The Return (Haunted Series Book 21)

by Alexie Aaron

  “Mmm burd.”

  “He’s sleeping in Dieter’s room. This way, he can leave through the window when he goes hunting. Just like Dieter does when he thinks we aren’t watching.”

  “Ear row,” Varden said as he fell asleep.

  Mia rocked him a little longer before getting up and settling him back in the crib. She walked out and down the hall to the master suite. The room was empty, so she took advantage and dropped her clothing and walked into the bathroom to take a shower. The hot water felt good on her shoulders. “I must have kept all my stress here,” she said, closing her eyes.

  Mia heard the door open and Ted’s quick footsteps. She smiled as he entered the shower. She opened her eyes and squeaked, “You’re not the Tidy Bowl Man!”

  Ted gave a sinister laugh.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Lazar stepped wordlessly aside when Cid piled the ingredients for pancakes on the counter. He had learned that, when Cid was in residence, Cid ran the kitchen. Lazar didn’t mind it. Cooking was something he could do but didn’t love to do.

  “Morning, Lazar,” Cid said cheerfully. “I really enjoyed your mother’s goulash last night. Do you think she’d mind if I asked her how she made it?”

  “She may not tell you all the ingredients. My mother is very possessive. I can tell you what’s in it, just not how much.”

  “I could probably figure that out, but maybe we’ll leave that her dish,” Cid suggested.

  “That sounds wise,” Lazar said.

  “How are you on frying meats?” Cid asked.

  “Acceptable.”

  “Mia-acceptable or acceptable-acceptable?”

  “Oh, acceptable-acceptable. I haven’t started the kitchen on fire once.”

  “Good. Why don’t you start with bacon and, when we run out of that, sausage.”

  “I take it we have a lot of hearty eaters staying with us.”

  “Mike’s been known to put some serious food away. Altair is an unknown. He may not even show. But Mia needs building up. She’ll eat a lot.”

  The smell of bacon brought Maggie their mixed-breed ghost-seeing dog into the kitchen. She quickly found a spot under the counter so toes and tail didn’t get stepped on by the large feet of the cooks.

  Ted breezed into the kitchen with Varden tucked under his arm. Lazar tossed him a warmed bottle, poured him a cup of coffee, loaded with milk and sugar, and handed it over. “Thanks,” he said, leaving the room.

  Cid heard him plop into the big chair and start to feed Varden.

  “He looks happy,” Lazar said.

  “He’s a lucky guy, and he knows it,” Cid said.

  There was a pounding on the front door.

  “Hey, Cid, could you…” Ted started to ask.

  “I’ve got it,” Mia said, rushing down the stairs, tying a robe around her. She pulled open the door to see an older gentleman standing there. “May I help you?”

  “I’m Richard Longtree.”

  “The poet. Please come in. I’m running a bit late. I take it you’re here to speak to Hero?”

  “If that’s what he’s calling himself these days.” Richard laughed goodheartedly.

  Cid walked in. “Mr. Longtree, would you like to join us for breakfast? There’s plenty.”

  “No thank you, young man, but I’ll have a two-sugared coffee if you’ve got time.”

  “Coming right up.”

  Richard sat down on the couch. Ted nodded as Cid introduced the writer to him. “Our son Dieter has been enjoying reading your poems.”

  “They're not mine. I wish they were. I'm just an old drunk who the bird chose to save. He provided me with an income from his poetry until I got on my feet and completed my own manuscript. Which I have, thanks to him.”

  Mia bounced down the steps, this time garbed in PEEPs sweats. “I have notified Hero. He was preening on the sill. I'm sure he'll be down soon.”

  “You're very unusual people,” Richard said before sipping his coffee. “Most people figure that old Dicky is back on the bottle when I come over asking about a bird.”

  “We're paranormal researchers. Were used to the unusual,” Mia said quickly. “If you will excuse me, I have a toddler to dress.”

  “Which one of you hears him speaking in your head?”

  Mia stopped and raised her hand. Varden did too, but Richard wasn't looking his way.

  “You may want to look into your heritage. You may find you have something paranormal in common.”

  Mia smiled.

  “No one would believe old Dicky anyway. Your secret is safe with me.”

  Mia ran up the stairs. She tapped on Dieter’s door. “Hero, your guest is waiting.”

  Dieter opened the door. The large bird rested on his shoulder. “Mom, don’t you think that Hero would be more comfortable in the aerie?”

  “He's welcome, but perhaps he had a reason for not staying in the aerie last night. Right now, he has a guest waiting, and I've left Brian far too long in his room alone.”

  Dieter ducked so the bird could clear the door header. Mia waited until they had headed down the stairs before opening Brian’s door.

  Brian spun around looking guilty. “Wha…”

  “Cough up the matches,” Mia said with her hand out.

  “How’d you know?”

  “Easy, what is the basic composition of those matches?”

  Brian turn the box over and read, “Potassium chlorate, sulfur.”

  “I have a nose for sulfur. I knew you were either entertaining a demon or you had matches in here.”

  “You're pretty smart.”

  “Hand them over, now.”

  Brian put them in her hand.

  “Since this is Uncle Murphy’s home that I may have stopped you from burning down, I'm going to let him explain the danger of matches and handle your discipline.”

  “No, he’ll spank me!”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “Because that's what he said last time I played with fire.”

  “Murphy!” Mia called.

  It took a few seconds, but Murphy arrived, puzzled by her summons.

  Mia wordlessly put the box of matches in his hand, patted him on the shoulder, said, “He’s all yours,” and walked out of the room.

  Mia walked down the steps slowly, listening for the inevitable tap on the toddler’s backside.

  “What's going on?” Ted asked, patting Varden on the back.

  Varden burped and smiled at the way it covered up Brian’s squeal of indignation.

  “I caught Brian with a box of matches. Evidently, Murphy caught him before, so I let him handle it. If Murph is going to comment each time we discipline, he should at least feel how hard it is to be in the parent’s shoes doling out the discipline.”

  “I should be upset. Why aren't I?” Ted asked.

  “Because you got out of disciplining Brian.”

  “So did you. Have you ever been spanked?”

  Mia’s mind flashed to last night, but she recovered quickly and said, “I believe you saw that when I was in the video game with Murph. He hauled me over his knee and smacked my butt and not in a friendly way.”

  “Oh, yeah, but I thought that one of us were controlling you guys.”

  “Keep on thinking that you guys can control me or Murph, ha.”

  Ted laughed. “I wouldn't be that stupid. Smell that? I think breakfast is ready.”

  The landline phone rang. Mia scooped it up as she entered the kitchen. “Darling House for Runaway Boys, Wendy speaking.”

  “Er, Mia?” Ethan Aldridge asked.

  “You’ve got me. How are you today?”

  “I’ve got a minor problem, I could use your counsel on.”

  “Sure, shoot.”

  “Deputy Tom asked if he could rent the extra bedroom from me and stay at the lake awhile.”

  “Most unusual for Tom. He likes being at home,” Mia commented.

  “He does, but his mother just told him to leave and that he
was old enough to fend for himself or some such rubbish. He intends to get his own place, but smaller properties in Big Bear Lake are few and far between.”

  “That’s true. If you’re not happy having a cop around, I’ll make room for him here. I don’t know why he didn’t just show up at the farm.”

  “I don’t think he wants anyone to know.”

  “Gotcha. So what do you want to do?”

  “I want him to stay, but I don’t know how much to charge him. I’m not sure I legally can, considering the settlement I’m getting.”

  “How about you ask him to contribute to the utilities and food? Also, it wouldn’t hurt Tom to do a little yardwork.”

  “I can’t ask an adult, who went to bat for me, to weed the flower beds,” Ethan said.

  “I do it all the time. I have a ghost who brought me back to life, twice, planting trees and cutting firewood. Tom doesn’t need charity, Ethan. I think it would be good for both of you, but if you’re feeling trapped or watched, send him packing. I have room here. What’s one more?”

  Cid, who heard the conversation, lifted an eyebrow.

  “Who’s one more?” Ted asked, leaning against the wall behind Mia.

  Mia jumped. “Ethan, is there anything else?” she asked sweetly.

  “No. Thanks for the advice.”

  “Oh, if you find out what prompted the tossing, I wouldn’t mind a heads-up. You see, Susan, Tom’s mother, is our babysitter.”

  “Will do,” Ethan said and hung up.

  “Tom Braverman can’t stay here,” Ted said. “Do you know all the illegal things that go on when Cid and I are inventing?”

  “Yes,” Mia said. “Has anyone heard from Susan?”

  “I called her to come watch the kids, and she declined,” Lazar said. “That’s why I called my mother.”

  “I just assumed she was tired after her run-in with whatever tore up her kitchen,” Cid said, flipping pancakes.

  “Maybe that was the tipping point. I never thought she’d push Tom out like that,” Mia said, rubbing the back of her neck. “I’ll go over and find out what’s really going on.”

  “That’s going to have to wait,” Ted said.

  “Why?”

  “Wendy Darling, we have a house full of man-children to feed. You have wings to get used to. We have a raven, Dieter, and a writer on the front porch making plans for the bird to permanently move in here.”

  “Whoa.”

  Cid looked at Lazar. “Which one of those statements do you think elicited the whoa out of Mia?”

  “All of them?” Lazar guessed.

  Mia looked at the men in the room. Varden smiled.

  “Huh, I think I have to start making lists. But first, can I eat? I’m so hungry, I could eat a large-sized child,” she said, grabbing Varden out of Ted’s arms and flying him around the room.

  Giggles and burbles of joy filled the room. It took away the stress each person was feeling. Stresses of pressure from family, self, and the world closing in.

  Dieter sat uncomfortably in the glider. He saw Murphy move out of the house, and Dieter signaled that he would appreciate if the ghost would stick around. Which he did, looming ominously behind Richard Longtree.

  “Raven has been in my company for forty-some years. He arrived one night when I had a gun to my head. I heard distinctly, ‘You put the bullets in backward, asshole.’ Not that you can do that unless you bought the wrong size, which I did,” Richard explained. “I’m an alcoholic with no survival skills.”

  “The raven talked to you?”

  “Actually, I heard his voice in my head. Evidently, the race that he has been exiled from can use their minds to speak to us humans silently. He stayed with me all night and kept a vigil until I sobered up enough to understand the deal he was making with me. He would give me a small income, just enough to live on, from his poems, and I would work on my own manuscript. It didn’t matter that it took forty years to be finished and appreciated. In the later years, he asked that I make a collection of his works. That’s A Raven Types.”

  “Tell me what brought you here today?” Dieter asked.

  “Raven called to me and asked that I bring his typewriter. I’ve tried to get him to just speak through me, and I’ll type, but he prefers to do it himself. I gather he’s closing our time together and starting one with you folks.”

  “That hasn’t been communicated yet,” Dieter said. “He only arrived yesterday.”

  “He’s a rather pushy bird. Tell you what, let me deliver his stuff. I understand you have an aerie. Maybe house him up there where you can check on him from time to time. He feeds himself. If he or your folks want him to move on, call me. I’ll be glad to take him back. I’m going to miss the old bastard.” Richard handed Dieter a card.

  “Could you hold on a moment? I need to talk to my mother first. Then I’ll get the golf cart. We can unload his stuff into that - unless there is a lot of it?”

  “He travels light,” Richard assured Dieter.

  Hero croaked and bounced his head in agreement.

  Dieter got up and walked into the farmhouse. “Mom!” he called.

  Mia, who had just finished swallowing a bite of pancake, heard the desperation in Dieter’s voice and answered, “In the kitchen.” She looked at Ted and said, “Prepare yourself.”

  Lazar and Cid weren’t going anywhere.

  Dieter walked in. “I’m not sure what exactly is going on. I believe that man is dumping Hero’s stuff off here. Hero intends to take up residence with us. Does anybody know anything about this?”

  The adults shook their heads. Varden nodded.

  Mia looked down at her son. “Care to explain?”

  Varden burbled and babbled.

  “Don’t tell me you understand that,” Ted said.

  “Not a word,” Mia admitted. “I have a feeling all will resolve itself once we hear Hero’s story. Also, I believe it has to be soon. Victor wants to move on.”

  “What does Victor have to do with the bird?” Ted asked.

  “I believe that Victor, Varden, and now I, are tied to the bird genetically. I hear him in my head, as does your son. Victor is too reticent to let on.”

  “Please okay it with Murphy first - ravens may interfere with the wildlife - but I say let the chap hang with the Martins,” Ted said, stealing a piece of bacon off Mia’s plate.

  “How could you?” Mia asked, hurt.

  “Don’t worry, Dieter, Mia’s talking about the bacon theft, not Ted letting Hero live here,” Cid clarified.

  “Yes, what he said,” Mia said. “Thank you for taking on this responsibility, Dieter. If I had to do one more thing, my head would explode.”

  Dieter swallowed hard. This would teach him to do his homework. Now he had a damned bird to make comfortable.

  Murphy was waiting for him at the front door.

  “I assume you heard everything?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is it alright that we house Hero at the aerie?”

  “I don’t see it as a problem. If the little feller wants to hang out by my seedlings, I would consider it a favor.”

  “I’ll tell him. Uncle Murphy, I’m way over my head.”

  “Congratulations. You now know what it is to be a Martin,” Murphy said, patting the teen on the back.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Tom was walking around in a daze. He had no idea what he had said to have angered his mother so much that she kicked him out of the house. He replayed last night in his head over and over as he packed his belongings in the small U-Haul trailer.

  He had come home at seven from work, and he was waylaid in the garage by his father. “Son, your mother is acting a little weird. It may be the change. Just ignore what you see, and go about your business as if nothing has changed,” Don advised.

  Tom locked his firearm in the safe before he went in through the mudroom. He heard his mother in the kitchen, so he walked in feigning a happy exuberance he wasn’t really feeling. There she stood, or
rather sat, on the floor in a half-split position.

  “Mom! Did you fall?” he asked, rushing to her aid. “That floor can be a little slick.”

  She looked at him as if he were a stranger. He put his hand out. “Would you like some help, Mom?”

  A sly look crossed her face. “No, I’m determined to get back into shape. I’ll do it.” Susan got up. The outfit she wore was spandex and tight.

  Tom couldn’t remember a time his mother wore tight clothing. Her bathing suits were modest for a woman as fit as she was. Where was her relaxing Chicago Bear fan attire? Instead, she wore something he’d seen the women exiting Life Fitness wearing.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Getting into shape. You can’t expect me to climb the pyramid with stiff joints.”

  “Are you and Dad going to Egypt?” Tom asked, surprised. “What about Bears training camp?”

  “Bears?”

  “Chicago Bears.”

  “Oh that. I must have forgotten,” Susan said quickly.

  “What’s for supper?” Tom asked, surprised there was nothing being kept warm in the oven.

  “We ate at six,” Susan said. “You’re a grownup, you can feed yourself. Or are you Special Needs?” she asked, looking him up and down. “Is that a costume you’re wearing?”

  Was she teasing him? Tom was too confused to speak.

  “Is that your room at the top of the stairs?” Susan asked.

  “Yes, and has been since I was born.”

  “No longer. If you’re going to sponge off your parents, you can live in the basement like all the other postgrads.”

  “I’m not living in the basement,” Tom said firmly.

  “Then get out. You can sleep here tonight, but I expect you to be gone in the morning.”

  “Mom, what’s wrong with you? You’re not yourself.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with me, except being embarrassed to the skin by having a disappointment of a son like you. Get out and make a man of yourself,” she said, leaving the kitchen. Tom heard the door of his parents’ bedroom slam shut.