Past Tense

by Samantha Hunter

  “Let’s walk the rest of the place. I can show you some neat little corners and stops and then we can head back,” Sophie said, and they rose, but then she paused, too.

  “Claire, thanks so much for coming with me, today. Things are. . .difficult right now, and this has been a much needed break. I appreciate it,” Sophie said, wanting her new friend to know that her kindness wasn’t unnoticed.

  Claire reached out and took Sophie’s hand, squeezing it. “Thanks to you, too. This is the first day I’ve really started to feel like I’m part of something around here. Or part of anything for a while, actually,” Claire said, and Sophie picked up that strange vibe again. But right now wasn’t the time to explore it. If Claire wanted to share something, she would.

  “So, let’s go across the street and get you some gear, while we’re at it. A hat and a shirt, at the very least,” Sophie said energetically.

  “At least,” Claire agreed happily.

  Sophie had more fun than she counted on as she and Claire vamped in a Red Sox gear fashion show at the club shop across the street. The store was dead at that time on a weekday afternoon with no game on, so the employees were more than happy to heap on the gear, entertained as well.

  The shop offered everything from team lingerie to jewelry. It turned out that Claire, who was so classy in her demeanor, was actually a complete goof. Sophie was doubled over laughing when her new pal came out of a dressing room decked out in sports paraphernalia from top of her head to her new Red Sox socks, and almost didn’t hear her phone ringing. She didn’t recognize the number that popped up on the screen and answered with caution, fearing another reporter had tracked her down.

  “Hello?”

  “Sophie – it’s me, Gabe,”

  She let out a breath of relief, glad it wasn’t a reporter. She’d kept meaning to program his number into her contacts list.

  “Hey Gabe,” she replied, wincing as she peeked at the clock. She had intended to be home by lunch to dig into the files, but instead had completely blown off her research when he had likely been pouring over his all this time.

  “Did you find anything?”

  “Um, no, not yet,” she hedged, grinning at Claire who was now donning various styles of hats.

  “Well, you may want to come over. I think I have what we need.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. I didn’t have anything in my files, either, but I went back to campus and looked through club pictures, you know, chess club, that kind of thing, and David Masters was involved in the Drama Club with several of the boys who were dragged out by the Secret Court. There’s one photo of them after a production looking very friendly.”

  “That’s a pretty loose connection,” she said doubtfully.

  “Yeah, but it’s something. I think the only way we can find more is if you can tune in and talk to David Masters again and see if you can do with him what you did with Eliza.”

  Sophie rubbed her arms over the chill that gripped her. She’d thought she was okay with this, but the idea of calling forward ghosts or trying to talk with them was a little scarier, even, now that she’d been through it. Still, it was why they were doing all this research in the first place.

  “Okay. Are you in your office?”

  “No, I’m at home now, but I think the most productive place to try to contact David again would be the reading room at your store, or maybe at Perkins Hall on Harvard campus.”

  “Why Perkins Hall?”

  “A lot of the parties that happened around the time of the Secret Court happened in a room in that building, Perkins twenty-eight.”

  Sophie’s eyes went wide and she fumbled her phone for a second. “Oh, you know, I read that in the book, but I didn’t make the connection. I was so tired, and taken in by all the horrible stories.”

  “What connection?”

  “In my dream of David, the one time he actually spoke to me, he said ‘You have to find him in Perkins Hall, twenty eight,’” she said under her breath.

  Peeking up, she saw Claire had slipped back into the changing room. “Do you think it’s like Eliza? Do you think someone could be buried or left in Perkins twenty-eight?”

  “It’s hard to know what he meant by it. But it’s worth checking out. Can you meet me on campus? Perkins is near Richards Hall, do you know the spot?”

  Sophie’s memory pinged, and she caught her breath. “That’s right next to the engineering complex where Alan Bledsoe’s office is located.”

  “Very interesting, or just a weird coincidence.”

  “Listen, I’m out at the moment, but I can be at campus in less than an hour.”

  “I’ll meet you there. Bring your cards.”

  “Okay.”

  Sophie tried to act normally when Claire emerged dressed in her regular clothes again, looking concerned as she saw Sophie’s expression as she hung up from the call. Fun time was over.

  “I have to meet a friend who’s helping me with some research on the investigation,” Sophie said regretfully, her eye on the clock. “I’m sorry I have to take off, but this really has been fun,” she said honestly.

  “That’s fine, don’t worry. I should get back to the shop, too,” Claire said equitably. “Let me buy this stuff, and we can walk back to the train together?

  Sophie nodded. “I have to pop back to my apartment to grab something anyway.”

  “Great. I’ll just be a minute,” Claire promised, and true to her word, they were on the T heading back toward Tarot alley just a few minutes later. Luckily it was only two stops away, and Sophie tried not to be too rude in rushing off, giving Claire a quick hug in thanks for helping to make her birthday a little more fun than it would have been otherwise.

  Claire looked at her seriously as Sophie paused by the doorway of Good Scents. “Sophie, be careful, okay? And if there’s anything I can do to help, all you have to do is ask.”

  “Thanks, Claire,” she said meaning it. “Actually, do you mind if I use the tunnel one more time? I can’t bump into Margaret now. I don’t have time to talk.”

  Claire smiled, dangling the key Sophie had given back to her. “Here, I made you a copy, actually. You can access the door on both sides this way, in case you need to come and go privately. Consider it a birthday gift”

  Sophie blinked at the unexpected generosity, but took the key. “That’s awesome, Claire, thank you.”

  “What are friends for?” Claire said, turning her sign to open and donning her smock. Sophie waved once more, and was out the back before she turned back around.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sophie waited on the lawn before Perkins Hall, imaging what it was like almost a century before, when the students taken before the Secret Court had walked these lawns. Perkins, unlike Richards and the other newer buildings, was more stately and Harvard-esque. She watched the groups of current students mill in and out, on their way to classes and stopping to talk with friends, smiling and sharing greetings.

  She thought of her morning with Claire and smiled, too.

  “Good to see you smiling,” Gabe said, appearing suddenly at her side, making her jump.

  “What are you, a vampire? I didn’t even hear you walk up.”

  “You seemed lost in thought.”

  “It looks like a bustling place. I don’t think we’ll find anywhere to do a discreet tarot reading,” she said.

  “You’re probably right, but let’s see if we can find out what your ghost expected you to find here.”

  Walking in the door as some students walked out, chatting too intensely to give them a second look, they located room twenty-eight that looked fairly innocuous. It was a room. Nothing special.

  “Want to try to get a look inside?”

  “Sure.”

  They knocked, and again, but no one answered.

  “Probably at class.”

  “Yep,” Gabe agreed. “Well, let’s take a walk around.”

  Sophie didn’t see the point, but went along, watching as Gabe
studied the pictures of previous classes hung haphazardly on the walls of the lounges that were attached to kitchens on each floor. Portraits of more distinguished Harvard alum associated with the Hall were put in the entry way. The building also housed a mail room and two kitchens on each floor. The residence rooms were quite nice, from what Sophie could tell, catching a long peek of the stately looking décor through a wide-open door.

  They went up to the third floor, and Gabe stopped by a room where a partially opened door allowed them to hear a rather intimate and private conversation between two young men talking on the other side of the door. Things weren’t going well between the two, from what Sophie could tell, and she stared at Gabe, who stopped.

  “Gabe, c’mon,” she urged, moving a little farther down the hall.

  Gabe, however, didn’t move. “Look.”

  “What?” She came back down the hall, trying to close out the escalating voices.

  “This picture. Maybe this is what David meant when he said you needed to find him in Perkins,” Gabe said directed her gaze to a portrait hung in a non-descript spot between two rooms of a distinguished looking man. Dr. Percy Winslow.

  “Teacher, Advisor, and Friend,” Sophie read the caption on the portrait aloud. “I guess that was before he was charged with murder and committed suicide.”

  “Maybe that’s why he’s stuck on a third floor hallway instead of in the main entryway with the rest.”

  “Harsh.”

  “Well, it wasn’t exactly an example of Harvard’s most shining hour.”

  They both shut up and looked down discreetly as the door swung open, and a man, clearly upset, glared at both of them.

  “You two enjoy listening in on other people’s private conversations?” he accused.

  “No, no,” Sophie rushed to reassure him. “We were just looking at this, uh, portrait. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about it, would you?”

  The guy glared at her like she was out of her head before stomping down the hall, His friend inside slammed the door so hard they both jumped.

  “I guess he didn’t know anything. What now?”

  “Well, it’s still early. When does your shop close?”

  “It’s Thursday, so Mags closes at eight for a Reiki massage class she’s taking.”

  “That leaves us four hours. What did you end up finding in your research?”

  Sophie’s face warmed. “To be honest, not much. I nodded off last night, and then I had interruptions this morning,” she said, feeling like she might as well say the dog ate her homework.

  “Well, maybe we can grab some take-out and go through it together. I’ll show you what I have as well. It’s all in my case,” he said, lifting the battered brown leather satchel he’d been carrying. “I think you had the faculty records, though.”

  “Instead of going out, can we work for a while and then order something in? I think with the news yesterday, it’s probably better for me to lay low.”

  “It’s a date,” he said absently, and then stopped in his tracks, “I mean, you know, not a date, but-”

  “I know what you mean,” Sophie assured him.

  “It’s just that, well, you’re engaged. I don’t want to cross a line. I think I’m not Roger’s favorite person as it is.”

  “Join the club,” she said dryly, but then became serious. “Things have been on the rocks with me and Roger for a while. I guess I just stuck my head in the sand, figured if I could be what he wanted me to be, it all would be okay. But I’m finding out I can’t be what he wants me to be, and I don’t think he wants me as I am.”

  Gabe’s eyes were sympathetic. “That’s tough. You guys have been together for a long time, and I don’t want to be that other guy, but it’s no secret I’m attracted to you.”

  Sophie stammered, unsure what to say. She hadn’t been expecting that, even though she had assumed as much.

  “Sorry, I tend to like to get things out on the table, no subterfuge.”

  That she could appreciate, but she still had no idea what to say.

  “Thanks. I. . .things are confusing right now. Like everything else, it seems like I’m just finding out what’s real, and what’s not,” she said with a sigh.

  “I don’t want to add to that, I just wanted you to know so there wasn’t anything weird between us.”

  “Okay,” she said as they walked quickly back out the building and down past where she had visited Alan Bledsoe.

  “Patrice’s husband’s office is right there,” she said, pointing up. “He watched me from that window one day when I came to talk to him. It was creepy.”

  “Statistically twenty-one percent of murders were committed by spouses, and seventy percent of the victims are women. But he has an alibi?”

  “Yeah. Airtight. But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t involved. You hear those stories where people use hired killers, and he has the money to do it. Maybe that’s who the dark-haired man is.”

  “Dark-haired man?”

  “I’ll fill you in as we go,” she said as they entered the T-station.

  * * *

  By the time they were trudging up Sophie’s back steps, Gabe was up to date and obviously worried.

  “Well, your mysterious dark-haired man certainly sounds like a good murder candidate.”

  “Yeah, except he’s had several chances to get me, and he hasn’t. The one time I spoke with him in the store, he was a little grumpy and dark but I didn’t get any sense of threat from him. He was looking for books on black magic. We don’t get a lot of that.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  “I don’t know anything about it, really. It was the first time I – oh-” she stopped mid-sentence as she saw the large bouquet of flowers and a wrapped gift by the door. Bending down, she picked up the flowers, their scent suffusing the space around her. She didn’t need to look at the card to know whom they were from.

  “Damn it, Roger,” she whispered, opening the door and entering with the flowers, seeing Gabe pick up the box for her as he came in, too.

  “An apology?”

  She grimaced, looking at the card with the flowers. It simply said, Happy Birthday, I love you, Roger.

  “No. It’s my birthday,” she said, taking the wrapped box from him and setting it on the table. She wouldn’t open that until she and Roger talked. It just didn’t feel right.

  “Your birthday? You should have taken the day off,” Gabe said.

  “It’s not important. I’d rather get this David Masters business settled.”

  “Birthdays have interesting history, actually,” Gabe said, picking up the gift and turning it absently in his hands. “Ancient people used to celebrate death days more than birthdays, as your death signified your return to God. Birthdays as we know them are pagan in origin, as are so many of our holidays and traditions. Birthday rituals are Greek specifically, as tributes to Artemis. They would make honey cakes for her each month, lighting them with candles to make them look like the moon. Traditionally, only men were celebrated on their birthdays, until in Germany they started doing so for children, and the tradition grew. In many countries, birthdays are still considered mainly a religious ceremony,” he said, stopping suddenly and setting the gift back down. “Uh, sorry. I get carried away with the trivia.”

  “I guess birthdays are one of those things I thought was universal. You know, everyone has one.”

  “You’d think so, but in fact, resistance to the pagan origins of the tradition—though it’s been so completely reinvented since then that it hardly matters—makes birthdays a definite no-no for some fundamentalist Christians. Hindus don’t celebrate their birthdays until they are sixteen years old, which might be a response to the high youth mortality rate in some countries, and superstition based on such. On their first birthdays, however, Hindu babies have their heads shaved to rid them of any evil spirits, which is also the idea behind singing, spanking, or making of loud noises. Wishing someone Happy Birthday is a wish for bad luck to stay away fro
m them in the year coming. . . .” he stopped, grinning at her again. “Um, didn’t I say you have to learn to stop me when I get on a roll?”

  She smiled. He was really cute.

  So smart, but not at all smug about it. Open-minded, generous. And he was attracted to her. She wasn’t sure, but she could be feeling something she hadn’t felt in a very long time, maybe never. Had she been giddy when Roger had first asked her out?

  She couldn’t recall. She wasn’t even sure what their first date was. He’d been around helping her for so long, they just kind of evolved, without any real milestones at the beginning, anyway. She snapped back to the moment to find Gabe watching her with warm interest.

  “It’s okay,” she said quickly, feeling like she might have shown him too much of what she was thinking. He was far too perceptive. “I love that kind of stuff. But I suppose we should dig into these papers.”

  “Aren’t you going to open your gift?”

  “No. Not now.”

  “Well, why don’t I show you what I found, and then you should let me take you out for dinner. You can’t have take-out on your birthday.”

  Sophie protested with a shake of her head. “I love the Chinese place down around the corner, and a birthday is a good excuse to buy all the fried and battered things that I know I shouldn’t eat,” she said.

  Gabe looked doubtful. “Well, if you’re sure, but it’s my treat.”

  She was going to say no again, but stopped. Her aunt had once told her that it was selfish to turn down people’s generosity. “Thank you. That’s really nice of you.”

  “It’s the least I can do since we’re going ghost-hunting in a few hours,” he said, putting his case on her coffee table and opening it up.

  “Here’s the picture I found,” he said, putting it on the table. “Now remember some of the students in the book photos from the Secret Court. Look who’s here with them in this Drama Club photo, and again in the class shot.”

  Sophie looked, and sure enough, her ghost looked back to her, appearing much like he had in her dream.

  “I recognize him,” she said, pointing to a slight but handsome young man who had his arm on David’s shoulder in a gesture of male companionship. “He was one of the more randy members of the crowd, if I recall.”