"Okay. Okay. That's what I'll convey. However, while I have you on the phone let me ask if I could interest you in some Mexican food one night. Would you and Max like to go out for enchiladas or something?"
Her attention stalled. Dinner? A date? But he hadn't actually put it that way. And he'd included Max. Maybe the man was just lonely. And he was a friend. One took care of friends, didn't they?
"Sure,” she answered a bit hesitantly. “That would be great."
Max came down the stairs in a stumbling rush, equipment hanging from both hands, and his ball cap on not only backwards but upside down. “Hurry up, Mom. I'll be late!"
"Ah, Spence. I have to go or we'll be late for Max's first ball game. But we'd love to share a fajita—Max loves fajitas—or an enchilada with you some night. When did you have in mind?"
"Friday? Rather than one of Bree's pool parties?"
"Good. Friday it is. Got to go now."
By the time they secured Babe in the kitchen, on his haunches and looking forlorn, with soulful and accusing eyes watching every move they made, Kate barely had time to take a quick glance into the mirror. Hair looks as if it had been styled with a leaf blower, she thought, scooping it back with one hand and trying to thread a long barrette through the curling mass as she ran for the van.
As she backed out of the garage, a black car appeared in the rearview mirror pulling away from the curb. The black car again? Who was it? The windows were too dark to see inside. She fretted all the way to the ball field. This was becoming more than annoying. The word stalking came to mind. Was this something else she needed to worry about?
Max didn't give her anxiety time to mount, however. They got to the field barely in time, Max pressing against the seat belt all the way.
"I don't see why Babe can't come, too. He'd like to see the ball game. He's going to be all alone."
"Max, we aren't taking Babe to ball games. He'd get stepped on and fallen over, and he'd be hot and thirsty before the game was half over. He's better off at home."
"But he didn't want us to leave him. He was sad."
"Yes, I saw. But he'll live. This is not negotiable. Babe is not going to ball games with us.” He'll have Leah for company, she thought ungraciously. Maybe she was doing the dog a disservice. Leah had never been an animal lover.
Max was glum the rest of the way, but perked up once they were at the field. Kate sat on the third row of bleacher seats, applying sun screen and swatting away gnats.
In the last inning Stacey hit a three-bagger that went through the legs of the short stop before coming up against the fence. A run scored. Max's team was ahead by one point, but then the other team was up to bat.
Kate was nearly deafened by cat-calls and screams as parents cheered for their team.
She stood up with the rest when Big Lionel hit a hard line drive past the short stop and it dribbled into the outfield.
"That's my boy! Did you see him smack that sucker?” a man directly behind Kate roared.
"That ball's headed for Texas!” another yelled.
"We're going to win,” screamed a lady in short shorts and a skimpy halter. Kate had had an irreverent thought earlier that the woman wore more mascara than clothing. “It's our game!"
The runner's legs churned as he ran the bases. First, then second and on to third. The ball was being thrown to the infield and the short stop scrambled for it. The runner rounded third, put his head down and drew a bead on home plate.
Kate caught her breath. Max had little to do as catcher most of the time. He'd complained only last night that maybe he wanted to play first base, instead. Nobody in the bleachers ever yelled for him, he'd said, like they did for everybody else. But there was yelling now.
"Get him Max!"
"He's not so big you can't handle him!"
"Don't drop the ball, for God's sake!"
Cass's voice carried above the rest. “That's your home plate, Max. He can't score unless he gets past you.
Face screwed into fierce determination, Max stood with one foot on each side of home plate as Lionel bore down on him. At the last second, he jumped into the air, caught the ball in his mitt, and tagged Big Lionel as he came sliding across the plate. He did not drop the ball.
"Out!” called the umpire.
"Yes!” screamed a couple dozen parents.
Kate put two fingers into her mouth, whistled a loud blast through her teeth and turned to the man behind her. “That's MY boy!"
"As fine a little catcher as I ever did see,” said a man Kate didn't know. He patted her back. “Fine as frog's hair."
Do frogs have hair? Kate wondered. But it sounded good. She beamed.
"Thank you,” she said, and screamed at the field, “Way to go, Max!"
Cass took the entire team to the Dairy Queen for ice cream afterward. Cass and Kate and two van loads of pumped seven and eight year olds. There wasn't any point in trying to keep a lid on them, they were loud and laughing and couldn't sit still. Cass spoke to the manager in apology and was waved off.
"If you have a banner, bring it in and we'll hang it. Go Wart Hogs!"
Kate offered to make a banner on the computer. She turned to Cass. “What's a wart hog look like? Do you know?"
"Don't have a clue,” he said, “and neither does anyone else, likely. Mean, I'd guess. Snarly. Do your best."
"I'll Google them. There has to be a photo somewhere."
The two of them sat at a separate table, but adjacent to the team.
Laugh lines spread from the corners of Cass's eyes. “This is known as team bonding,” he said. “Couldn't be better. And actually,” he added, “they're doing pretty good."
Confusion eddied around them, paper whizzing off the end of straws, smack talk mimicking professional players, and one spilled Blizzard.
"My mama could beat their whole team with one arm in a cast."
"They stunk so bad they oughta be buried."
"Nah, man. We're just good!"
After a few minutes Cass's eyes turned sober. “Any problems after I left last night?"
Kate shook her head. “No. Everything was quiet.” With both hands she pulled her hair off her neck, twisted it and pulled it high on her head. “Long hair is sometimes a real pain,” she said, resetting the large clip holding it. “Sometimes I think this is all a bad dream, and I'll wake up with the sun shining and Leah truly gone. And then I get real and know it's all true, and whether or not the sun shines, she isn't going to go away.” Her eyes met his. “Who do I talk to about this kind of phenomenon? Who would believe me? Do you think I have a circuit cross-wired in my brain?"
Cass frowned. “Don't do anything crazy with that hair, like cutting it. I like it. And, let me tell you that horn would have made a believer out of anyone. I guarantee it. And, no, I don't think you need a psychiatrist, unless I need one too.” His mouth twitched in an almost-smile. “A witch doctor, maybe."
He shook his head slowly. “There is absolutely no earthly explanation for that blasting horn. The wires aren't connected to anything enabling it to work!” He flattened one hand on the table and his eyes narrowed in focus. “Impossible."
Kate's mind was still on the fact that he liked her hair. Did that mean anything important? It probably meant just what he said and nothing more. He liked her hair. There wasn't a lot you could read into such a thing. But Leah ... There was a lot to be said about Leah. “I keep hoping she'll go back to wherever she came from. This whole thing is—unnerving."
"You have my cell phone number, remember. I'm at the end of it. Just call."
"Thanks.” And she was grateful. Grateful for his friendship and his belief in her. Grateful that he was Max's coach, after all. Grateful that he didn't think she was a candidate for the funny farm.
Then he was on his feet. “I'll phone you,” he called, and began herding a swarm of still-excited kids out the door and into his van.
"Right,” she called back, shepherding her own carload of children into seat belts. He'd sa
id he liked her hair. Smiling, she tucked a loose curl behind one ear.
At home, with Max and a deliriously happy, wriggling Babe cuddled in the same chair watching cartoons, she stood in the kitchen and tried to think of dinner. Anything seemed anti-climactic after the ball game. She'd planned on baked steak and potatoes. Had left the meat out on the counter to thaw and the potatoes sliced and standing in water with that in mind, but the game ran so long it was now too late for an oven-cooked meal. Max would fall asleep with his nose in his empty plate before it would be ready. Besides, they'd just eaten ice cream and neither of them was likely to be that hungry.
She put the meat and potatoes back in the refrigerator. “Macaroni and cheese okay?” she called to Max.
"Yeah! My favorite!” he yelled back.
So, it was mac and cheese, applesauce and canned asparagus. Quick and nutritious. And Max's favorite.
The game had left a pleasant glow in its wake, and Max relived every play—especially his game-winning catch—all the way through dinner and his bath, prayers and another chapter of Harry Potter. When he was finally asleep, she went into her work room and picked up her brushes.
The piece was coming along well. The colors were vibrant and she was happy with the pattern she'd designed of Dendrobiums, stems and long, tapering leaves. With any luck, in another week it would be finished. Ready for shipment.
She worked for an hour and a half before thunder rumbled in the distance. Lightning flashed and through the open window she smelled rain. More thunder. Her shoulders were tired anyway. She might as well quit for the night. Weary, she stretched and began to clean her brushes, critically eyeing what she'd accomplished. The trumpet skirt would fall in many gores from a smooth waist. The magenta and pink Dendrobiums she'd painted on the pale lavender silk had turned out well and the two strips of solid purple around the hem line set off the entire piece. She was pleased.
She looked in on Max, sleeping soundly as always, spread-eagled on his bed, changed into a skimpy teddy and robe, and went downstairs in the dark to check the doors and windows before she went to bed. Thunder growled menacingly and she stepped out on the screened porch to peer up at the sky. The storm was coming in, fast.
The hanging chair looked too good to resist and, not bothering to light the candles, she curled herself into its cocoon. She ought to go up to bed, but storms were always exciting and it appeared as if a huge one was moving in. She'd wait awhile and watch.
Lightning lit the clouds from behind. In a brief glimpse, great churning, seething masses of black rolled across the night sky.
No matter the season, no matter the weather, the porch and its view was lovely. In winter tree limbs were etched in glistening ice or pristine mounds of snow. Birds flocked to the feeders. In summer the hummingbird vine climbing the trellis at the side of the steps gave off a lovely scent. Butterflies dotted the lawn. Now, lightning illuminated the Dutch elm to the south, her mother's roses, the utility shed out back. The storm moved closer.
The night was hushed. Waiting. No insects buzzed against the screen. By whatever process, they knew bad weather was coming and had already taken shelter. There wasn't even any traffic on the street out front.
She should have checked for the black car before she sat down. Checking for the black car had become a habit. Its frequent presence gnawed at the back of her mind. Not that whoever drove it ever bothered her, but ... Was someone keeping tabs on her? Watching her movements? And, what reason could anyone have to be interested in what she did, where she went, who she saw? Not Huey. Certainly not Huey. He wouldn't mess around with stalking tactics. He'd come barreling in the front door yelling if he wanted to talk to her. Nothing about it made sense.
Would life ever return to normal, she wondered. Was it possible that, by some miracle, she would ever be able to relax and just enjoy waking up in the morning? Going to bed at night? Playing catch with Max without the squirreling curl of nerves in her stomach that someone was watching. Whether it be a black car with an anonymous driver, or Leah dead yet somehow here, it was a scary scenario. Maybe she should call the police. She couldn't tell them about Leah, but surely there were laws against things like the black car.
Things like this just didn't happen in Winsom. She'd had a wonderful childhood. The town had always been the perfect place to grow up. Nice people lived there. People like Bree and the Junes, Spence and Cass. Honest, hard working, decent people.
The last few years she'd thought she'd left the small town behind, outgrown it, and come to find out it had been with her all along just waiting for her to realize how much she'd missed it. Needed it.
The problem was, Winsom might be the same, but her mother's house wasn't. And it wasn't, because Leah was carrying a ten-year-old chip on her shoulder. Thank you very much, dear sister.
Another flash of lightning brought her mother's lily garden into stark relief. For many years, in the middle of her precious beauties sat a black, marble statue of a young girl on tiptoe, arms extended. Leah had loved the figure and, since it looked so similar to Leah herself, Dad bought it for her. After her death it was too painful to be reminded daily of their loss, and Dad put the statue in the gardening shed, out of sight. It was still there. Kate had seen the tarp-shrouded figure when looking for gardening equipment.
A jagged stroke of lightning speared down, too close for comfort, and a horrific clap of thunder made her jump. Rising, she went inside to turn on the small television on the kitchen counter. Storm warnings were out, with the possibility of hail and strong winds. Unplugging the computer and those appliances she could reach, Kate climbed the stairs. The prospect of not only the storm but a new book on her E-reader drew her to bed.
The electronic reader was backlit so she needed no light to read, the book was a good mystery, and she rested comfortably on stacked pillows. Gradually, however, the storm increased in velocity to the point where she couldn't concentrate. She feared for some of the older trees at the back of the lawn.
Wind howled around the corners of the house and whipped branches to snap and smash at the windows. Rain lashed against the glass. Thunder crashed and echoed until she thought the storm must have stalled directly overhead. The words danced on the page. Or was it her vision that danced? There had been a great deal of rain, lately. Lots of it. In the morning lawns would be flooded and streets running with sewer overflow. Tee ball would be canceled, likely, the field would be too wet, and Max would grumble. Rainy days, with Max confined to the house, made her grumble too.
Finally, she threw back the sheet and turned to flip on the bedside lamp. No light. She tried again. Only then did she realize there was no light in the hall, either, where she usually left a small night light burning in case Max needed the bathroom in the middle of the night. The power was out. Drat!
She jumped as a shaft of lightning seemed to split the world in two, illuminating the room in startling clarity. Alarmed, she thought surely the house had been struck. Her feet fought the sheets trying to untangle them. And then the thunder crashed in a booming crescendo of sound that had Kate covering her ears. Thunder, that seemed to be born in the ground itself, rattled the foundation and assaulted her hearing. She was on her feet. Max—
She had gotten as far as the hall when a scream pierced the darkness. The sound seemed to arrow straight through her heart. She'd heard it once before, on their thirteenth birthday, when Leah had fallen through a window and cut her leg. The sight of Leah bleeding and hysterical seemed to be emblazoned on the inside of her eyelids for all time. The memory propelled Kate first to Max's room where he slept blissfully unaware of the storm and the scream, and then her feet flying, to the stairs, for it seemed as if that was where the scream had originated.
She stared into the black well of the staircase and hesitated. What was down there? Was Leah lying in a crumpled, bleeding heap on the landing? Kate shook her head. No, of course not. Leah was dead. Leah wouldn't ever be hurt again. But who had screamed?
Wind wailed like a chor
us of banshees encircling the house. A profound sense of dread washed over her. Hair on the back of her neck stiffened. Her heart clubbed painfully in her chest. Surely her bones would rattle. Something awful was about to happen. It was out there waiting. She could feel it. A violent shivering crawled up her spine.
The night was so dark, it was as if the very air was black. And then, as Kate stood looking into the darkness, another lightning strike came, dizzying in its brilliance. The small window on the landing bloomed crystal bright, seeming to be thrust forward by the light against the inky night.
A figure stood out, etched on the glass. Kate's breath stopped in her throat. It was Leah. Leah, with her long hair blowing around her face and one arm raised, pointing.
Pointing at Kate.
Six
Gypsy Belle: ‘Wanderer'
Elegant, lovely, pure white. Phalaenopsis Mericlone Hybrid.
Fear grabbed at her throat. She had an instant and absurd urge to run around locking the doors and checking the windows, and then gave a sharp, panicked gasp at how ridiculous it was to think she could lock out a ghost. Kate stood staring into the darkness, gripping the banister, with her heart clubbing frantically in her chest.
Where was she? Where was Leah? She could be anywhere. Behind her. In front of her. Hovering right beside her. Kate shrank against the railing. The lightning seemed to have stopped with that last horrible, jagged spear. The window did not light up again. Thunder was receding into the distance. Slowly she forced her fingers to release their death grip on the banister and she straightened. Her heart slowed. Was she gone? Had Leah disappeared back into the nothingness that contained her when she wasn't tormenting her sister?
Kate took deep breaths trying to force her heart back down out of her throat. Think. Calm Down. Nothing is really there. No. That isn't true. There is “something” there. The question is: what is it? Where is it now?
She'd feel foolish going downstairs and looking around. Ghosts didn't leave tracks. And Leah had always been smart. She wouldn't be overt with anything. No, her style was more subtle and slick. There would be no evidence of this latest visit. Unless she was upset, big time, and then there was likely to be mayhem. But, Kate went anyway. Back to her bedroom for the flashlight and then down the steps and through the house, room by room. Of course, nothing was out of place. Nothing disturbed. All the windows remained locked and the doors double bolted. Her orchids were safe in their two-tiered stand.
Dancing Ladies Page 9
