by Liz Schulte
I added Bryan to my list. “Why would Bryan lie about it if he had nothing to do with it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he lied to begin with because he didn’t think she was in real trouble. Then, when she showed up dead, he thought it would make him look guilty to suddenly tell the truth so he stuck with the lie. What’s Mrs. Nelson’s address?”
I rattled it off as he typed it into the GPS. We were led out of town to a winding, hilly road with no shoulder. The houses were sporadic and buried deep off the road in tufts of trees. About thirty minutes in, off a gravel side road, we found Mrs. Nelson’s dusty house number on a blue mailbox. The driveway was about a half a mile long and lead up to a plain, white, two-story farmhouse. A beat up red Oldsmobile sat in front of the detached garage.
Gabriel put the car in park. “There were a lot of spots she could’ve been grabbed at along the way, if someone got her to stop—even on this driveway.”
I’d had the same thought. We were secluded out here, and there wouldn’t likely be any witnesses. I took a deep breath and climbed out of the car. We walked up the porch’s creaky steps; the front door opened before I could knock.
Mrs. Nelson looked worse than when I saw her at my house. Her hair was matted to her head. The circles ringing her puffy eyes were even darker, and her sweats hung on her frail frame. It dawned on me that she had made an effort to be “presentable” the day she’d come to see me. My heart broke further for the poor woman, and I thought twice about giving her a false sense of hope if there was nothing I could do.
“I’m so glad you came,” she said, wiping a tear away with the back of her hand.
“Mrs. Nelson, this is Detective Troy. He helped me find Danny’s killer.”
She shook his hand and walked us inside. “Please call me Jennifer.”
We sat in the muted living room. The couch was a faded floral print and her recliner was a dark brown that almost blended into the surroundings. Sadness hung in the air and made it hard to breathe.
Jesus, I hope I know what I’m doing.
Jennifer’s encased eyes looked empty of all life. I couldn’t even think of where to start asking questions. She’d been through enough. “Um, we stopped by the police station. The sheriff will only give us part of the case file.”
“I can’t believe I voted for that idiot,” she grumbled without any real malice.
“Yeah…” I looked to Gabriel for help.
He cleared his throat. “We have a few questions we’d like to ask. Would that be okay?”
She nodded and looked at her hands.
“You said that Mary left Bryan’s house at 9:30 p.m. Were there any witnesses?” Gabriel’s voice was low and soothing, and he watched her with both curiosity and understanding. He was good at what he did.
“Just Bryan. His parents were out of town.”
“Why did she leave so early?”
“She had classes the next day. Mary was a very good student.”
“And you spoke with her on the phone? For how long?”
“A few minutes.”
“How do you know she was driving home?”
“She said she was.”
“Could you hear the engine running or her radio playing?”
Jennifer closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the chair. I rubbed my arms at a sudden chill, and the heaviness of the room pressed against me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood, and a protective surge for Jennifer went through me. I gave Gabriel a look to remind him that this wasn’t an interrogation. “I sort of recall music playing in the background.”
“Think really hard. Did you hear another person in the car with her?”
She shook her head.
“Did Mary sound normal? Or was she stressed or strained?”
“She was her happy, cheerful self. We talked about her classes and going shopping that weekend for a laptop. She was so excited. She loved college and wanted to move closer to campus in the fall.”
“Would Mary have stopped to help a stranger?” I asked.
Jennifer’s gaze fell back onto me. “Possibly. We raised her to be helpful. Surely she wouldn’t have stopped at night, though.”
“When you were talking on the phone? Who was speaking when it cut out?” I blurted out the questions as they popped into my head.
Gabriel’s eyebrows pulled slightly together like he was trying to figure out my reasoning for the question.
“She was. She was talking about a class, an American Folklore class.”
“And did the call stop midsentence or at a break in the conversation?”
“Midsentence. She said, ‘I have an idea for my paper on urban legen—’ Those were the last words my baby spoke to me.”
I bit my lip. Gabriel squeezed my knee. “Would you mind if we took a look at Mary’s room?”
“Not at all.”
Jennifer led us up the rickety staircase and to a closed door at the end of the hall. The walls were covered with faded primrose wallpaper. The mirror on her white wooden vanity had pictures plastered along its edges, and the closet door was ajar with a pale yellow terrycloth robe slung over the top. The bed was made and her desk held a series of neatly organized piles. Jennifer stood outside the door, not stepping foot into the room.
“I’ll be downstairs.” She turned on her heel and walked away without another word.
I stared at her retreating back, like she was a ghost of my past self.
“You were much feistier than her.” Gabriel’s voice snapped me back to attention.
“Was I?”
“Always. She’s given up. You never did.”
“She didn’t give up. She came to me.” I squared my shoulders and studied the room surrounding me. I imagined Mary sitting at the desk doing homework, lying across the bed talking on the phone, looking at herself in the full-length mirror on the back of the door… I walked past the mirror, running my finger along its frame as I tried to get a sense of who Mary was. I approached the vanity, thinking its drawers might hold hints of any secrets Mary had. When I reached it, a face that wasn’t mine stared back from the mirror—milky eyes in a sea of red. I gasped like a bucket of ice water had been poured over me and stumbled backward into Gabriel.
I glanced at him, then back to the mirror, which now just displayed my own frightened features. My heart thumped wildly.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
I jerked my head from side to side, not knowing what to say. If I explained what I saw, he’d try to make me quit the investigation. Maybe that’s not such a bad idea. “Um, spider.”
He chuckled. “You look like you saw a—” He stopped midsentence. “You didn’t, did you?”
“What?”
“See a ghost?”
The question hung in the air between us and I started walking around the room again. “You don’t believe in ghosts.”
“Ella…”
“I startled myself. No ghosts.”
He nodded, but watched every move I made. I tried to covertly sneak more glances at the mirror, but nothing appeared out of the ordinary.
Gabriel motioned around the room. “Tell me what you see.”
I looked at everything again. The pictures on her mirror were of friends—one black-and-white photo featured two girls with wide smiles in a frame that said “Best Friends.” Pink lettering labeled one girl, Mary, and the other, Nikki.
It was hard to say if the face in the mirror was Mary’s or not. I opened one of the notebooks on her desk. She had neat, even handwriting, and the pages were filled with random, scrawling class notes that would only mean anything to her. Her bookshelf overflowed with everything from mystery to paranormal romance. On the third shelf from the top, the well-worn spines of my books caught my eye. “All I see is a normal girl. What do you see?”
“That’s what I see too. And that’s what worries me.”
“Why?”
“What could this seemingly normal girl have gotten involved in that would end with her be
ing murdered and set on fire?”
I shook my head. “Maybe it’s a serial killer.”
“There haven’t been any other deaths—and Jackson’s too far away from the highways for this to be a case of opportunity. I don’t know. My guess is she was selected and stalked. Whoever took her planned the event.”
“There’s a comforting thought.”
He gave a wry grin. “Why did you want to know who was talking when the phone cut out?”
“Because if you’re going to pretend the phone died, you’d do it while you were talking, not when someone else was. Also, I’d do it in the middle of my sentence rather than at a break, to make it seem more real.”
“It could also happen accidentally, just like that.”
“True, but I thought it might be beneficial to make note of it, just in case.”
Gabriel studied the pictures on the mirror for a moment. “There’s nothing here.”
I agreed and began to follow Gabriel out of the room when an icy hand brushed down my arm. “Help me,” something whispered in my ear, but nothing was there.
I ran to catch up with Gabriel, sadness heavy on my shoulders. We said our good-byes to Jennifer, and I promised to be in touch. I got Bryan’s and Nikki’s cell phone numbers from her.
Outside, I took a deep breath of fresh air. “The sadness in that house is smothering. Even the building looks sad. Look at it.” I pointed up at the second floor windows that reminded me of drooping eyelids.
Gabriel glanced up, then gave me a doubtful look. “What is with you and houses?”
“You honestly didn’t feel it?”
“It’s a house. Just a house. Buildings don’t have feelings or emotions. Jennifer looked sad and broken, but the house was no more than a foundation, walls and a roof.”
“You never felt it in my house either, did you?”
“No. I admit strange things happened in your house, but I knew we would find an explanation and we did. Now they’re all gone.”
“They’re not gone.”
He shook his head, but didn’t argue.
I let the subject go temporarily. “Now do you see why I have to do this?”
He traced his fingers down the side of my face. “I see why someone needs to do this. I don’t see why it has to be you.”
“Because she asked me. I wouldn’t have asked for help, not in a million years. Do you know how much courage that had to take?” And because I was fairly certain Mary had asked me for help too, but I wasn’t sharing that with him.
“I can’t stop you, Ella. Do what you think is best.” He slid into car and started it.
I slammed my door a little harder than I meant to. Helping Mary and Jennifer was what I thought best. It wasn’t the most convenient thing for me, but I understood Jennifer better than that buffoon Fagan ever could, and as frightening as it was to have Mary reaching out to me, it was scarier knowing whoever did that to her was on the loose.
“Ghosts are real,” I told Gabriel as we drove.
“Ella, you know what happened.”
“Some of that was him, not all of it. It isn’t possible.”
“They’re not real.”
“When we get home, come inside and say that.”
He laughed. “What do you think will happen?”
I gave him a challenging stare. “There’s a lot more in my house than just memories and the stuff I’ve collected. We’ve come to a truce; that’s the only reason it’s been quiet. The house is still haunted. Grant is still there. You’ll see.”
I sent texts to both Bryan and Nikki, introducing myself and telling them I wanted to talk about Mary as soon as they could. Now we just had to wait.
****
I unlocked all the locks on my door and walked inside with Gabriel. I stopped and leaned against the wall across from the round entrance table and tapped my foot, waiting for him to tell the ghosts that they didn’t exist.
“You want me to do this right now?”
“Are you scared, Detective Troy?”
“Fine. I feel stupid, but fine.” He crossed his arms and spoke in a loud voice. “A house is just a house. It doesn’t have feelings. Ghost aren’t rea—”
A loud bang upstairs interrupted him midsentence.
He narrowed his eyes. “How did you do that?”
I laughed. “I didn’t. They’re real. Admit it.”
He looked upstairs like he wanted to check it out.
“Go look.”
He shook his head. “I believe you.” Those three simple words were better than “I love you.”
“Wait here.” I went to the kitchen and got the keys without letting myself think about it too much. My throat was tight and my hands shook as I thrust the key ring at him.
He raised an eyebrow and took the keys.
I shrugged. “I might be in Jackson a lot during this. I thought it’d be good if someone else had keys to my house.” My voice cracked, highlighting my nerves.
Gabriel’s face lightened, and he struggled to hold back a smile as he slipped the keys into his pocket. “Very logical.”
I rolled my eyes and headed to the living room, where I sprawled out in my big overstuffed chair and pulled out my ponytail holder, releasing the breath I’d been holding. Gabriel nudged me over and joined me in the chair. I rested my head on his firm shoulder and closed my eyes.
“On a scale of one to I’m going to drink a bottle of vodka, how bad was today?”
“Around a three,” I said, plucking at a button on his shirt and enjoying the warmth and safety he always made me feel. He folded his arms around me—too comfortable.
“Maybe ghosts are real,” he whispered.
My heart fell. What was this “maybe” shit? Just a few minutes ago, he said he believed me. But could I really blame him for not believing in ghosts? He was the sane one. I wondered if he was aware he had the power to crush me or make me soar with a few words. How did I let myself get into this position again? Gabriel was more dangerous than any murder suspect.
Getting back to Jackson was up to me and my powers of persuasion. While I showered I thought about how I could manage this investigation without a car. Two things were clear. One, I needed to learn how to drive. And two, I couldn’t do this every day. I was going to have to find a place to stay in Jackson. After I was dressed and ready to go, I got on my computer and searched for lodging. There were a few hotel chains on the outskirts of town, but it looked like I’d still need a car to get to the police station and Bryan’s house. I found a bed and breakfast that was more centrally located. I called to see if they’d cut me a deal on an extended stay.
“Darcey Country Inn, this is Martha. How may I help you?”
“Hi, my name’s Ella Reynolds. I’m an author, and I’m working on a book that takes place in your area. I’m interested in coming up and spending a couple weeks. Do you offer reduced rates on extended stays?”
“Well, I’ve never had anyone ask me that, dear.” She paused to consider. “You know what, this time of year we don’t have any guests at all. I’ll rent you a room for $250 a week. How does that sound?”
“Perfect. I’ll be there today if that works for you.”
“Sure does. I look forward to meeting you.”
I thanked her and called Lloyd. He agreed to drive me to Jackson without any finagling and said he’d pick me up within the hour. I ran around the house packing what I thought I’d need. When Lloyd got there I threw my duffle bag in the backseat of the cab and climbed into the front with my laptop bag.
“How are you today, Miss Ella?” Lloyd asked with his gravelly voice. As usual, his white hair was cut short. His ears stuck out from his head like a little kid who got old really fast. His face was creased with the wrinkles of a well-lived life, and his eyes twinkled at me with a joke I never seemed to get. It was good to see him.
“I’m doing well, Lloyd. How are you?”
“Woke up this morning, can’t complain.” His hoarse laughter filled the car. “Y
ou going on a trip?”
“I guess you could call it that. I’m going to stay in Jackson for a little while.”
“Ain’t nothing in Jackson.”
“Well, that’s not fair. I’ll be in Jackson.”
“A girl was murdered there not too long back. You be careful. It’s a small town, but there are still bad people.”
I smiled at Lloyd and pulled out my notebook to jot down everything I’d learned to this point to compare to Fagan’s case file. I chatted intermittently with Lloyd as I worked, and the drive went quickly. When he dropped me off at the B & B, I gave him an extra big tip.
“You want me to come back for you?”
“I’m not sure yet. I don’t know how long I’m staying. I’ll call you, unless Gabriel picks me up.” As I said his name, I remembered I hadn’t told Gabriel my new plan yet. I made a mental note to call him once I was settled and had my file. I walked up to the pretty white-stone house. It was two floors with a huge porch wrapped around the front. The landscaping in the yard was evident, even covered with snow. I imagined it was beautiful here in the summer.
A stout, middle-aged woman with graying brown hair cut in a chin-length wedge met me at the door. “You must be Ella,” she said with a huge smile. “I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of looking your books up on Amazon. They sound wonderful. I can’t believe you’re writing about our little town. Nothing happens here, not ever. Well, except for Mary Nelson—have you heard about that?”
“That’s actually what I’m here to learn about. Her mother asked me to write about her life. I’d love to interview you and anyone you know who knew her.”
“Oh, why didn’t you tell me that on the phone, dear? You can stay here for free if you’re offering any sort of peace to that poor girl’s mother.”
“Uh…” I was taken aback by her unguarded, friendly demeanor and unsure of how to respond. She waited patiently while I stumbled for an answer. “I couldn’t do that.”
“I insist. Mary went to school with my daughter, Cindy. She was just a tad younger than Cindy and always the nicest little thing.” She looked at me as I switched my duffle bag to my other hand. “Look at me jabbering on. You want to see your room, don’t you? We’ll have plenty of time to talk later.”
