Dead Voices

by Rick Hautala

  “ ... Help! ... Mommy! ... Help! ... “

  “You ain’t not married till you get legally divorced!”

  Her father’s voice snapped Elizabeth back. She shook her head as though she had been blindsided.

  “Till you’re divorced, you ain’t got no right to be going out on no Goddamned date with Frank Melrose or anyone!”

  “Come on, Dad!” Her voice was high and shaky. “For crying out loud. It’s just Frank Melrose. He wants to go out for dinner tomorrow night. It’s not like I’m going to jump into bed with him!”She felt a moment of satisfaction when her father’s face registered shock.

  “No — I never said nothing ‘bout jumpin’ into the sack,” he replied gruffly. “I just said it ain’t proper for a married woman to be runnin’ around with another man.”

  “Do you want the truth, Dad?” Elizabeth asked.

  “I always ‘spected you’d tell me the truth,” Kendall said. “‘N’ I assume you always did.” His strong workman’s hands clenched the edge of the countertop. Tendons and grease-stained knuckles stood out like mountains on the backs of his hands. Elizabeth wondered how such hands could ever be soft and loving.

  Sucking in a hissing breath of air, she pulled out one of the chairs and sat down, slouching. Unclenching her own fists, she folded her hands in her lap. Tears welled up in her eyes.

  “Dad —” she said, barely above a whisper. She sniffed loudly.

  “I haven’t been married to Doug, not in the real sense, since long before ... Caroline died. If I was really honest with myself, I’d have to say even before Caroline was born, but definitely after that.”

  She paused, blinking madly as she looked at her father. Kendall stood there watching her with almost no expression on his face. Finally, he cleared his throat and said, “Havin’ children changes lots of things, but it don’t necessarily mean —”

  “It changed everything between me and Doug,” Elizabeth said. There was a strain of resignation in her voice. “Look, Dad, I hate to pop any illusions you might have had, but Doug and I had been drifting apart for years — years! He had his work and I had mine, at least until Caroline was born. And then I was just stuck home, taking care of this ... this baby!”

  She was surprised that she could talk about Caroline in such a detached way. But something in her father’s steadiness gave her the strength to see things just a bit more objectively and not get so lost in her emotions.

  “That’s natural, for the woman to be home, raisin’ the children, “ her father said. “That’s the way it’s always been.”

  “Come on, Dad,” Elizabeth said. “Let me ask you, then, what was the sense of spending all that money to send me and Pam to college? Did you think I needed a diploma so I could stay home and raise children? I could do that without a high school diploma, for crying out loud.” She shook her head as though amazed, but her father’s expression never wavered. “Dad, that kind of thinking may have worked back when you and mom got married, but times have changed. Most families need two full-time incomes just to get by.”

  Her father started to reply, but she cut him off with a quick wave of her hand. “But I don’t want to get side-tracked. I’m talking very specifically about my marriage — me and Doug — and I’m telling you, straight out, we weren’t married, not in the true sense, for years!”

  “‘N’ I ‘spoze, like everyone else these days, you can just toss aside your marriage vows like that, huh?” her father said, snapping his fingers.

  Elizabeth ran her lower lip under her teeth and bit down hard as a surge of guilt rippled through her. Her eyes misted over, and she found it impossible to look directly at her father. When she spoke, her breath came in short, gulping gasps that punctuated every other word.

  “After Caroline ... was born ... I think Doug loved her ... more than he did me.” Tears carved warm, wet tracks down her cheeks. “He lost himself — in her.”

  “A parent’s ‘spoze to love his child,” Kendall said mildly, even though his expression remained as hard as stone. Elizabeth shook her head vigprously. “Not the way Doug loved Caroline,” she said, gaining a measure of control over her voice as her anger at Doug flared up. “I don’t mean sexually or anything, but it was like ... like he thought she was a part of him. So much of his love went out to her that, after a while, there just wasn’t any left over for me.” Her shoulders shook, and she grabbed a napkin from the dispenser to wipe her eyes.

  “Don’t you think you’re bein’ a little hard on him ... and on yourself?” her father asked.

  Elizabeth blew her nose into the napkin, then crumpled it up and squeezed it into a tight ball. “No,” she said. She caught herself just before she mentioned that she was seeing a psychiatrist, just in case her mother hadn’t told her father. “I mean, you know, from talking to people and all, I realize that mothers and daughters can feel ... like they’re in competition for the husband’s love. It happens all the time. But by the time I realized Doug was putting so much of himself into Caroline, I —” Her eyes flickered upward at the ceiling before she finished. “I just didn’t care any more.”

  “So when she died ... “her father said.

  Elizabeth nodded and looked down at her hand clutching the balled-up napkin. “When she died, he blamed me for ... for everything,” she said. Her throat rasped loudly on the last word, but she forced herself to continue. For the first time in her life she said something she had always thought but never dared to express aloud:

  “And as much as I loved Caroline and miss her so much it hurts, I’m glad she died for this one reason.” She choked and sensed her father stiffening at her words. “I’m glad because, after she was dead, Doug and I didn’t have a single reason to stay together!”

  5.

  “You sure as hell seem to have an inordinate amount of interest in this case,” Detective Harris said to Frank, who was standing beside him as he drew a cup of coffee from the urn in the police station’s conference room.

  Frank nodded curtly and said, “I just want to stay current on what’s happening. After all, it isn’t every day someone gets murdered in town, and ... well, because I was the one who responded to both calls, out at the cemetery and then when Henry found Fraser’s body, I’m just kinda curious.”

  Harris leaned back against the countertop and took a slurping sip of coffee. The steam curled up like smoke around his face, and Frank wondered how the hell the man could drink coffee that hot. Iron gut, probably; just what it takes to be a detective!

  “And what, exactly, makes you think these two incidents are even remotely related?” Harris asked pointedly.

  Frank shrugged. “I think it’s safe to assume —”

  “Uh-uh,” Harris said, wagging his forefinger under Frank’s nose. “Remember what assume makes — an ass out of u and me.”

  “It doesn’t take fucking Sherlock Holmes to see that they’re connected,” Frank said, his anger rising at Harris’s cocky attitude. “There’s some wacko around town doing this stuff. I saw the preliminary autopsy report. Fraser had shreds of human flesh-dead human flesh-on his teeth and in his throat. You know damned well that anyone who would dig up a corpse and cut off its hand could just as likely use that dead hand to choke someone to death.”

  “You know,” Harris said, glancing up at the ceiling. “You’re making me kinda curious as to why you’d get interested enough in all of this to bother to read the autopsy report. Did you already get your detective’s shield?”

  “The whole thing has me a little nervous, all right?” Frank snapped, unable to keep the edge out of his voice. “This isn’t your everyday, run of the mill ‘accidental death.’”

  “And what exactly is your ‘run of the mill’ death?” Harris asked laconically.

  Frank ignored him as he pushed his point. “I figure Fraser was a suspect in the grave robbing, given that he had access to the cemetery and all. I assume you questioned him rather thoroughly.”

  Harris’s cold stare didn’t reveal a th
ing.

  “But now, knowing that Fraser was involved with ... well, you saw it yourself — there were at least two other sets of footprints out there besides Fraser’s and Bishop’s. That says to me there was some kind of ... of conspiracy going on. “

  Harris chuckled before taking another sip of coffee and swallowing noisily. “You’re getting to sound downright paranoid, Melrose,” he said. “Did you ever consider taking a bit of a vacation? Maybe you should see a shrink about this problem you got. “

  “Well what would you call it if not suspicious?” Frank said, his voice rising to a shout.

  “Circumstantial,” Harris said, shrugging.

  Frank shook with frustration; it was like talking to a brick wall. “Okay — sure, disturbance of a corpse is classified as only a misdemeanor, but now there’s murder involved, and I —” he cut himself off.

  “You were about to say ... ?”

  “Look,” Frank said, loosening his stance and backing a few steps away from Harris. “This whole thing has me worked up because ... I think it involves a friend of mine. “

  “You don’t mean to say you’ve been withholding information, do you?” Harris asked sharply.

  Frank shook his head. “No ... no. I don’t know who’s doing this. I’m talking about Elizabeth Myers. You know — Kendall Payne’s daughter. She’s just moved back home.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Harris said with agitation. “You and she used to be cozy. I know all about that. Get to the fucking point.”

  Frank held his hands up helplessly and let them drop, slapping his thighs with a loud crack. “I’m not sure I know what the point is,” he said, “but I’m wondering if your investigation has included certain things.”

  “Such as ... ?”

  “Such as her husband, Douglas Myers,” Frank said. “From what I’ve heard, she left him a couple of weeks ago. It crossed my mind that maybe he, you know, flipped out about that and has been doing this — I don’t know, bribing or blackmailing Barney to dig up Elizabeth’s uncle’s body to ... to — I dunno, to terrorize Elizabeth and her family, for revenge or whatever. “

  Harris placed his coffee cup on the counter and silently considered for several seconds what Frank had said; then he snorted, shook his head, and said, “I think what I said earlier still holds. You need a fucking vacation. You’re sounding ‘looney tunes.’ “

  “You don’t think digging up bodies in the cemetery and killing someone by strangulation with a corpse’s hand is fucking ‘looney tunes’? Are you telling me you haven’t checked out her husband? You haven’t run down his background and where he’s been for the past week or so?” Frank felt a hot rush of blood to his face and neck.

  Harris shook his head and held up his hands as though helpless. “I ain’t telling you doodly-squat. And anyway, you seem to be putting things together pretty well on your own. Here —” He reached for his hip pocket, took out his badge case, and attempted to hand his detective shield to Frank. “Go ahead. Take it. You’ve earned it. “

  “For Christ’s sake, Harris! I’m just concerned, if that’s all right with you. Okay? People’s feelings are involved here! Elizabeth Myers was — is a good friend of mine, and I don’t like feeling as if there’s someone out to get her.”

  “Like maybe the — boogeyman?” Harris said. His voice was mocking as he raised his hands like claws and slashed them toward Frank’s face. “Or maybe Frankie Krueger, or whatever the hell his name is?”

  “Barney Fraser sure as shit must’ve met the boogeyman,” Frank snapped. His fists doubled up, and he wanted like hell to punch the smirk off Harris’s face.

  “Look here, Melrose,” Harris said as he slipped his badge back into his pocket. “Honestly — I appreciate any leads you can give me with this because, frankly, we haven’t met with a whole shitload of success. But the last fucking thing I need is some paranoid bullshit about some ... some black-magic conspiracy to get this friend of yours who hasn’t even been in town more ‘n a couple of weeks — all right?”

  “I just wanted to tip you off about her husband, Douglas Myers,” Frank said. “In case you hadn’t gotten anything along that line.”

  “I appreciate it,” Harris said, nodding. He picked up his coffee and, tilting his head back, took a huge swallow that drained the cup. He tossed the empty Styrofoam cup into the trash can, turned, and left the conference room without another word to Frank.

  As Frank watched Harris leave, he didn’t feel even the slightest bit better about any of this. He knew one thing for damned sure — from now on, when he wasn’t on duty, he was going to do a bit of investigating on his own ... if only to convince himself that Elizabeth was and would remain safe.

  EIGHT

  First Date

  1.

  “I didn’t know you were interested in such reading material.”

  Speaking so close behind her, the voice startled Elizabeth, who was kneeling in front of the ASTROLOGY/OCCULT section in the Maine Mall Booksmith. She looked up and was even more surprised to see Dr. Graydon smiling down at her.

  “No, I was ... uh, just checking out a few things,” Elizabeth stammered as she stood up and brushed her hands nervously together. “My aunt does astrological readings, and I was just looking to see if there was anything she might like.”

  “I see ... I see,” Graydon said, nodding. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the aisles of the bookstore. “Are you out shopping by yourself?”

  “Actually, no,” Elizabeth said. She, too, glanced up and down the aisle. “I was that is, a friend of mine and I were going to the movies at the Mall Cinema, but the early shows were sold out.”

  “Oh — what were you going to see?”

  Elizabeth smiled weakly. “We hadn’t really decided.”

  “There’s one movie, I think it’s playing across the street now, called Firewater Pond. It was filmed here in Maine. There was quite a bit about it in the papers last summer.”

  “Oh,” Elizabeth said, nodding knowingly, “maybe we’ll check it out.” She stood up on tiptoe and finally caught a glimpse of Frank, over by the mysteries. She wanted to signal to him, but he was intent on scanning the shelves.

  “So,” Graydon said, “did you find anything here for your aunt?” He leaned forward and let his eyes wander back and forth over the shelves. “My, my — there are some quite interesting titles here. Look at this one — Mysteries of the Hidden World. And these — Conversations with the Dead and Practicing the Black Arts. Indeed!”

  Elizabeth couldn’t quite read the expression on Graydon’s face. Was he genuinely interested, or was he being teasingly skeptical of her interest in such things? She wanted to repeat that she, truly, had been looking for a book for Junia, but decided to let it drop. She felt thankful when, just then, she saw Frank glance up. She signaled him to come over to her.

  Graydon saw her expression brighten, and he turned to look where she was looking. His eyes narrowed when he saw Frank walking toward them. “Oh, is this your friend?”

  Elizabeth nodded just as Frank joined them.

  “Frank Melrose,” she said, ‘Td like you to meet Roland Graydon.”

  She wasn’t sure, but she thought that, as soon as she said Graydon’s name, Frank stiffened.

  “Dr. Graydon, this is my ... friend, Frank Melrose.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Frank,” Graydon said as the two men shook hands.

  Frowning, Frank nodded and said, “Same here.”

  “I was just suggesting to Elizabeth that you go see the movie that was filmed here in Maine last summer,” Graydon said smoothly. “It’s supposed to be quite funny.”

  Frank nodded again and smiled widely, but Elizabeth could tell he was putting it all on; she could sense that he had snapped into his “cop mode” and was studying Graydon, although she had no idea why he would be at all suspicious of Graydon.

  “Well, I must be going,” Graydon said, glancing at his watch. “Nice to see you, Elizabeth.” He smiled as he shook her hand. “And nice
to meet you, Frank.”

  “Same here,” Frank replied. His voice was low and controlled.

  Graydon turned and strode from the bookstore at a brisk pace. Once he was out of sight, Elizabeth let her breath out with a whoosh.

  “Friend of yours?” Frank asked.

  She could tell just by the way he was looking at her that there was a lot of weight behind his question, but for the life of her couldn’t figure out why. Could it be simply that Frank had a spark of jealousy?

  “He’s a doctor ... someone I’ve been seeing.” Elizabeth said and, because she didn’t want to say any more, let it drop. Frank didn’t pursue it any further, but she did notice that he looked down the aisle again, as though expecting to see Graydon lurking there, watching them.

  “We probably ought to head over to the theater early to make sure we get tickets,” Frank said.

  As they started walking toward the exit, Elizabeth couldn’t shake the feeling that Graydon had ducked around the comer and was hiding somewhere nearby, watching them. Was Frank’s reaction just making her paranoid? Or had there been something ... strange about Graydon, something that unnerved her? Maybe she just felt awkward, surprised at meeting up with her therapist out in public. He seemed so different, outside the confines of his office.

  “So what would a doctor be doing in the occult section of a bookstore?” Frank asked. “I thought people like that didn’t go in for that wacky kind of thing.”

  The question startled Elizabeth. They were walking down the hallway toward the exit, and all the while she thought she could feel a harsh, cold stare boring into her back.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, you were kneeling down in the section,” Frank said, “and it makes me wonder if Dr. Graydon was heading down there himself before he noticed you.”