”— in case Kent hadn’t been lying, I went for generalities instead of talking about the nurses —“some girls he’d been romantically involved—”
Maybe it was the strain of Kent’s death compounded by Mr. Meagher’s arrest that left her defenceless to my words. Her reaction was instantaneous. A sudden widening of her eyes, her head jerking back.
This wasn’t surprise. This was full on disbelief.
There was only one reason for her to have that kind of reaction. “He wasn’t dating any girl,” I said.
“Oh, well,” she stammered.
I frowned, taking in the rise of red in her cheeks, her reluctance to make eye contact.
“He was a grown man, and it’s not my place to pry—”
“He didn’t like girls,” I said.
She scrambled to say something.
“He was gay.”
Her face crumpled.
Shifting closer at the same time I put my hand over hers, I let her cry.
“We’d always known,” she said when she caught her breath. “Kent came out to us in elementary, but he was worried. None of the other kids had ever mentioned having those kinds of feelings. I told him it was just because they were young. That as they got older, he’d see there were other boys and girls like him.”
“Only there weren’t.”
She squeezed my hand. “I told him no one in Dead Falls would care if he was open, if he told folks. But he felt like he was the only one, and he saw on the news the terrible things that happened to other kids when they came out…” She took a shuddering breath. “He didn’t want to risk it. As he got older, it depressed him more and more.”
“Was that why you’d freak out if he was late coming home? You were worried that he might have hurt himself.”
“He felt so alone, Maggie, and his depressions could rage for months. He would get so dark, so fatalistic. I was terrified for him. He refused to get counselling—I even told him we could go to another town for help, but he didn’t want to. I thought about moving us somewhere else, but all I can afford is another small town—”
“Which was another reason he wanted out from this town. He wanted to be in a big city where he could be more open.”
“Yes. We argued about it. I told him…I told him it would be okay, that he had to trust his neighbours and friends—”
“Was that why you were fighting the night he died?”
She nodded then shook her head. “We fought about everything that night. He was on edge—he usually got that way before he fell into a depression. And I wasn’t helpful. I kept nagging and harping on him. I wanted him to talk to me—I pushed him to talk…” Her mouth moved to form the words that didn’t seem to want to be spoken. “…And he died that night. The last time we spoke, it was in anger and frustration, and I can never take it back. I can’t help but wonder what happened that night and think—had he been right all the time? Did my son come out of the closet that night and end up at the bottom of a hill because he decided to open himself up to the wrong person?”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Rori’s so excited to see you,” said Dr. Pierson as he let me and Nell into his house. “Come on in. You girls want some hot chocolate and popcorn? Maybe some brownies?” His voice receded down the hallway.
I hung back as Nell followed him.
She tossed me a look over her shoulder and mouthed, “What’s up?”
I caught up to her, then pulled her back so there was more distance between us and Dr. Pierson. “The night Rori went missing,” I whispered, “Mrs. Pierson kept going on about how upset Dr. Pierson had been over Serge’s murder.”
“So?”
“So, now Kent’s dead and he’s smiling and offering us drinks?”
“You’d rather us die of thirst?”
“Focus, Nell. I can understand the brave face before, when he had to pretend that he wasn’t that close to Kent but now we know, so why’s he still acting like this?”
“I am focused. On the hot chocolate. They’ve got this amazing milk steamer and they use real chocolate flakes, not the powder stuff.”
“Nell…”
“Don’t worry about the inconsistency with Dr. P. He’s a doctor and a scientist, and he’s like my dad: emotions are buried deep under intellect and arrogance.”
“You’re probably right. I hate it when you’re right,” I said.
“You must live a very unhappy life, then, because I’m always right.”
I punched her shoulder and followed her into the kitchen. “Hey, Rori!”
She looked up from the picture she was colouring. “Hi.”
Wow. I didn’t think six-year-olds could get that depressed. What happened to Dr. Pierson’s ‘she’s so excited to see you?’ “You okay?”
Her eyes flicked to her dad, then she shrugged and nodded.
“The machine’s all set up for the hot chocolate,” said Dr. Pierson. “You girls have fun. I’ll check in on you in a bit.”
“We’re fine, Dr. P,” said Nell.
He smiled. “I’ll see you in fifteen minutes.” He tossed a smile in Rori’s direction. “Got to make sure my girl’s doing okay.”
“Wow,” Nell said to Rori. “Has it been like that since you got back?”
Rori gave us a miserable nod. “They watch me all the time.”
“Gross,” said Nell. “Two parents staring down at you.”
“All they do is fight and stare,” Rori whispered. “It’s horrible.”
“I’m sorry.” I sat down beside her. “That sucks.”
“Can I come to your houses?” Rori asked. “I’ll be really good.”
“Oh, honey.” Nell gave her a tight hug. “You’re always really good. I asked but your mom and dad said no.”
“Can you stay here, then?”
“I asked about that too, but they said they’re not ready to have anyone in the house but you guys.”
The crayon slipped from Rori’s hand. She bent her head and Nell held her as she cried.
“Hey, girls, what’s—oh my God! Rori! Honey, what’s wrong?” Mrs. Pierson tossed her purse on the kitchen counter and ran over. She glared at me and Nell. “What did you girls do to her?”
“Us? Nothing—”
“I let you come over because she asked, and I was grateful for your helping us that night.”
“Helping you?” Nell’s tone was incredulous verging on offended. “We didn’t help her,” Nell said in a tight, hard voice. “We saved her.”
“That doesn’t give you the right to invade my house and make my daughter cry!”
If Nell’s eyes went any wider or hotter, they were going to fall out of her head and set the house on fire.
“Mrs. P,” she said, “you know I love you and the doc, but you better check yourself before you wreck yourself. Rori isn’t crying because of us, she’s crying because of you! The two of you are fighting all the time.”
“Don’t you presume to talk about my marriage—” Her voice rose.
“Why not?” asked Nell. “You’re screaming about it all the time. The entire town knows you’re pissing away the finances and he’s having an—!”
“Nell!” I grabbed her arm. “Rori.”
My friend took a sharp breath and her rage vanished at one look at the little girl’s stark, white face.
“Not you too,” Rori whispered. “Everybody’s yelling—” She hiccupped for breath. “Not you too, Nellie.”
“Never, baby.” Nell crouched in front of her and wiped away Rori’s tears. “Never, I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again. Promise. Okay?”
Rori nodded and held out her arms.
Nell wrapped her in a hug.
Mrs. Pie
rson took a deep, cold breath. “I think you girls should go.”
“No, Mrs. P, please don’t make us leave. I’m sorry for losing my temper—”
“I don’t care,” she said, her voice icy. “Your behaviour was inexcusable.”
I bit my tongue and fought the overwhelming urge to point out her actions hadn’t exactly been saintly.
“No, Mommy!”
Mrs. Pierson brought up her hand and dropped it like a guillotine. “Nell, Maggie, thank you but your time is done here. Good night.”
Dr. Pierson came into the kitchen. “I heard yelling. Is everything okay?”
“It’s fine, Paul.” Mrs. Pierson’s tone went from ice to deep-freeze iceberg. “As usual, you’re a day late and a dollar short.”
He gave her a thin-lipped, acerbic smile. “I maybe a day late, darling, but with you, I dare not be a dollar short.”
“Perhaps if you’d been supervising our child—our only child—you would have ensured these…charming examples of teenage citizenship—”
Ouch.
“—didn’t reduce Rori to tears.”
“My daughter’s fine. In fact, there wasn’t any yelling or crying until you came home.” He bared his teeth at her. “Dear.” Dr. Pierson turned to us. “Perhaps you ladies will excuse us while I remind my wife what good manners looks like. I’m sorry for the short visit. Perhaps another time—”
“No,” said Mrs. Pierson. “They’re done visiting.”
“—another time, then.” Dr. Pierson waved his hand toward the hallway. “You know where the door is.”
Man. Five minutes with these people and my stomach was an acid bath. How was Rori surviving this? I gave her a final, long hug, held strong as her tears wet my shoulder, then gently nudged her back to her mom.
A little while later, after Dad had decided I was okay to go back to school, I survived the day by avoiding anyone who looked like they were going to ask me about finding Kent’s body. After school, I headed to the Tin Shack with the gang.
“Kent is haunting the town. That’s why there’s been so much vandalism.” Tammy issued the statement then went back to sipping her pop.
