by Tim McGregor
They sat in a booth near the back of the diner. The food was half decent but the coffee was little more than brown water in a cup.
Billie looked over the articles sealed in evidence bags before her. “This is evidence? It looks like just random stuff.”
“Most of it probably is random,” Mockler said. “It’s hard to tell at the scene so you take it all.”
She picked up the bag containing a woman’s shoe. “This isn’t even her size.”
“Like I said, you grab anything.” He leafed through the brittle documents in the folder. “What do you make of the knife?”
She picked up another bag. The knife inside was big, the blade almost eight inches long. The wooden handle seemed damaged at first but when she looked closer, she saw markings carved into the wood. “Somebody carved stuff into the handle.”
“What does it say?”
“It’s not letters. Just weird markings.” The plastic was cloudy so she unzipped the bag, took a napkin and removed the knife. She turned it over to examine it, pinching the blade between the paper napkin. “One of these looks familiar.”
“Which one?” He leaned in as she held the knife up for him to see.
“The spiral. It’s the same as the one in the Murder House. In the pentagram on the floor.”
He took the blade from her and studied the whittled markings and then gave it back. “What do you make of it?”
“Can’t be a coincidence,” she shrugged.
“What do you think it means?”
“Search me.” She returned the knife to the bag and wagged her chin at the paperwork in his hand. “Anything in there?”
“Nothing useful. A few incident reports, just stating the facts from the first responders. You’re mentioned in one of them.”
“What does it say?”
“They initially thought that you had been abducted too since they didn’t find you in the house. Says you were found later that night, wandering through town.”
“Can I see it?”
He slid the paper to her and she read the report. No details, just clipped bulletin points. They had spelt her name wrong.
“There’s nothing else really,” he said, leafing through the rest of the paperwork. “There’s an APB on Franklin Riddel and a description of his car.”
“A Camaro?”
“An eighty-one model,” he said, reading the report. “Black. You remember his car?”
“One of the few things I do remember.” Billie pushed the document away. “They never found it, did they?”
“Not according to—” The buzzing of his phone cut him off. He answered it, replying in curt one-word answers.
Billie watched his face fall as he hung up. “Bad news?”
“That was the officer at the station. She tracked down the retired officer who had investigated your mother’s disappearance.”
She brightened at the news. “Can we go talk to him?”
“He’s in a care facility in Kingston. According to his family, he hasn’t spoken a word in ten years.”
“We could still try,” she said, trying to hold on hope.
“It’s five hours from here, for nothing. Let’s make it a back-up plan.” He gathered the documents up and returned them to the box.
“So what now?”
“Not sure,” he said. “We could take a look at where it happened. Your old house.”
“I was there about three months ago. There wasn’t anything to see. The house has been renovated.”
“Three months ago? Why did you go?”
“After the accident. When I started seeing dead people. Whatever this ability is, I got it from mom.”
He watched her carefully. “What were you looking for?”
“Answers, I guess. I didn’t find any.”
The waitress buzzed by to clear the table and leave the bill. Both of them clammed up until she was gone. Mockler laid cash into the little plastic tray. “Can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“With your ability, have you ever seen your mom?”
“No,” Billie said. “That’s why I went back to the house. But she wasn’t there.”
He looked up at her. “Why do you suppose that is?”
“I wish I knew.” Billie stacked the creamers into a tower. “I hate seeing spirits. They still scare me. But the one spirit I do want to see is never there.”
“How far is your aunt’s place from here?”
“About an hour,” she said. “Is that our next stop?”
“May as well be. There’s nothing more to learn here.” He swept the rest of the articles into the box. “Does she know we’re coming?”
“I called her this morning. She’s making dinner.”
“She doesn’t have to do that.”
Billie slid out of the booth. “Try telling her that.”
Turning onto the causeway that led into Long Point, Billie kept one eye on the scenery and one eye on Mockler. She wanted to see his reaction.
“Wow,” he said, looking out at the tall reeds of the marsh swaying in the wind. “It’s beautiful here.”
“Isn’t it? And you haven’t even seen the beach yet.” An odd feeling of relief settled over her at his reaction and she realized that she had worried over what he would think of this place that meant so much to her. She didn’t expect him to care the way she did, but she felt better knowing he liked it, too. Why did that matter to her? It was just a place.
“Must be nice in the summer,” he said.
“It’s gorgeous in the summer. Peaceful too.”
“Do you come up here a lot?”
“Every chance I get. Check out the cottages.”
The road curved and they rolled down the main strip that ran the length of the point. Mockler slowed to look at the houses on both sides of the road. Some were quaint and rustic, others newer builds with all mod cons. Billie pointed out a few of her favourites, along with the marina and the ice cream shop.
“Look at that,” he said, pointing to one of the short canals that bisected the backyards of two rows of houses. “You can drive your boat right up to your backdoor. Does your aunt have a canal like that?”
“No, she’s landlocked. Just up ahead here, on the left.”
He pulled into the driveway of a small house with faded blue clapboard. Climbing up the creaky porch steps, he said “It’s nice.”
“Be sure to tell her that,” Billie said.
Mockler stopped to look at the cobwebs woven all over the exterior. “What’s with all the webs?”
“Spiders. They thrive here.” Billie opened the door and called out. “Mags? You here?”
Aunt Maggie hurried over from the kitchen and caught her niece in a tight hug. “Hi, honey. So nice to get an unexpected visit.”
Mockler stood inside the door and waited. Billie flashed him a smile until she could pull out of her aunt’s arms. “Maggie, this is Ray Mockler.”
Aunt Maggie shook her guest’s hand. “Yes, the detective. It’s nice to see you again.”
“How have you been?”
“Wait.” Billie’s brow wrinkled. “You two have met?”
“In the hospital,” Maggie said. “When your friend here almost killed you. You were unconscious, of course.”
Mockler smiled at Billie. “Not the best circumstances. Your aunt looked ready to knock my head in at the time.”
“And I would have, too, if she hadn’t woken up.” She waved them in. “Come in, come in. How was your drive?”
“It was fine,” Billie said, not wanting to talk about this morning’s excursion just yet. “How’s the leg?”
“Acting up, what with all the rain we’ve had.” Maggie took the kettle to the sink to fill it. “And how are things with you, Raymond?”
“I’m good, thanks. Busy.”
“Oh, I’d imagine. They must keep you busy being a policeman in that awful city.”
“Maggie. It’s not that bad. Hamilton’s changing.” Billie gave Mo
ckler a look, as if to excuse her aunt. “Aunt Maggie doesn’t think too highly of where we call home.”
The detective played for diplomacy. “It still has plenty of rough edges.”
“Well I’ve seen it at its worse and that city will have to polish up every rough edge for me to change my opinion.”
“Charming, isn’t she?” Billie teased. She felt her cheeks tingle oddly and didn’t know what to make of it until she realized that she’d been smiling the whole time. She tried to dim the smile but it proved hard to quell.
“What are you making?” Mockler asked, nodding to the big pot on the stove. “It smells great, whatever it is.”
“Just a stew. I like it on a cold day.” Maggie lifted the lid and gave it a stir. “How did it go in Poole today? Did you find what you’re looking for?”
“No, not really.”
“That’s too bad,” Maggie said. “I hope it wasn’t too upsetting for you.”
Billie dismissed the notion with a wave of her hand. “I’m fine.”
Sensing an opening, Mockler spoke up. “There’s a lot of gaps in the information. I’m hoping you can fill in some of those.”
“I can try. But not till after dinner. Getting upset on an empty belly makes it all worse.” She turned to the counter, where she was trimming vegetables for a salad. “Are you hungry? We can eat whenever you like.”
“Not just yet.” Billie shot to her feet. “I want to show Ray the beach before it gets dark.”
“Bundle up, the wind coming off that lake is lethal.”
Even in the cold gusts of late October, the beach was spectacular. They trudged over the dune to where the surf rumbled up the sand and the horizon over the water was endless in all directions. Mockler gazed down one end of the shoreline and then the other and saw nothing but white sandy beach.
“Wow,” he said.
“Pretty awesome, huh?”
“I had no idea it was this big. It looks like the Caribbean.”
“See?” Billie felt her cheeks hurting again, unable to stop smiling. “I knew you’d love it.”
“It must be beautiful in the summer.”
“I’m glad we came. I really wanted you to see this.”
He turned to her. “Why is that?”
“I don’t know.” She tried to stifle a shrug but it was useless. “I love this place. And I thought you would, too.”
“I’m glad you did.”
A gust of wind screeched in off the water and blew them off balance in the soggy sand. He caught her and she slipped her arm around his and they huddled close for a moment. She felt her breath catch and she didn’t know what she was doing but she didn’t let go.
He bent low to her ear to be heard over the boom of the surf. “What did you say this was? A sand spit?”
“Yeah. The whole thing, it juts out into the lake like a finger.” She pointed at the beach. “The spit runs way out there for a long stretch but you can’t see it from the water. A lot of ships ran aground here.”
“How many is a lot?”
“Hundreds of them,” she hollered. “I forget the actual number but I think its the worst place for shipwrecks out of all the Great Lakes.”
“I didn’t know you were an expert on maritime history.”
“I’m not. I’m an expert on this place. In fact, if I—”
She cut herself off, not wanting to kill the mood. He nudged his shoulder into hers. “What is it?”
“Nothing.” She tried to wave it away. “It’s just, the thing. You don’t want to know.”
“Yeah, I do want to know. So cough up, Culpepper.”
She laughed at being addressed by her surname. “Okay. If I open up, you know, to the other side? I can see all those dead mariners out there. Walking over the water.”
His eyes cut to the waves and the horizon beyond, as if there was something there to see. She fumed for a moment, thinking she had ruined the moment but he turned back to her. “You’re getting better at it, then?”
“Better?”
“Opening up to it. To the ghosts or whatever. And closing it off.”
“Yeah. I guess so.” She tilted up to see his eyes. “You don’t sound so skeptical anymore.”
“I’m not,” he said. “Not after all this.”
They watched the waves for another minute and then Billie shivered. “I’m cold,” she said and they turned and walked back up the beach to the house.
Chapter 13
MOCKLER HAD NEVER BEEN fond of stew. Too many bad memories of his father’s mangled version of it but the dish Billie’s aunt prepared changed his mind on the subject. Finishing a second helping, he leaned back in the chair with an odd feeling of utter content. Maggie was sweet and chatty, inquisitive but polite. Billie seemed content, her face lighting up in a bright smile that he was unfamiliar with. From outside, he could hear the gentle roll of the surf as it tumbled up the beach in its lulling rhythm. It was easy to understand Billie’s love for the place.
The dinner felt like a regular family visit and when he remembered the reason why they were here, he was reluctant to get started.
“That was delicious, Maggie,” he said. “Thank you.”
Maggie smiled. “It’s nice to cook for someone other than myself. There’s lots left over if you want to take some home.”
He rose and cleared the table. “I just might.”
Over the clatter of dishes in the sink, Maggie leaned in to speak quietly to her niece. “Your friend is very nice.”
“I knew you’d like him,” Billie agreed.
“I haven’t seen you smile this much in a long time, honey.”
Billie flustered. “What? I am not.”
“You’re practically glowing, sweetheart.” She patted Billie’s hand. “It’s nice to see.”
Billie felt her cheeks burn as Mockler returned to the table. Maggie got to her feet and said, “Does anyone want coffee?”
They both did. Maggie went to the kitchen and Mockler checked his watch and then looked at Billie. “I guess we can’t put this off any longer, huh?”
“I suppose not,” she sighed. “Too bad, really. I was having a nice time.”
He smiled at her. “Me, too.”
“I never liked Frank Riddel,” Maggie said. “I never understood what my sister saw in him.”
The dishes had been cleared away, the coffee made. Maggie brought out the pie she had baked earlier and once it had been served, the detective asked her what she remembered about Billie’s father.
Billie picked at the slice of pie on her plate, not saying anything.
Mockler dug out his notebook and placed it on the table. “What was he like?”
“He could be charming,” Maggie said. “Not with me but with Mary Agnes, of course. He seemed lost to me.”
Billie looked up at that but remained quiet. Mockler noted her reaction and said, “What do you mean lost?”
“He seemed to be looking for something. Spiritually, I mean. He was always into some new movement and then he’d abandon that when he found something else.”
“He kept switching religions?”
“I wouldn’t call them religions,” Maggie said. “Trends or quack cults. One week it was numerology, then it was Buddhism and then the Kabbalah or psychology or Wicca. He was all over the place.”
Mockler jotted down a single word on the notepad. Wicca. “But he never committed to one thing?”
“No. I guess that was his problem. Because he never committed to Mary Agnes either.” Maggie pushed her plate away. “They were happy for a short time, Mary and Frank. It was nice to see my sister smile like that. But things changed when she became pregnant. And they got worse once the baby came.”
Billie lowered her eyes to the table.
Maggie put her hand over her niece’s. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. That came out wrong. It wasn’t your fault.”
“But it was.” Billie’s voice was barely a whisper. “That’s pretty clear.”
Maggie sho
ok her head. “No. It just hastened things, that’s all. Life-changing moments, like having a child, that brings character to the fore. And I’m sorry to say this to you about your own father but Frank Riddel was low character.”
Billie shrugged. “Don’t apologize. He’s nothing to me.”
Mockler felt a twinge cut through him as he looked at Billie. The look on her face betrayed her own words. He could see the muscle in her jaw flex, gritting her teeth to keep her game-face on. “Having a baby is tough on every couple. What happened after Billie was born?”
“Frank left.” Maggie patted Billie’s hand again. “You were four months old. He just picked up and left. That became his pattern after that.”
“What did Mary Agnes do?” Mockler asked.
“She came to live with us. Larry and I. It was rough for a while, the four of us in a small apartment. It almost put the kaibosh on me and Larry. But we carried on. Things got better when we found a house for us all to live in. Billie was a joy to be around.”
Mockler smiled at that. “Got any baby pictures?”
“No!” Billie said.
The mood lifted a little, giving a moment’s respite for Billie and her aunt to compose themselves. Mockler went back to his questions. “How long did Mary and Billie stay with you?”
“Almost two years,” Maggie said. “Mary Agnes started her business, much to our father’s chagrin. He hated what she did. Then she found a house for the two of them. It was just around the corner from Larry and I, so it was ideal that way.”
Mockler scratched his chin. “Mary’s business? This was the psychic consultations?”
“Yes. And then this pattern developed. Mary would be doing well and then Riddel would show up. And mess everything up. It was like he sensed when she was happy and came back from wherever he had disappeared to just so he could throw Mary for another loop. They’d be happy for a day or two and then the fighting would start. A week into it and Frank would disappear again.”
The wind rattled the glass in the window pane. Maggie sighed and continued. “It was so frustrating to watch it happen. Mary would swear it was the last time, curse his name. Six months would pass and then Frank would come roaring up the driveway with flowers for Mary and presents for Billie and some newfangled religion that would solve all their problems.”
