A Moonlit Task: An Urban Fantasy Mystery Novel (End Gate Series Book 1)

by Tom Hansen

  Nancy took a deep breath and tried to put the book back into the nook, but something in her head pounded.

  Oh no, you don’t. This is my house! You will go in!

  She scrunched up her face and pushed with all her might. She was met with more resistance, like the cavity was full of Jell-O, but through perseverance and sheer impertinence, she was finally able to get the book into the space.

  Finished with the book, she put the small figurine into the nook and closed the compartment just as Edna walked through the front door.

  Chapter Twelve

  “I’m here!” Edna extended her arms in a flamboyant flair. She did love her grand entrances. She looked to the left and gasped at the massive pile of boxes. “Now that is one big pile of shit!”

  “It’s about time you showed up.” Nancy walked out of the library. Her heart pounded and she was sure her face was flushed. “I was going to have to pour myself a glass of wine if I had to wait any longer.” She didn’t dare glance back, in case it was obvious she was hiding something.

  Edna gave her a curious look, like she didn’t fully believe her.

  Nancy pulled a hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear. She tried to smile but the action felt odd.

  Edna’s eyes scrunched together, then her eyebrows raised like she had come to some decision. “Well, I’m here now, woman. Let’s get our drink on.” Edna waddled into the kitchen to plop down the bags of fried chicken and dumplings on the island. She carried another bag of groceries in her other hand.

  “What else did you get?”

  “Oh, nothing, just the essentials. Now how about that wine?”

  Wine. Despite hiding the book and the figurine from Edna, she wanted to check that bottle of wine to see if it had the same runes. “I think I know just the bottle.”

  Nancy ducked around the kitchen wall to the butler’s pantry, which mostly stored wine anymore, and flicked on the light.

  The small round florescent fixture illuminated with a sputter and a faint whine while it warmed up.

  Nancy scanned through the bottles of wines. She couldn’t find it! Did she already take it to the library? Then she remembered she had left it in the kitchen, right under Edna’s nose.

  She peeked around the corner from the pantry to the kitchen. Edna’s back was to her, fiddling with something on the counter.

  Nancy took a hesitant step inside, her mind whirling. Why was she sneaking around in her own home, behind the back of her best friend? She needed to find this out for herself first, then she would tell Edna.

  She grabbed the bottle of wine when Edna turned. “Oh, that one?”

  Nancy clutched it to her chest. “Oh, no, I just forgot to put this one away.” She hoped her voice wasn’t too nervous. She was a terrible liar, always had been. “I wanted something different for dinner.” That part, at least, was true.

  She ducked back around the corner to the pantry and looked at the bottle again.

  The top of it was covered in wax, much like a bottle of Maker’s Mark, except the wax was old and riddled with hairline cracks, and there was a distinct Chinese character stamped into the top.

  She stared blankly at the label. Memories from that night flooded back into her mind as she took in the beautiful artwork, the intricate sandblasted waves etched into the glass. Her thumb rubbed over something on the bottom and she turned the bottle over.

  Shining back at her in the flickering blue light of the butler’s pantry were more of those runes she kept finding. She remembered seeing them back in the store but they had a lot more impact now then they did before.

  Her muscles slacked and she staggered, bumping up against the countertop behind her. She nearly dropped the bottle, barely holding on to it it as it started to slip from her grasp. Panic flooded her mind. This was what she came for, but it was almost too much to process. Three objects in her house all had archaic etched characters on them. What in the bloody hell was going on?

  She looked up toward the kitchen, making sure Edna wasn’t watching her. Edna bustled around the kitchen, opening cupboards and grabbing plates.

  She just needed answers first. Then it would all make sense.

  Nancy found herself walking into the hallway from the pantry, turning to the front of the house and into the library. She stood in the doorway for a moment, teetering, her head swimming. The sun was just starting to go down, casting a long shadow in her front yard. Violet and red light poured through the top of her bay windows.

  She had left her writing desk light on. She walked to it, her body on autopilot after the strange events since she had gotten home from the library.

  Edna’s voice humming a tune wafted in from the kitchen. Nancy turned off the light and stood in front of the bookshelf, wondering if she should hide the bottle in the secret spot in between the bookcases as well.

  A car sped along the road leading up to her house, tires screeching as it rounded the corner from Gate to Humboldt, ignoring the stop sign planted there. Nancy sighed and turned her head to try to catch sight of the latest in a long line of traffic violators, but as she did so, the light from the car’s headlights shined into her window, illuminating the library bookshelves.

  The intricately carved sections between the shelves protruded an inch past the built-in furniture and cast a long variegated shadow against the far wall, directly above the fireplace.

  Nancy’s heart leapt. There was another face on the wall! It was faint and she blinked to make sure she wasn’t delusional, but for a split second as the light passed over the edges of the bookcase, the same agonized face she’d seen from the book was a projection on the wall. The man’s face was twisted and distorted, like he had been beaten. His mouth agape, his eyes sunken and black. The pained look on his face was something she feared she would never get out of her mind.

  Nancy held the bottle and looked around, feeling like it wasn’t her own home anymore. Tears flowed from her face. She didn’t even know why she was crying. She felt like her world was turning upside down. She had lived in this house for forty years and she suddenly felt like a complete stranger. What was happening?

  She felt alone. She wanted Richard to burst through the door and hold her, tell her it was all okay. These were just figments of her imagination, her mind playing tricks. She was tired and just needed sleep.

  Some part of her knew differently. Something was amiss in her odd little world. She thought back to Peter’s letter, the part about something inside of you never going back. She didn’t feel comfortable in her own skin anymore, like she was split into two. The rational Nancy would have brushed this off and popped open the bottle in her hand. The panicked Nancy wanted to run. She wanted her old life back. She wanted her husband. She wanted to call her parents.

  Would any of them believe her?

  The sound of the wine sloshing around in the bottle drew Nancy’s attention to her shaking hands. She looked down at the bottle, revulsion filling her throat. She wanted it out, gone. She put it down on the writing desk and backed up two steps, bumping against the library door. She stopped and scanned the room. Nothing jumped out at her, nothing stirred.

  Cautiously, she flicked the light switch and basked in the safety that brilliance provides. Her chilled mind began to melt. She wiped her eyes and stood for another minute, watching the carvings like they would jump out at her the second she turned her back.

  Get a hold of yourself, girl. You are a grown woman, for God’s sake. It takes more than a couple tricks of the light to rattle you.

  She ground her teeth and dug her nails into her palms, the pain steeling her senses. Yes. She was just overreacting. Seeing things where things didn’t exist. What was that called? Nancy searched the recesses of her mind. Pareidolia. She knew there was a term for it.

  Your mind is naturally drawn to seeing patterns and faces in things, that’s all it is. Your mind is getting the better of you.

  She turned around and marched back to the butler’s pantry, grabbed a bottle of wine
off the shelf, and strode into the kitchen. She set the bottle down on the counter harder than she expected, jolting Edna out of her reverie of cooking something in a skillet. The smell of garlic filled the air.

  “Sorry about that. Got a little distracted choosing the wine.” With her hand, Nancy mimicked a gun to her head. “Mind’s the first to go, you know.”

  “Never mind that.” Edna pointed with the spoon at the toaster oven. “The garlic bread is nearly done. Pop that wine open and let’s get tipsy. Those boxes are calling to me to paw through them. Time to see all the skeletons you have in your closet, girl!”

  An hour into her and Edna picking through the pile, with most of the first bottle of wine gone, the phone rang.

  Nancy had to pause a moment after standing; the wine was getting to her, but it felt good to unwind. She’d needed this more than she’d thought.

  Taking a few unsteady steps toward the phone, she answered it.

  “Yellow?” She winked at Edna who smiled back.

  No one spoke, though she could hear breathing.

  “Hello?” Nancy asked a second time, slightly annoyed.

  “Yes. Hello.”

  Given the thick, female European accent, Nancy knew who was calling her. Her mind grew sharper instantly. Focused.

  “This is Anca.”

  Nancy’s response was measured and slow. “I know who this is. What do you want?”

  “I want to talk.”

  While she didn't have hard evidence that Anca had been up to no good, she felt like she needed to keep her guard up around this woman. Anca may not have been a bad person, but she sure seemed to be taking advantage of Peter, whatever that meant. Nancy was glad that Peter had finally left. It helped her feel justified in her lack of phone etiquette.

  “Look, Anca, I don’t know where Peter is. I haven’t seen him for a while.” She glanced toward the pile in the middle of the room, feeling almost guilty for her lie. But what should she care? Anca was clearly at the center of a series of mysterious and unpalatable events and Nancy should not feel bad about lying to her.

  Her voice was measured. “No fight, just talk. I know I haven’t been the best type of person. I miss Linda so much. I think I grabbed first person I could to try to fill the void left by her passing. I should have never brought him into the middle.”

  This got a slightly interested eyebrow raise from Nancy. Anca sounded like she was reading from a script. Was this a trap? Nancy decided that somehow it was, but she wanted to know exactly when it would snap shut on her. “I would be happy to talk. How can I help you?”

  “Where do you live?”

  Nancy hesitated a moment before responding. “We are already talking. Does the phone not work for you?”

  “Yes, I—” Anca paused. Nancy could hear noises on Anca’s line. Paper’s shuffling, something groaning, the tinkling of metal. “Look, I’m sorry for how I have treated you. I want to apologize in person. Clear the air. I know you think I am bad person but I’m not. I just want to explain. I miss Linda. I miss Peter. I have no one else to talk to. I’m so lonely.”

  Nancy’s mind whirled. Did she even want to talk to Anca? Did she trust her enough to actually give her the time of day, let alone an hour of her time? She had always prided herself in finding the best in people. She should give Anca the benefit of the doubt. Maybe if Nancy could get her to open up, then she would understand more about what was going on between Anca and Peter. That might help Nancy guide Peter better once she could write to him.

  Her mind wandered back to the meeting at Anca’s apartment. No, she would not go back there. A neutral location would be best, for sure. Maybe with someone other than Edna. Edna’s guru popped into Nancy’s mind and she glanced over at her best friend, who was opening another bottle of red wine.

  She thought about the note Peter had left. Maybe she should bring it with her, show it to Anca, see what she said about it. “I am willing to talk, but not at my or your house. There is a park near the library at University and Whitney. I will be waiting on a bench tomorrow at four in the afternoon. Is that okay with you? I will not be alone, do you understand?”

  Muffled voices from the other side of the line, Anca seemed to have put her hand over the receiver. “I understand. Yes. Four is good. Four o’clock in the PM.”

  “Okay, I will see you then.”

  Nancy hung up and stared at the phone for a few moments, contemplating what she’d just agreed to and what she might need to do in order to prepare for the meeting. She felt like the last week of her life had been leading up this point. Something … some force wanted her to meet. This terrified her to her very core.

  She remembered a conversation she had with her father ages ago. They were out picking huckleberries from the pasture. Little Nancy was limping from when she had dropped from the tree house in over-exuberance to pick berries with her father. As she sat in the sun, her sundress splayed out around her, she asked him if he thought faeries existed.

  It took him a moment to respond, but his picking slowed for a time while he collected his thoughts. Nancy had always loved the little lines on her father’s forehead when he was really thinking on something.

  “I have no way of knowing, pumpkin.”

  She told him she thought it was a silly response and not at all what she was asking. This, of course, was a common response from her at that time. Most four-year-olds questioned everything with an insatiable appetite for knowledge. Nancy had been particularly intuitive as a young girl and knew when her father was hiding something from her. Still, he only smiled and continued picking berries as little Nancy watched the two tiny, glowing, naked people with wings flit around her hurt ankle.

  Nancy had often wondered if that memory had been because she was four and apt to daydream, or if there was something to it. A few more memories tried to percolate to the surface from her distant past, but she pushed them away. She had what she needed. She knew the way forward.

  Events of the last week were barreling on down the timeline without her consent. Things were in motion that Nancy could not control, and that was the problem. She’d been in control of her life, at least most of the time. It was time to take back control.

  Tomorrow is going to be an interesting day.

  “Truth or dare?”

  Sitting on the floor beside the pile of books, Nancy chuckled, the half-full glass of wine sloshing around in her hand. Their quest for organization abandoned for reminiscing about the old days. She glanced at the three empty bottles on the side table. She wasn’t even sure who had started the game of truth or dare, but she wasn’t about to let Edna win.

  Edna seemed like she was chewing on the inside of her mouth for a moment. “Truth.”

  “Okay, what age did you have your first kiss?”

  Edna’s face drew back with mock indignation. “Mother of Pearl, you kiss your kids with that mouth?”

  “You know I don’t have kids. Now spill it, girl!”

  Edna was drunk. Nancy was sure of that. She made a mental note to swipe Edna’s keys in case she decided to try to drive home by herself.

  “Well, it was only a few years ago, if I remember.”

  Nancy nearly spat her wine out. She quickly swallowed and pointed her glass at her friend. “Don’t start with me. Your kids are grown and gone. Come on, time to be honest. Not like anyone else here is listening.”

  “Susan, fifth grade.”

  “A girl?”

  “I think she’s a senator right now, actually.” Edna’s voice had a depth of emotion to it, almost a melancholy.

  “And you two …” Nancy became suddenly embarrassed thinking about the whole situation.

  Edna swept the thought away with her hand. “No, we just kissed that one time. She wanted to have a boyfriend, and of course two girls being together was pretty taboo at that age, especially in Georgia. We were on the side of the school playing hopscotch and she asked if I’d ever kissed a boy. I said no, and she said, ‘Well, why don’t you pretend to be a
boy so I can kiss you? Then I’ll pretend to be a boy and you can kiss me.’ We kissed a couple times. That was it. I hadn’t even hit puberty at that point, but she had. I wonder how she’s doing?”

  “Did you ever tell your husband that you made out with a girl?” Nancy reached for the open bottle of wine but missed in her aim. She managed to get it on the second attempt and grew sad when she realized there were only a few drops left.

  “I think we’re out of wine.” Nancy stood. “I’m going to get some more.”

  Edna continued as if Nancy hadn’t stood up. She wasn’t even looking at her friend at this point, instead she was staring at the pile of books between them.

  “I never told Bob. He was a good man, but he got very jealous of any of my exes. He only knew about Jesse, and that was only because Jesse was in prison.”

  “Jesse? Wasn’t that your son’s name?” Nancy regretted the words the second they came out. She couldn’t help it; she had been too inebriated to filter her thoughts before they were released to the world.

  Edna didn’t seem offended. “That’s where I got his name. He was the father, such that it was.”

  Nancy blanched. “I didn’t know that, I thought…”

  “Thought he was Bob’s? I never told either of them otherwise. Unlikely he would have wanted to marry a pregnant girl right out of high school if I had.” Edna thought for a moment before standing up.

  She flashed a cheesy grin. “Enough talk about bygones, let’s go get some more wine!”

  Nancy.

  That damned voice was back, along with flashes of blue. A dress? Gossamer flitted around at the periphery of her vision. Maybe she was drunker than she thought. She should tell Edna to find her keys. Yes. They would take each other’s keys. Flawless plan.