“Wow, I had no idea,” I said. “You really are good.”
“Thanks,” he said as humbly as possible.
The fact that he seemed to have moved beyond our recent uncomfortable moments helped me do the same.
“Uh-oh,” I said as I looked closely at a couple of the pictures.
From the pieces of paper spread on the table, it was clear that he had been working to create the likenesses of two different men; a couple of the sketches were complete or close to it.
“What?” Gram and Paul both said.
“This is Robert. This is the man Grace was supposed to meet.” I looked at Gram.
Paul had captured Robert’s features, though they weren’t the same gentle though somewhat grumpy features I’d seen. Instead of questioning eyes, these eyes were squinted in anger. The mouth was a mix between a frown and a grimace. The Robert I’d met had short, neatly groomed hair. In the pictures, a tuft had come loose and fallen over his forehead.
“Oh. That’s not good,” Gram said.
“I don’t understand. You know this man—Robert? Who is he and who is Grace?” Paul asked.
I didn’t know what Jake and Gram had told Paul to get him to sketch the pictures. I looked at Gram again. Did Paul think this was about nightmares?
“Interestingly,” Gram began, “this man is a person from Broken Rope’s past. Betts has recently learned his story. He was in love with a woman but they were never able to be together. I wonder if Betts’s recent education has contributed to the nightmares I’ve been having. Perhaps that’s why I’ve been ‘seeing’ this man.” Gram lifted her eyebrows and sent me a tiny shrug.
“That is interesting,” Paul said. “Your nightmares are showing you someone from Broken Rope’s past. Actually, it’s more than interesting. It’s pretty amazing.”
“That might be it,” I interjected, hoping Paul didn’t spend too much time thinking about it. “Tell me more about the nightmares.” I said.
“It’s all very brutal and not pleasant to think or talk about,” Gram said. “No one needs the details except to know that these men, in my nightmares, are vicious killers.”
“Do you see their victim?” I asked.
“No, never.” Gram paused. “Instead, I feel like I’m their victim.”
“Oh, Gram, I’m so sorry,” I said.
“It’s okay. We’re going to understand it all better and they will go away. That’s what will happen, I’m sure,” she said, not sounding sure at all.
“How about this man?” I picked up the rendition of the other killer.
He was also a white man, not old, but it was difficult to tell his age because he had a round face with heavy jowls. His nose was sharp, contrasting with his fleshy cheeks. Despite how the individual features shouldn’t fit together, he wasn’t an unpleasant man to look at.
“The two of them are different from each other. That man is silent and focused, but not as frightening. The other one, the one who looks like Robert, is loud. He’s in a rage and he’s yelling. I can hear his yells, but I can’t understand the words.”
“That’s not good,” I said, repeating what Gram had said a moment earlier.
The realization that Robert might have contributed to Grace’s murder was more of a surprise than it should have been. I had thought it was a possibility but I hadn’t seriously considered it. It was also deeply bothersome. The ghost I’d come to briefly know had tricked me—and Grace and Jake. If he proved to be a killer, his potentially deep-seated betrayal would be hard to accept.
There was also the “why?” Why in the world would he have killed Grace? What had happened that had caused his love to change so drastically? If I had to guess at this point, I’d probably say that he learned of her husband. I was convinced that in his current form he had no memory of knowing when he was alive that Grace had been married. His surprise had been too genuine. Either that, or he was a great actor.
Putting aside my thoughts about Robert, I wondered who the other man was. Would Robert and Grace recognize him? Had he killed or helped Robert kill Grace?
There was a chance I was jumping to all the wrong conclusions, or that Gram’s nightmares were deceiving, but it was a challenge to put the elements together any other way.
“Not good?” Paul asked.
“Well, it’s good news to have the faces. You really are talented, Paul. Thank you, but no, having these men haunt Gram’s dreams is not a good thing. Any nightmares are scary.”
In response, he blinked funny. His eyes closed quickly and then his eyelids seemed heavy as he dragged them open. He dropped the charcoal pencil; it fell to the floor and rolled under the butcher block. The sketchpad tilted back and landed on the table as he stood.
“Isabelle,” he said as he grabbed my arms and a faint scent of woodsmoke made it to my nose. His voice didn’t sound right.
“What is it?” I said.
“Isabelle, it’s me. It’s Jerome,” Paul said.
“Jerome?” I said.
“I’ve tried to get to you. You are in danger. You were almost killed. I’ve tried to get here, but something, someone, is stopping me.”
“I’m fine, though,” I said as I looked into Paul’s eyes, searching for something that made me believe Jerome was in there somewhere. I saw nothing.
“You are still in danger. I’m trying to get there.” Paul’s voice had changed and though it wasn’t exactly like Jerome’s, it was close.
“Were you in Paul’s body at the school and then just a voice when I was in the doctor’s office?”
“I tried to be there, but someone is holding me back. I’m using Paul and I wasn’t sure you heard just my voice. But, Isabelle, you are in danger.”
“Another ghost is holding you back? There are two men,” I began, gesturing toward the sketches and hoping whatever Paul’s ears were hearing, the information wasn’t going to his brain.
“No, not them.” Paul released my arms and then pointed at the mostly complete picture of the jowly man. “But this one is dangerous.”
“But the other one isn’t?” I said as I pointed at the sketch of Robert.
“I don’t think so, but this one”—he pointed adamantly—“this one is dangerous and receptive to the other side, if you know what I mean.”
“No, I have no idea what you mean.”
“Do this old cowboy a favor and find Cliff or Jake and don’t leave their sides. Missouri, you’re fine. Your nightmares will go away soon, but you’re safe. Isabelle isn’t.”
“Howdy, Jerome,” Gram said as she stepped around so that she was looking directly at Paul. “I hear you, and I’ll make sure Betts is okay.”
“Good. Thank you, Miz. I’ll keep trying to get there.”
“I’m sure you will. Will Paul remember any of this?”
“No, ma’am.” He looked at me again. “He’s sweet on you, you know.”
“This is only getting weirder,” I said.
“I know. I’ll leave him be, but if I need to come back and I can’t find any other way, I’ll use him again. I’ll use whoever I need to.”
I sighed. “You okay?”
“Right as a turkey pie.”
I laughed. I’d eaten Gram’s turkey potpie a number of times and it was delicious. The thought of being “right as turkey pie” conjured the image of warm, steamy food on a cold day. Comfortable and homey.
Suddenly, Paul’s hands pulled me close. I did not resist as his lips came to mine. Paul was a pretty good kisser.
When he pulled away, Jerome said, “I wasn’t missing my chance. Just in case, Isabelle.”
I opened my mouth to say something. I’d been working on my loyalty to my live boyfriend. The last time I’d seen Jerome, I’d been careful not to be too passionate with the kissing. I’d made progress. I felt the distinct step or two backward with the kiss w
ith Paul. I couldn’t find the right words. I closed my mouth.
“Betts? Paul?” Cliff said from an area by the front swinging doors.
Suddenly, Paul became Paul again and the look in his eyes made it unquestionably clear that he had no idea why he was holding onto my arms. I really hoped he didn’t remember the kiss.
“Oh, crap,” I said.
“Yeah,” Gram said. “That about sums it up.”
Chapter 9
“Cliff, I have no memory of kissing Betts. I’m . . . I’m . . . I’m so confused. And I’m terribly sorry, though I still don’t remember what happened. Oh, hell, this is one of the strangest moments of my life,” Paul said.
“Sit a minute,” Gram said to Paul. “You too, Cliff. Betts, quit standing there looking so scared. You grab a stool, too.”
Robotically and with the fear that Gram had just accused me of as well as a big dose of guilt pumping through my bloodstream, I sat too.
I had nothing. So far, since the ghosts had started communicating with me and when they’d interrupted someone or something in the living world, Gram and I had been able to come up with a story that could potentially explain the circumstances. Our explanations hadn’t always been great, but they’d been good enough. People wanted to believe us, so they did.
But there was nothing I could say that would make the fact that Paul and I were kissing each other when Cliff came into the kitchen okay. We weren’t rehearsing for a play. We weren’t trying to get something out of each other’s eyes, our lips accidentally falling together in such a way that we both thought we’d ride out the moment and enjoy it. Nothing.
It was wholly enjoyable, by the way, but that was the last thing I should be thinking about.
Cliff was obviously upset. He wasn’t the jealous type. He never had been. But even non-jealous types couldn’t help but be bothered by some things.
As far as he knew, I’d never given him a reason to suspect me of doing anything disloyal but let’s face it, even if Paul hadn’t enjoyed the kiss, I certainly had and I hadn’t tried to get away.
“I wonder if I have some sort of brain tumor or something,” Paul said.
“No, Paul, you don’t have a brain tumor. And, Cliff, you can relax, too. Betts and Paul weren’t in the middle of a romantic moment,” Gram said.
“Okay,” Cliff said doubtfully.
“Listen, gentlemen, there is some weird stuff going on around Broken Rope,” Gram said. She’d used that line before, and then followed up with only a partially filled in explanation.
Was she going to tell them the truth this time?
I looked at Cliff. He wouldn’t look at me. I looked at Paul. He wouldn’t look at anyone.
“Cliff, I’ve been having some terrible nightmares and Jake sent Paul over to sketch out the people who are haunting me at night. It’s bad, Cliff. Very scary. Anyway, as I mentioned, Broken Rope is strange and it has some pockets of weirdness. You two might not be totally aware of those pockets but I have no doubt that you’ve had moments of wonder. Perhaps you’ve felt, seen, or smelled something but couldn’t figure out what was attached to the sensory activity. Think about it a minute.”
Cliff and Paul looked at each other. I thought Paul might throw up. But a second later and as they thought about Gram’s words, both he and Cliff made a small shift back toward normal.
“Like yesterday when I smelled woodsmoke, but couldn’t find the source?” Paul said. He sniffed. “I think I smell it a little bit right now.”
“Exactly,” Gram said.
“I kind of know what you mean,” Cliff said, his eyes finally landing on me.
I’d already told him that I was extra aware of the Broken Rope weirdness, and that I would tell him whatever he wanted to know, if he truly did want to know. Cliff was sturdy, logical, with no patience for anything that wasn’t of the real and natural world, but he deserved the truth. But only if he wanted it.
With my own eyes, I tried to let him know that, yes, this is the weird and spooky stuff I’d mentioned to him. I also tried to put some regret in my glance.
Cliff’s features normalized a little more.
“Well, we’ve got one of those pockets right here. I think it’s because of the cemetery but I can’t be sure.”
“Okay,” Cliff said, less doubtful this time.
“Anyway, we think these sketches are of murderers from a long time ago. As they were being drawn, I felt the air in the room change. I don’t know what that really means, but both Paul and Betts got weird at the same time. They both became someone else. I’m sure that’s what happened.”
“They were possessed?” Cliff said doubtfully.
“No, not that. Okay, maybe a little, but not dangerously so,” Gram said.
Her story was weakening, but she was sticking with it.
“Neither Betts nor Paul knew what they were doing. They did not know they were kissing each other. It was other people kissing other people, I’m convinced.” Gram paused and looked at Cliff. “Come on, you think I would have allowed that to happen if they’d been themselves? You think they would have done that in front of me if they’d been themselves? I don’t think so.”
Cliff didn’t buy it completely, but Paul really wanted to. He looked at Cliff again.
“Cliff, I would never have done that. Betts would never have done that. You have to believe me.” He looked at me and I knew our earlier conversation would remain a safe secret. He would not tell Cliff that he had expressed questions about the strength of our relationship.
“Cliff,” I said. “I’m so sorry.”
“Wasn’t their faults, Cliff, I promise,” Gram said.
Cliff nodded. “I don’t understand, but I believe you, Miz.”
“You do?” Paul said, his voice squeaking as it rose.
He cleared his throat, but Gram and Cliff both fought a small smile.
“I do, Paul. I have to,” Cliff said as he looked at me, the smile quickly gone and replaced with an odd but determined expression.
I knew he didn’t have to do anything. If he really wanted to know, how in the world was I ever going to explain Jerome? How could he understand what was going on and still want to stay together? Even a ghost could be “the other man.”
I tried to smile but I was still so upset that my face didn’t want to cooperate.
“This is all really creepy, you know,” Paul said.
“Oh, I know,” Gram said as she put her hand on Paul’s arm. He was still clearly shaken up.
“Right. Well, the reason I stopped by was to see Paul’s work. Jake told me he was coming here to sketch some people for Miz. I wanted to see how he did. We need a sketch artist.”
“Not the best way to apply for a job,” Paul said without even a small trace of humor.
“He did great, Cliff. Really great,” Gram said. “Come look.”
“Look over them all you want. I’ll leave them all here. I’m going to go home and get some rest,” Paul said as he ran his hand back and forth through his hair.
“You okay to drive?” Cliff stepped around the butcher block.
“I’m fine to drive,” he said. “Yeah, I’m okay. I think I just want to get away from this school, or maybe it’s the cemetery.”
Cliff inspected Paul’s eyes and then stepped back, but watched him walk out of the kitchen. Paul didn’t wobble.
After the swinging door stopped swinging, Cliff turned toward me and Gram.
“Excuse me, I have something to do in the back. Betts, we haven’t paid our respects to Lynn. I feel badly about that. We’ll need to stop by this evening or tomorrow morning, okay?” Gram said.
“Sure,” I said as she disappeared toward the back. I slid off the stool and moved to the other side of the butcher block and next to Cliff. “I don’t know what else to say except that I’m deeply sorry.”
&nb
sp; One corner of Cliff’s mouth pulled. It wasn’t a smile, not really, but it told me that there was good reason to hope we’d be okay.
“I know, Betts. Truly, it didn’t occur to me that you and Paul were having a fling and Miz was cheering you on. I knew something was weird and not normal. It was bothersome to see you kissing someone else, don’t get me wrong.” He squinted and bit his bottom lip. “I know this is part of what’s been strange between us. After all that, I’m really not sure if I want to know what it’s all about.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I can’t imagine not being able to have at least a little control over almost every aspect of my life. I mean . . . I’m not explaining this well.”
I nodded but remained silent as he thought.
“Betts, does someone named Jerome have something to do with all of this today, and before?”
“Yes,” I said quickly, wanting so badly not to lie, to put some solid truth out in the universe. However, my throat tightened up after I spoke.
“I see. And, oh God, this sounds stupid, but does this Jerome have any connection to the old Broken Rope legend, Jerome Cowbender?”
“Yes.”
Cliff smiled and nodded again. “Got it, Betts.” He paused and inspected me even more closely than he’d just inspected Paul. “You do know he’s dead, right?”
“Yes. He died a long time ago.”
“I don’t really want any more details right now. I think I kind of get what’s happening, but I don’t want you to confirm or deny my suspicions, because it doesn’t matter. Here’s the thing: If what has come between us is a long-dead person, I can’t see getting upset or concerned about it. It wouldn’t make sense. From my perspective, it’s like when one person in a relationship has a crush on an unreachable celebrity. If a dead person or a celebrity is involved, chances of the crush going anywhere are slim to none.”
“Right,” I said. He was sort of wrong, but not totally and now wasn’t the time to nitpick. We were working with big picture here. I got that.
“Anyway, I think more than the fact that you might or might not have a crush on a dead person—and please don’t confirm or deny—what’s come between you and me even more than the crush is the fact that you’re beating yourself up over it. You’re nervous about it.”
If Onions Could Spring Leeks Page 9
