JanesPrize

by Margrett Dawson

  In ten seconds she was in the back of Jane’s car and they zoomed out of the parking lot.

  “So,” Annice leaned her forearms on the back of the front seat, “any ideas about what to do?” Her voice rang with suppressed excitement.

  “You’ve certainly changed your thinking,” Jane said. “You were telling me how crazy I was to spend time there and now you can’t wait to get out there.”

  “Well, that was then, this is now. Besides I’m not alone, am I?”

  Jane shot a sideways glance at Pierce. He was very quiet. She saw a small pleat of a frown between his brows. Was he worried about his stepmother?

  “We’ll stick together,” she said firmly. “No going off alone.”

  “Heavens no. But what do I do if I see this ghost of yours?”

  “I don’t think you’ll see anything.” Pierce spoke in a low voice.

  “You’re darn right I won’t. There are no such things as ghosts, as I’ve told my friend Jane here dozens of times.”

  “I’m sure you’re right.” Pierce placed his hand over Jane’s on the steering wheel and gave it a tiny squeeze.

  Chapter Eight

  By the time they reached the house, dusk had fallen and the bulk of the mansion loomed as a darker mass against the pearly sky. Jane fished the key from her pocketbook and passed it to Pierce.

  Without a word he strode up the stone steps and tried the lock. Jane’s heart pounded in her throat. She strained her ears for any sound but heard only the rustle of leaves as some creature stirred on a branch.

  “This place sure is spooky.” Annice’s voice was pitched low and ended with a slight tremor.

  “Nothing to be afraid of.” Jane took her friend’s hand and tucked it under her arm. “No one here but us chickens.” She fervently hoped that was true.

  The massive front door swung open and she saw Pierce silhouetted in the opening. He took one step and disappeared.

  She couldn’t suppress a gasp and hesitated on her way up the steps.

  A half minute later Pierce reappeared in a pool of light. “I’ve switched on the power.”

  “Thank heaven for that.”

  “We’ll have to keep the lights off while we go through the house but at least we can flick them on if we need to.”

  At the top of the steps, Annice pulled her hand from Jane’s arm and squared her shoulders. She looked up at the carved stone façade. “This is one beautiful house even if it does scare the crap out of everyone. Who did you say owns it now?”

  “Some descendant of the Newland family. A second cousin or something. He’s very old and has no heirs so he wants to sell.” Jane was acutely conscious of Pierce’s silence as she recounted his family history. “I think he’s given up hope of the real heir, or his descendants, ever coming back.”

  “So let’s go for it.” Annice took Jane’s hand. “Take her other hand, Pierce. I’ve got a flashlight. Let’s go. Lions and tigers and bears, oh my!” she recited as they moved together into the front hall.

  They passed swiftly through each room, the beam of Annice’s flashlight sweeping the shrouded furniture as they went. Soon enough they approached the drawing room and Jane felt Pierce’s grasp tighten on her fingers. She paused. “This is where something happened.”

  “You mean when you were filming? What was it?”

  “Just a flicker. A shape. Hard to tell what it was.”

  “Well I’d like to see it for myself.” Annice started forward again, pulling Jane and Pierce with her.

  Their footsteps seemed very loud on the bare wooden floor. They marched to the center of the room and stood beneath one of the chandeliers. The huge family portrait hung behind them over the fireplace. Jane suddenly felt dizzy and caught her breath. In all the mental turmoil, she’d forgotten about the likeness of Pierce in full view. Why hadn’t she thought of Annice recognizing Pierce from the painting, even if his clothes were different? How stupid could anyone be?

  She pulled Annice toward the French windows, praying that she wouldn’t turn around and examine the picture. “This is where the murder is supposed to have taken place.”

  “In front of the window?”

  “So they say.”

  Annice stood for a moment, listening. “I don’t hear anything. Don’t see anything, do you?”

  “Not a thing.” Jane suppressed a smile of relief. Pierce had been right. His stepmother had gone.

  “Ouch!” Annice let go of Jane’s hand and brushed her hand on the nape of her neck. The beam of the flashlight careened wildly around, picking out ornaments, drapes, pictures in a kaleidoscope of fleeting impressions.

  “What is it?”

  “I thought something touched my neck.” Annice shuddered. “Probably a spider. I think I’ve seen enough. Let’s move on.”

  Jane let out a breath. “Fine.” She tried to pierce the gloom of the room as they walked toward the far door. Had the murderess tried to touch Annice so she could come back to the living? Or had it really been a stray cobweb? She felt Pierce tug on her hand and she slowed as they reached the door. He turned away from her and stood square to gaze around the room as if daring the ghost to reveal herself. Nothing stirred.

  Ten minutes later Pierce turned the key in the lock of the front door and they went down the steps to the car.

  “Well that was a blast.” Annice opened the rear passenger door. “Do you think that really was a cobweb?”

  “Pretty sure. Aren’t you?”

  Annice slid into the back seat. “Positive. You see how easy it is to believe all kinds of nonsense when it’s dark and you’ve heard a few stories. I don’t know what you’ve got on your camera,” she said, slamming the door and clicking on her seatbelt, “but it’s not a ghost.”

  “I’m sure you’re right.”

  Jane put on her own belt and turned the key in the ignition. The engine coughed and sputtered.

  Annice groaned. “Don’t tell me this rust bucket is going to keep us here. I’m in serious need of some strong coffee and a washroom. Not in that order.”

  “I can do it,” Jane said through gritted teeth. “It just needs some care.”

  “Care! I should say so. It’s been on life support for the last six months. No wonder Pierce won’t drive it.”

  Pierce turned in surprise from the front passenger seat. “No, I—”

  To Jane’s relief the engine fired and she stamped on the gas. The car lurched down the gravel drive, spewing small stones from under the wheels until she braked at the big entrance gates.

  With barely a glance at the deserted road she swung in the direction of home. She blew a strand of hair away from her face and wiped her palm on the leg of her pants. The rapid beat of her heart began to slow as she steered toward town. Why was she so stressed out? Did she need to ask? Resurrecting a ghost might be common TV fare but it wasn’t your ordinary everyday occurrence. Add to that the mind-blowing sex, lack of sleep, worry about Pierce and you had more than enough reason.

  A bright light appeared in the rear window. “Uh oh,” Annice said from the back seat.

  The whoop-whoop of a police siren confirmed the worst. Jane pressed the brake and steered to the roadside, easing to a stop, switching off the engine. This was all she needed.

  The police car pulled in ahead of her but the officer didn’t emerge.

  “He’s checking the plates,” Annice whispered. “Hope you don’t have any tickets you haven’t paid.”

  Jane shook her head. “Not one.”

  “How would he know?” Pierce asked.

  “Computer link. Everything’s connected.” Don’t ask any more questions! Don’t give yourself away.

  At that moment the door of the cruiser opened and a police officer in uniform emerged. He stood for a moment in the beam of the headlights and put on his hat.

  “It’s Pete. Pete Burrard,” Annice said in an excited voice. She poked Jane in the arm. “You know him. He was captain of the football team in high school. I dated him for a while
.”

  Memory came back. Giggling sleepovers, hanging around the coffee shop, gossip about boys, heartbreak and ecstasy. The joys of teenage years.

  Pete was well over six feet, broad-shouldered, slim-hipped. “My, he’s matured well. Like a fine wine,” Annice said. “With my luck, he’s married with six kids.”

  “Good evening, ladies, sir.” Pete ducked his head to look in the car. “Let me see driver’s license and registration please.”

  Jane switched on the dim overhead light, fumbled for her wallet and took out her license. Pete shone his flashlight on the card and glanced in the back. As his hands moved into the beam of the courtesy light Jane saw he had no ring.

  Annice obviously noticed the same thing. “Hi, Pete. Would you like mine too?” She waved her ID through the open window.

  He looked at her in surprise. “Annice Sinclair. Well I’ll be darned.”

  “How you doing? I didn’t know you were back here.”

  Pete ignored her card. “Just been here a couple of months.”

  “So what’s new in your life? Apart from being a policeman, I mean.”

  Annice had edged closer to the open window, her chin skimming Jane’s shoulder. “So are you married?”

  “Not anymore. Divorced a year ago.” He leaned his arm on the roof of the car. “You?”

  Jane shifted in her seat and stole a glance at Pierce. He raised his eyebrows, shrugged and turned his attention back to Annice and Pete. Jane supposed she had to contain her impatience and let the little scene play out.

  Annice stuck her left hand through the window and waggled her fingers. “No one special in my life,” she said.

  The radio on Pete’s belt crackled and brought him back to the job at hand.

  “So, what were you doing back there at the big house?” He bent lower and looked at Pierce. “You have your ID on you, sir?”

  “I’m sorry—” Jane began.

  “This is a friend from out of state,” Annice interrupted. “He’s a bit jet lagged and all his luggage is back in town. We didn’t think to tell him to bring ID with him. We were just cruising around, showing him the area.” She flashed the cop a winning smile.

  Pete shook his head. “Always a good idea to carry ID on you, sir.”

  Pierce leaned forward. “You’re right and I apologize. But I was kind of worked up about seeing the old house. My special interest is late nineteenth century buildings, officer. I’m an amateur architect and the young ladies were kind enough to offer to show me the mansion. I would really like to see inside some time.”

  He told the lie with a completely straight face.

  “I’ll vouch for him, Pete,” Annice said. “It was all completely innocent. Sorry if we raised any concerns.”

  Pete straightened. “No problem if you don’t have ID if you’re not doing anything illegal. We’ve been asked to keep an extra eye on the old house. We received some reports of prowlers, lights at night. Then you come screeching out of the driveway.”

  “Well you know about the ghost stories.”

  “Yeah, when I was a kid our scout troop camped up here in the woods. We scared ourselves sh—silly with ghost stories.” Pete laughed. “Well I guess you three aren’t ghosts or burglars.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  Pete took a step back and touched his cap. “Goodnight then. Drive carefully. Good to see you again, Annie. Might catch you later.”

  “Sure thing, if you don’t call me Annie.”

  Mercifully the engine started and Jane put the car in gear. “Good night, Pete. Thanks.”

  Though what she was thanking him for she would have been hard-pressed to say. Thanks for giving me a scare and shortening my life by a few years? Thanks for being an unattached male easily distracted by my friend’s pretty face?

  They drove in silence for a mile or so then Annice’s voice came from the back. “Are you going to tell me what’s going down here?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Annice sat forward again and spoke over Jane’s shoulder as if Pierce weren’t there. “Who is he, Jane? What’s the story?”

  “Pierce and I met a couple of days ago—”

  Annice turned her head toward Pierce. “Where are you from?”

  He cleared his throat. “Originally from around here.”

  “I don’t buy this. You’re both up to something. Ghosts, haunted houses, no ID, mysterious background.”

  Jane took a deep breath and a big decision. “I’ll tell you but not tonight. Tomorrow.”

  “So there is something. I was right.”

  “Yes, you’re right.” Jane had no idea if she was making the right choice but a little voice told her she was going to need support from someone who knew her way around. Annice was a legal secretary. She had contact with all kinds of people.

  “You’re sure? You’re not shitting me?”

  Jane saw Pierce flinch at the word. Welcome to the world of modern young women.

  “I promise. I might need your help anyway.”

  “It’s a deal.”

  They had reached the dark parking lot where Annice had left her car and Jane pulled in beside the low-slung Mustang.

  Annice opened the door and wriggled out. She stood on the tarmac and leaned in Jane’s window just as Pete had done. “Where?”

  “Where what?”

  “Where shall we meet? Full o’ Beans?”

  “Right. At nine.”

  “You got it.” She wagged a finger at Pierce. “I don’t know what you’re up to mister but if anything happens to her I’ll come for you.” She straightened and took her car keys from her pocket.

  “Don’t be silly. Nothing’s going to happen to me.” Jane put her car in gear once again.

  “Better not. ‘Night.”

  Annice clicked the remote on her key and the lights of her car came on with a gentle beep.

  Pierce stirred. “How—”

  “Don’t ask. All will become clear.” She was even catching Pierce’s speech patterns. With a last cheerful wave to Annice she pulled out in the direction of Pierce’s motel.

  Outside the door to his room, she sat with both hands on the wheel. The door was bright green with a long scratch under the handle.

  “Do you have your key?”

  Pierce nodded. “Will you come in?” He placed one hand on her shoulder and kneaded the tight muscles near her neck.

  She had been asking herself the same question for the last ten minutes and hadn’t gotten an answer. His hand on her was warm and firm, doing wonderful things to her aching back. Her whole body was tight as a drum. She needed a massage all over, not just her neck. The temptation to say yes was almost overwhelming.

  She opened her mouth. “No, not tonight,” she heard herself say. Her subconscious had taken over and she knew it was the right decision.

  She turned to face him, the gearshift forming a barrier between them. His hand slid down to her arm.

  “I would like to come in with you. I can’t tell you how much I want it. But I’m not going to do it.”

  “But—”

  She placed one finger on his mouth. “That policeman was a lesson. You can’t be here without a past, without documents to prove it, and a birth certificate from over a hundred years ago won’t cut it. I need to think about it. I need to let my mom know I’m okay, prepare her about moving out and a thousand other things.” She kissed his cheek. “You were right about telling her. If I survive I’ll be back tomorrow morning, nice and early.”

  He took hold of her face and kissed her on the lips, long and hard. She felt her resolve melting like snow in April. With the last remnants of her good sense, she pulled away.

  “Sleep well.”

  “Did you have a nice evening, dear?” Her mother was settled in the big armchair watching the late news but she clicked the remote to mute the sound and looked up with a bright smile.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “I’ll make some coffee.” She pushed on the arms of her
chair to rise but Jane stopped her with a hand on her arm.

  “I have to talk to you, Mom.”

  “What about, dear? You’re not sick, are you? You’re looking a bit pale.”

  “No, I’m not sick, just tired.”

  She sank onto the ottoman next to the armchair while on the TV a building blew up in absolute silence and people ran for cover. She pulled her gaze away and took her mother’s hand.

  “You know I’ve appreciated you letting me live here,” she began. “And you know I’ve been saving for an apartment of my own.”

  Her mother nodded.

  “Well, I think I have enough put by and I’m going to start looking for a place.”

  “My dear, that’s wonderful news.”

  Jane stared at her. “It is?”

  “Of course. It’s time you were on your own, without worrying about me, and time I had some freedom too.”

  “Really?” It had never occurred to Jane that she could be a nuisance to her mother. She’d only thought about her mother’s presence cramping her own style.

  “Why yes. I’d like to take a vacation on one of those singles cruises, you know. And sometimes I’d just like not to have to cook or think about whether or not you’ll be home.”

  “But you always say you worry about me.” Jane thought of the evidence of tears when she’d come back from the Newland house.

  “I know, and I’ve been thinking about that. When you were away at college I used to think about you but I didn’t worry. It’s because you’re around all the time that I let my imagination go wild.” She smiled. “Not enough to think about. Or at least not the right kind of thing.”

  “I see,” Jane said weakly. She had to get this right. “So you’re not going to mind if I move out fairly soon?” She flashed on the image of Pierce in the bed, with the sheet barely covering his stupendous package and his muscles rippling as he moved.