‘Not really. Tell me about Helen.’
‘She’s been with us since we moved in, came well-recommended. Whatever Mary says, I think she’d be just as happy producing steak and fries as Quorn with grass, but she does what we ask. She’s kind of a house-keeper as well as cook, oversees the cleaning, supplies, that kind of thing.’
‘She gets on well with the twins?’
‘Well enough, I don’t think she’s the maternal type, but she plays with them outside sometimes. Her suite is at the far end of the house, so she doesn’t go in the nursery often except to check it’s clean.’
‘And Sarah?’
‘Also came well-recommended. Dotes on the twins, there’s usually one of us here all the time, but we’d trust Sarah a hundred per cent with them. She and Mary get on great, you hear about some mothers resenting the nanny, but there’s nothing like that.’
‘So you’re completely sure neither of them would try to hurt the kids?’
Deadman frowned, and seemed to be choosing his words carefully. Perhaps the question had annoyed him. ‘I have full confidence in both of them, besides, the kids aren’t being harmed. Neither Helen or Sarah is causing whatever it is.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Nightingale. ‘No offense meant, I’m just starting here, I don’t know which questions to ask, so I just ask all of them.’
‘I get that,’ said Deadman. ‘And while we’re on the subject, I love the kids, so does Mary. She’s never shown any sign of that post-natal depression thing you hear about. I’ll take another of those.’
Nightingale handed over another Marlboro, and lit it for him. They were still out of sight of the house. Nightingale tried another line of questioning.
‘Has your singer Eva-Lynn visited the house?’
‘No, we don’t tend to socialize, she stays in LA pretty much. We had a fairly private christening for the twins, and invited her, but I guess churches aren’t her thing. She sent over a couple of silver necklaces for them though.’
Nightingale frowned. ‘What kind of necklaces?’
‘Just silver chains. I think with a pendant on them. I never looked too closely.’
‘Just silver pendants?’
‘Yeah, that’s it.’
‘The kids wear them?’
‘They do not, Mary thought they were creepy, and didn’t want jewellery on her babies anyway, so I guess they’re in a drawer somewhere. Why, you don’t think Eva-Lynn cursed them or something?’
‘Seems unlikely,’ agreed Nightingale. ‘But, if you could find them, I’d like to take a look.’
‘Sure.’ Deadman stubbed out his cigarette against a low wall, then buried the butt in a nearby planter. ‘I feel like a criminal,’ he said. ‘Best get back to read the bedtime story, they don’t understand it yet, but I love doing it. Via my bathroom, for some mouthwash. Mary has a nose like a bloodhound.’
‘I’ll do the same,’ said Nightingale.
‘It’s a small price to pay,’ said Deadman. ‘And there are lots of compensations.’
Nightingale nodded, he could imagine.
‘Though I don’t follow her in everything, Jack. You ever heard of colonic irrigation?’
Nightingale winced.
‘That’s where they stick a hose up...’
‘That’s the one. There’s nothing going to make me try that.’
* * *
The twins settled down to sleep around eight, and at half-past, Nightingale crept quietly into the nursery and settled himself into a chair in the corner. Deadman had told him that all the disturbances had been between twelve and one, but he wanted to be in place all night and miss nothing. Sarah had lent him her Kindle, since a whole night of staring into semi-darkness would probably have sent him to sleep. Nightingale hadn’t recognized many of the authors’ names, but found a Frederick Forsyth thriller that kept his interest.
He managed to get through most of it that night. At around eleven, Storm woke up crying. Mary came in, picked him up, patted his back a few times, then put him to her breast, while Nightingale diplomatically looked at the ceiling, not that she seemed at all bothered by his presence. Myrrh also woke up, looked around, gurgled and went back to sleep. At two-thirty, Myrrh’s teeth started to bother her and she started crying, so Mary showed up again, rubbed something or other on her gums, and gave her a little milk too.
That was it. No temperature drops, no breeze to spin the mobiles, nothing to wake the twins, catch their interest or start them screaming. At eight they both woke up, almost simultaneously, and Sarah came in to get their day started for them. Nightingale had nothing to show for his night’s work, except a stiff back, so he headed off in search of whatever passed for breakfast at Peacehaven.
* * *
Breakfast could have been worse, and consisted of pulses, nuts and dried fruit with what looked like milk, but didn’t taste as if it came from a cow, plus an option on a dark green blend of something or other, which Nightingale forced down a few inches of. He was beginning to envy the twins their pureed yellow stuff. Sarah joined him with the pulses, but Jimmy and Mary stuck to their juices. Today’s variant seemed a duller brown than at dinner. There was a little talk about the weather and the benefits of juicing before Mary got to the point. ‘So, nothing last night then, and we’re no further forward?’
‘No,’ admitted Nightingale. ‘I’ve got more sensitive to atmosphere lately, and I felt absolutely nothing all night. Doesn’t mean there was nothing there, but the twins seemed fine.’
‘Where do we go from here,’ she asked.
‘How about tonight we leave them in the room, maybe I’ll be just outside. I can go straight in if something happens. The camera hasn’t picked up anything, but maybe I could see something if I was on the spot. Jimmy, could you rig up the video feed to a laptop for me to watch outside?’
‘Sure, no problem, I can...’
‘Wait,’ said Mary. ‘Let’s not. These are my children, not lab rats. If there’s something in that room, I don’t see any reason to expose them to it again. We know if there’s an adult in the room, then whatever it is stays away. I’m not risking their safety again.’
‘But they’ve never been harmed,’ said Jimmy. ‘We know it’s not specific to that room, and we can’t sleep with them their whole lives.’
‘They haven’t been harmed so far,’ she said. ‘Who’s to say what might happen?’
‘But we have to live here, Mary.’
She shook her head vigorously.
‘Actually we don’t. I know you love the house, and so do I, but there’s a whole world out there we could live in, and my first responsibility is to keep my children safe. If that means moving, then it’s a no-brainer. I’m sorry, Jimmy, I know it would break your heart to leave, but the twins come first.’
This time it was Jimmy who shook his head. ‘I’m not arguing, honey. I love the place, it’s what I always wanted, but it’s just a house. You, Myrrh and Storm are my world. If you want to move, I can have a truck here this afternoon, and we can go anywhere you want.’
They both looked at Nightingale, as if seeking his approval.
‘What do you say, Jack?’ asked Jimmy.
Nightingale pulled his lips in and out a couple of times, to give himself time to think. ‘It could be the answer, but only if whatever’s happening is related to the house. We know it’s not specific to one room, though, so what if it’s related to the children rather than the location? In that case you could go to all the trouble of moving across the country and find it starting all over again.’
Mary’s eyes widened. ‘What do you mean, ‘related to the children’?’ she said. ‘You mean there’s some kind of a curse on them?’
‘That’s a bit dramatic,’ said Nightingale. ‘As Jimmy said, so far there’s no sign that anyone or anything is trying to hurt them. But if I can get to the bottom of what’s causing it, then we can be a lot more sure of how to stop it.’
‘I guess that makes sense,’ said Mary. ‘But do yo
u have any ideas apart from just waiting for it to happen again and try to interrupt it?’
‘Looking into the history of the place, of the old house, the people who lived and died here,’ said Nightingale. ‘I know you don’t know much, but I could try the library, town hall records, maybe talk to the local pastor, try to find some older people who remember the way it was.’
‘What would you be looking for?’ asked Jimmy.
‘Hard to say, until I find it,’ said Nightingale. ‘Anything that might explain a stray spirit hanging around. I’ll get started straight away if you can arrange transport into town.’
‘No problem,’ said Jimmy. There’s a whole bunch of cars in the garage, keys are in them. Help yourself to anything except the X1, that’s Sarah’s.’
Sarah had been listening in silence to the conversation, but now she looked at Nightingale and smiled. ‘Or better yet, I could drive you in,’ she said. ‘It’s my day off, I could show you where everything is around town, then hit the gym. If you need to stay longer, I can leave you the car and walk back, I could use the exercise.’
Nightingale didn’t think she looked in desperate need of exercise, in fact she was in excellent shape, but he wasn’t about to argue. It was a useful offer. ‘That’ll be great,’ he said. ‘Ready when you are.’
‘I’ll go change, then bring the car round. Meet you out front in twenty minutes.’
Sarah headed for the door, and Mary spoke again. ‘Okay, I get the point you need to find out whether it’s the kids or the house this thing is attached to, but you don’t have an open check on time. I can’t take this much longer, if we don’t get some kind of a result in the next couple of days, I’m taking them away.’
‘Can’t say I blame you,’ said Nightingale. ‘I’ll try to find some answers soon.’ He rose to go, but another thought occurred to him. ‘Mary, Jimmy told me that Eva-Lynn sent the twins some pendants for their Christening.’
Mary frowned and wrinkled her nose at the mention of the singer’s name, from which Nightingale deduced that Ms Garnett was not exactly her favorite person. ‘Those things? Piece of crap, two silver lockets with a damned swastika engraved on each one. She sent a message with them saying they were infused with power, and I should put a lock of each one’s hair inside and make sure they wore them, to keep them safe from harm. My ass.’
‘So you didn’t?’
‘That’s right, we didn’t.’
‘Could I see them?’
‘Not any more, there’s some kind of occult shop in Little Bend, so I just took them down and donated them. To be honest, I thought they were creepy, and I didn’t want them around the place.’ She looked at her husband, and seemed about to add more, but decided against it. Nightingale let it go, if need be he could talk separately to them about their opinions on Eva-Lynn Garnett.
* * *
Nightingale hadn’t been too impressed with Sarah’s driving on the freeway up from Wichita, but she barely had time to work up a head of steam before needing to slow down as they arrived in Little Bend. She drove down Main Street, turned left onto Vine and pulled into the parking lot of a large, three-story white stone building with ornamental pillars at each corner and over the entrance.
‘Thought you might like to start with the library,’ she said. ‘Town hall’s back up on Main Street, the newspaper office is on Washington, a block down Main Street from the town hall then hang a right. I’ll be a couple of hours in the gym, I’ll call you when I finish. Let’s swap numbers.’
She gave her number to Nightingale, who called her cell and hung up, so she could store his number. ‘Thanks, Sarah,’ he said. ‘See you in a bit.’
He headed for the main entrance of the library, and was ten yards away when his cell rang. Wainwright. He leaned up against the wall and pressed the answer key. ‘Jack, How’s it going?’
‘I’m not sure it’s going at all so far, nothing to see, and whatever it is doesn’t seem to want to show up if I’m in the room. Mary’s getting edgy. Talking of moving, but I’m not sure they won’t take it with them.’
‘Could be, depends on whether it’s visiting the kids or they’re producing it. If it’s down to them, that could be very nasty.’
Nightingale told him about the lockets from Eva-Lynn Garnett.
‘Can’t see that they’d be a threat,’ said Wainwright. ‘Just a general protection thing, not much more than a good-luck charm. Somebody wants to harm them they’re going to have to do a lot more than that to put a curse on them. And why?’
‘No ideas, as usual, I’m out of my depth here, I really don’t know much about spirits. I need some help.’
There was a silence, and Nightingale got the feeling Wainwright had covered the mouthpiece and was talking to someone else. He came back on the line after a few seconds. ‘What you doing now?’
‘Trying another tack, looking into the history of the place, the old house.’
‘Makes sense. Wait a second.’
It took just over a minute.
‘Okay, I’m sending you reinforcements. Guy I know who’s pretty good with spirits and ghosts too. He follows the same path I do, not quite so far along. Valerie says he’ll be at Wichita by four tomorrow afternoon, you can pick him up. Guy named Adrian Miller. Flying in from England.’
* * *
The library seemed almost bigger inside than out, with the reference section on the second floor. Nightingale noticed a fairly extensive local history section, but he wasn’t about to waste time browsing so went straight to the inquiries desk. There weren’t many other people around this time in the morning, so he was able to talk to Hilary M. Baines straight away. She was around forty, with shoulder length straight brown hair and large glasses with brown plastic frames. Nightingale tried hard not to stereotype her as a typical librarian, but didn’t entirely succeed. ‘Good morning, can I help you?’ she asked.
‘Jack Nightingale, Ms Baines. I’m staying with the Deadman family at Peacehaven, the mansion on Gable Street.’
‘Oh, yes, I know the house, and I’ve seen Mrs Deadman around town. She has twins, doesn’t she?’
Nightingale nodded.
‘So, how can I help you, Mr Nightingale?’
‘Well, they’re quite interested in finding out a little more about the history of the original house up there, wondered if you might have any information.’
She put her head on one side and screwed up her face. ‘The old Wharton house, they always used to call it. Been a ruin ever since I can remember, I think there was a fire years back. I know old Mrs Wharton moved in with one of her sons when the Judge died, but I don’t know much about the house itself.’
‘Any ideas where I could find out more?’
‘I’m not really sure...most of our local history section would deal with the early history of the area, people moving west, the Indian wars, wild west, that kind of thing. I guess not an awful lot happened once the town was established. As for the history of an individual house, I don’t really know. You might be better maybe trying the back issues of The Tribune.’
‘That’s the local paper?’
She nodded.
‘That’s right, but we only keep the last ten year’s worth here, we’re in the process of digitizing them. The Tribune offices will have the rest, but it’ll be a lot of work looking through for mentions of one specific house. You might do better just asking people who might remember it from way back.’
‘For example?’
‘Well, my predecessor Margaret Shaw. She retired about three years ago, but she still pops in. Must be almost seventy, and she’s lived here all her life. If there’s anything to know about Little Bend, she’ll know.’
‘Would you have a number for her?’
‘Maybe it’ll be better if I call her. I’m due a break in twenty minutes, so give me your cell number, and I can call you once I’ve spoken with her.’
Nightingale gave her the number, then decided to backtrack. ‘You said that Mrs Wharton left the ho
use when the Judge died. Her husband?’
‘Of course. Then she went to live with one of her sons, I think it was Cal.’
‘How many were there?’
‘Two. Cal and Steve.’
‘Is she still alive?’
‘Actually, I think she is, but I heard she had to move into the Retirement Facility on Lincoln a few years back. I never heard that she died, but she must be ninety now.’
‘And her sons? They still around?’
She laughed.
‘It’s obvious you’re a stranger here, Mr Nightingale. The Whartons are two of our leading citizens. Cal owns a construction company, in fact I believe he did most of the building work on Peacehaven.’
‘And Steve?’
‘Steve Wharton is Chief of the Little Bend Police Department.’
* * *
Nightingale was feeling a little less happy as he left the library. The news that the previous owner was the local Police Chief’s mother needn’t be a problem, but it was never going to be an advantage. There was something about the very existence of private detectives that rubbed the official cops up the wrong way. Still, so far there was no evidence of any kind of crime, and no real reason why Nightingale would need to cross Chief Wharton’s path. He headed back up the street toward the offices of the Little Bend Tribune.
The receptionist was a woman in her thirties, dark-haired and reluctant to smile. Nightingale stated his business, more in hope than expectation. ‘The old Wharton house?’ she repeated. ‘The one on Gable Street? What would you be wanting to know about it? It was derelict for years, until some rich people bought the plot, knocked it down and built their own place on the site. It might have got a mention when they demolished it, but building work isn’t newsworthy, even in a small town.’
‘I suppose not,’ said Nightingale. ‘But I was wondering if you might have anything older about it...I was told it was badly damaged in a fire.’
‘Could be,’ she said, ‘It was in a pretty bad state, but unless you know an exact date, it would mean looking through an awful lot of back issues. If it was a big fire, it might have made the front page. We don’t normally let people just sit in the archives and browse.’
The House On Gable Street (A Jack Nightingale Short Story) Page 4
