Last Seen Alive

by Carlene Thompson

  Scott’s fingers tapped the white tabletop. Finally, he said, “My mother told me you only come home at Christmas and you haven’t been to the lake since Zoey disappeared. It was probably the influence—”

  “Zoey disappeared in July, Scott, not October,” Chyna flared. “The lake doesn’t look anything like it does in midsummer. And I’m not even going to mention the gazebo, which used to be pretty and is now a wreck. The atmosphere was completely different the day we were there from the last time I saw Zoey at the lake, so don’t tell me I was influenced by being in the place that looked just like it did when Zoey vanished.”

  “Okay.”

  “And another thing,” Chyna rushed on hotly. “I wasn’t the only one who heard that voice. Michelle did. I told you she wouldn’t move when it started. As it went on, she

  stepped into the water, which was highly unusual. I think she’s the only yellow Lab in the world who hates water. Her ears perked up. The hair on her back stood up. She heard something, Scott Kendrick, and it scared her!”

  “All right,” Scott said mildly. “You don’t have to get so mad just because I offered a suggestion. Besides, you’re getting loud, your face is red, and everyone is looking at us.”

  “I don’t care!”

  But Chyna did care, embarrassed and hoping everyone would experience immediate memory loss. No such luck, though. Deirdre approached the table cautiously, gave them each a tentative smile, and asked, “Would you like anything else?”

  Scott suddenly acted casually amused. “Not unless you have something to calm ruffled feathers. Seems I said the wrong thing.” Chyna glared at him, but his gaze was fixed on pretty, young Deirdre. “I’ll have a glass of milk this time. It’s supposed to be calming. One for the lady, too.”

  “I don’t want a glass of milk,” Chyna hissed.

  “Get her one anyway, Deirdre. She’ll thank me for it later.”

  As soon as Deirdre left, Chyna said, “Well, aren’t you the big, strong man trying to settle down the little lady having a tantrum!”

  “Please don’t get mad again. Almost everyone has stopped staring at us, and a glass of milk won’t kill you.”

  “I hate milk. I won’t drink it!”

  “You sound very grown-up, Chyna. At least five years old. You might have to be sent to bed without supper.”

  Chyna glowered at him for a moment, then lowered her gaze in shame. She’d sounded about as mature as her niece and nephew. Most men would have walked out on her. This one had merely tried to tease her out of her anger. “I’m sorry,” she said reluctantly.

  “Okay.” He smiled at her. “-So, you’re sure you heard the voice at the lake.”

  “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

  “Well, I do and you owe me for embarrassing me in one of Black Willow’s classiest joints. Now, tell me about the voice at the lake.”

  Chyna sighed. After all, she’d brought up the subject, she reminded herself. The least she could do was finish her story. “All right.” She began quietly. “Honestly, Scott, at first I thought I imagined the voice. I thought about how tired I was, how upset I was over Mom’s death, how little I’d had to eat, on and on.” She paused. ’Then I considered how oddly Michelle had acted. She was frightened, Scott, and I don’t think dogs imagine the dead speaking to them.”

  “But they react to their master’s—or mistress’s— emotions. It all has to do with their being able to sense your adrenaline levels, and if my guess is right, yours was soaring.”

  “Yes, I’m sure it was, but she’s never acted that way before.”

  Deirdre arrived with the milk. Scott gave her a dazzling smile. Chyna managed a weak tremor around the mouth. She knew a smile wasn’t going to change the girl’s opinion of her now. When Deirdre left, Scott leaned across the table and said, “You can lift your head. I don’t think you’re the center of attention anymore.” She looked at him, still self-conscious but encouraged by the good-natured humor in his eyes. “You think I was dismissing you as overimaginative,” he said. “Maybe I was a little, and I’m sorry. Apology accepted?”

  After a pause, she nodded. “Yes, if you don’t make me drink every drop of this milk I don’t want.”

  “Deal. But take a few sips. It’s good for you and you’re looking on the thin side to me. Now, has anything else strange happened?”

  She took a sip of the milk and decided it wasn’t so bad, after all. “Yes, and I’ll tell you if you promise not to dismiss me as a high-strung nut.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it. I haven’t dismissed the other two things, either, although I might have sounded like it.”

  “You did. But here goes.” Chyna told him about the call

  from Anita Simms—the strange, windy sound behind Anita’s voice, Anita sounding as if she’d just called to check up on Zoey—and finally about calling Ned and having him say that Anita had killed herself last year. She also described Michelle’s behavior during the call. “I know you’re going to say she was just reacting to my fear,” Chyna said, “but there was one more thing. The woman on the phone called me ’Bubble Gum.’ No one else ever did.”

  “Couldn’t someone else have heard the name?”

  “Besides Zoey and my mother? Anita only stayed for the night when she came to pick up Zoey. I don’t think she ever even met anyone around here. And Mom never used the nickname.”

  Scott sat almost rigid in his chair, staring at her. She met his stare, determined not to act as if she doubted herself. She knew if he rejected her accounts of voices and phone calls, no matter how politely, she would be humiliated. Even worse, she would be deeply hurt, which was silly, because Scott Kendrick was not even a real part of her life. He was nothing but a guy she’d had a crush on for years when she was young.

  Scott leaned forward, making a temple of his fingers, and asked without a trace of derision, “Are you sure you didn’t dream Anita Simms’s call?”

  “I am absolutely sure,” she returned firmly. “And I wasn’t dreaming or hallucinating when I heard the voice at the lake or the voice in the mortuary.”

  Scott looked at her steadily, then nodded. “When you were younger you heard voices. My mother told me you did.”

  “Yes. When I was much younger. Then I told everyone I didn’t hear them anymore. Actually, I was just embarrassed by the way people looked at me and treated me, so I disciplined myself to shut out the voices, and I was fairly successful. In fact, in the last few years, I’ve only heard them a handful of times. But they weren’t voices like these. There was no tonal quality—I couldn’t tell if the voice was male or female—and they certainly never chanted nursery rhymes or

  called me by old nicknames or begged me for help, like Zoey’s did.”

  Scott lowered his gaze, staring at the white silk rose in a bud vase on the table. He thinks I’m a lunatic, Chyna thought. Either that or he’s trying not to laugh in my face out of respect for both of our mothers. But when he looked up, his dark eyes were serious, his expression grave. For a moment, Chyna thought he was being extremely cautious with what he considered an unbalanced woman and getting ready to say she needed professional help. But when he spoke, he surprised her.

  “Chyna, I don’t believe in ESP. I’ve never even thought it might be possible, then rejected the notion. But what you’re telling me…” She nearly stopped breathing while she waited for what he would say. “I don’t understand myself right now, but for some reason, I believe that everything you’ve told me has actually happened.”

  She was stunned. “You do?”

  “Yes. I can’t explain why something I’ve always dismissed as overimagination or plain trickery suddenly sounds possible to me.” He gave her a humorless look. “I said possible, not probable. But coming from you …”

  “But coming from me … what?”

  “You’ve always struck me as so levelheaded, so sensible, that I’m considering it might actually be possible. I have to keep in mind that I don’t know everything. Phenomen
a I never thought about can, probably do, exist in the world.”

  Chyna’s breath came out in a rush. “Thank you, Scott, for taking that attitude.” She paused. “I wish my father had thought the same thing.” She heard the slight pain in her voice. “He believed there was something wrong with me. That’s why I stopped telling anyone except Zoey when I had a vision or a premonition.”

  “Zoey said my gift, my power—whatever you call it— would be our secret,” Chyna went on. “Everyone else, including Ned, thought I was just going through a phase of wanting to get attention by making up stuff. That didn’t explain how what I said about the past had actually happened

  or what I said about the future came true, but sometimes people don’t want to accept what frightens them. When I stopped mentioning my visions, people thought I’d outgrown my need for attention or my vivid imagination. The visions didn’t stop coming, but they became rare. The voice, however, never stopped. I just tried to ignore it.”

  “But you said the voice was different now.”

  “Well, yes.” Chyna was still reluctant to discuss the issue, although Scott seemed to be taking her seriously, and she began slowly. “As I said, in the past, the voice didn’t belong to anyone, certainly not Zoey or Anita. It was always flat, anonymous.”

  Scott curled and uncurled his fingers, his gaze turned inward. I’ve lost him, Chyna thought. He thinks I’m a lunatic and he’s trying to come up with a graceful way of escaping me. As she sat there, feeling ludicrous for caring so much about having lost his good opinion of her, he said, “Chyna, I’m going to keep an open mind about all of this because you’ve always struck me as being an extremely smart and rational woman.”

  “Oh,” Chyna said simply, dumbfounded. Was he sincere? Or was he merely flirting with the girl who’d had a crush on him since she was twelve? “Well, if you do believe me—”

  “I said I’ll keep an open mind, not that I’m convinced.”

  “Pardon me,” she snapped, suddenly angry. He was making fun of her. She was sure of it. “I do so appreciate your open mind.”

  “Now you’re mad again.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You are.”

  “Okay, I am. I never claimed to have ESP, and I don’t like to be laughed at.”

  “Who’s laughing?”

  “Certainly not me.”

  “Not me, either,” Scott said. “Give a guy a chance to wrap his mind around an idea he’s rejected for thirty-five years.”

  “All right,” she said. “I’ll settle for an open mind, if not enthusiastic belief.”

  Scott smiled broadly. “Thank you. And will you do something for me?”

  “That depends.”

  He suddenly looked serious. “You gave me the impression that you don’t confide these visions, voices, all of it, to Ned or Beverly or anyone.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Then keep it that way. From now on, tell these experiences only to me. I promise not to dismiss them as silly imaginings. I also promise not to confide in other people. What you tell me will be strictly confidential, just between us. I think it’s important that you only tell me.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged. “I just do.” He forced a grin. “You don’t want people saying the things they did about you when you were a teenager, do you?” She shook her head. “Then promise me.”

  Was his request merely a kindness? Was he just trying to get her to shut up so that everyone in town wouldn’t think she was crazy? Maybe. But even if it were, he was showing her great consideration. He was willing to listen, just as Zoey had done so long ago. Finally, Chyna said softly, “All right. I promise.”

  Scott nodded, his face solemn. “Don’t worry, Chyna. I take promises seriously.”

  Five minutes later, it was time for Scott to leave for his rehab. “A week more of this and I’m done, thank God,” he said, reaching for his cane. “I’m sure it’s good for me, but I’ve had enough. It’s just another reminder of the crash.”

  Chyna was trying to think of something profound to say when Deirdre Mayhew appeared beside them. She was so pretty with her auburn hair and amber eyes. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Dr. Greer,” she said shyly.

  “It was a pleasure meeting you,” Chyna said. “I’ll see you later this week and we can talk about college, even medicine.

  Don’t doubt yourself, Deirdre. I’m sure you’re smart enough to be anything you want to be.”

  Deirdre blushed and smiled in delight. Later, Chyna was thankful she’d made the girl happy, even for a moment.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  1

  Although the house was stocked with food for people, all that remained for Michelle was Gravy Train. Chyna stopped at the grocery store on the way home and chose a variety of moist food and Michelle’s favorite treats. On a whim, Chyna also bought the dog a small rubber baseball that squeaked— one of Michelle’s favorite toys at home that Chyna had forgotten to pack—and a small, fuzzy teddy bear for the times when Michelle seemed to want to be a mother. At least, that’s what Chyna thought.

  Afterward she thought of stopping by Beverly’s to let her know all the arrangements had been made for Vivian’s cremation, but Chyna decided the fear she’d experienced in the mortuary still showed on her face. Beverly would immediately spot it and ask questions Chyna was determined not to answer, partly because she didn’t want to think about the terrifying incident anymore and partly because she’d promised Scott she would only talk with him about anything strange that happened. She’d promised immediately, without thought, and now she wondered both why he’d wanted her to promise and why she’d done so almost without the slightest hesitation.

  “I’m losing it,” she said aloud. “Thinking I hear voices, making promises I haven’t given any consideration.” At a

  red light, she closed her eyes for a moment. “I’m done for the day,” she said. “No more analyzing, no more confiding, not even small talk with Beverly.”

  Chyna opened her eyes just as the light turned green and she headed right, toward the Greer house, away from Ned’s. She needed to be alone, she thought. She needed to spend the rest of the afternoon in the house she’d grown up in and loved, and she needed her dog for company. Only her dog. After all, Michelle never asked many questions.

  When she pulled into the driveway, Chyna saw that the big white truck with “Ridgeway Construction” written in red on the side was gone. Gage had finished his work, or he’d been so freaked out by her behavior this morning, he’d simply abandoned the job for the day. In either case, she was glad she wouldn’t have to think of anything normal to say to him after she’d just remembered the way he’d flirted with Zoey the last week of her life. Chyna could just unload her shopping bags and not be troubled by his very presence.

  Vivian Greer had never liked a quiet house. Chyna remembered her younger years when the house was always filled with the sound of television newscasts coming from one of three televisions, music coming from their state-of-the-art stereo system, or Vivian herself playing the grand piano in the living room, Walking into her dead-silent former home now gave Chyna the creeps, as if she could hear the empty house breathing death and sorrow all around her. She nearly ran for the television and turned on an afternoon rerun of Law & Order. At least it’s one of my favorite shows, she thought, turning up the sound as Detective Lennie Briscoe interrogated a “perp.”

  Michelle, who’d obviously been napping, thundered down the stairs to Chyna’s side. She gave her dog a powerful hug. “I absolutely could not stay in this house if you weren’t here to keep me company,” she told the dog, who fervently licked Chyna’s cheek. “It’s been another one of those days, you know, when you have dead people talking to you?”

  Michelle tilted her head and looked as if she were frowning,

  making Chyna laugh. “I guess you never have dead dogs talking to you, but you wouldn’t tell me if you did.”

  Chyna unpacked everything she’d bought downtown, mutte
ring a curse when she realized she’d forgotten to get candy. After all, tonight was trick or treat. Although they were never inundated with trick-or-treaters willing to climb the hill for a piece of candy, there were always a few hardy souls who made it. She’d seen at least half a bag of candy when she searched the cabinets last night. Maybe that would be enough. Otherwise, she’d have to turn off all the lights and pretend not to be home. That move should earn her at least a few nasty messages written in soap on the windows.

  Pushing the candy crisis out of her mind, Chyna placed the canine paraphernalia she’d bought for Michelle on the floor. The dog sniffed all of it intently, making Chyna think of dogs trained to sniff for drugs, returned with special interest three times to the stuffed bear, then gently picked it up and carried it into another room. Chyna knew Michelle would bring the bear to bed tonight and try to snuggle both her and the toy. If I get her more stuffed animals, I’ll have to buy a bigger bed, Chyna thought in amusement.

  But it wouldn’t be her bed upstairs. Within two weeks, she would be heading back to New Mexico. Although Chyna had always loved this house, she had to admit that this time she was anxious to leave and didn’t know if she could ever make herself return to a place where she’d lost her father, her mother, and, of course, Zoey.

  2

  Gage Ridgeway turned off the highway and drove his truck over the dirt and gravel road, past the old barn, beyond the aluminum equipment shack where he stored a ride mower, a tractor, and a Harley-Davidson Electra Glide motorcycle he’d had since he was eighteen. He finally stopped in front of the white farmhouse he’d lived in for the past ten years. His parents said he was crazy to buy the place. He didn’t