“Luther killed Big Bob?” Little Bob asked again, and shook his head sadly.
Maxie, who had insisted on coming along to see some members of her old crowd even if they couldn’t see her, actually floated above our group in the Sprocket, looking wistfully at Little Bob and Rocco. She’d tried to talk me into telling them she was there, but I was very clear that if her new ability to travel around with me was going to work, the one rule would be that no one besides me would ever know she was present.
Tonight, no one but me and six spirits in the bar knew Maxie was here. Two of them had hit on her as we passed through the main room, and she had rejected them quickly and efficiently with the pronouncement that she didn’t “date dead guys.”
Paul had been a little taken aback when told about Maxie’s new freedom, but, after a day, he seemed actually happy for her. “I can’t say envy doesn’t come into play here,” he told her when we’d explained it to him, “but that doesn’t mean that maybe I won’t be able to do the same thing soon.”
“Absolutely,” I’d agreed, and I had to admit it seemed this latest episode had improved his motor skills to Maxie’s level, at least. This morning he had actually been juggling three oranges from a fruit basket Phyllis Coates had sent as “thanks for the great story” she was running on Big Bob’s murder, an “exclusive interview with the gumshoe who solved the case.” Maybe moving outside the property would develop differently for Paul. As I’d discovered since buying 123 Seafront, anything is possible. Even stuff you wish wasn’t.
“Is Luther going to jail?” Little Bob wanted to know, clearly hoping that if he weren’t, that would mean a mistake had been made and Luther really wasn’t guilty. Of course, the whole “trying to kill me” thing was pretty strong proof from my point of view, but it was possible I was biased.
“He’s already there,” I informed the huge man gently. Luther’s attorney had taken a look at all the evidence, the tape, and the fact that there were witnesses (all right, one witness) who had seen him come after me, and advised him to take a plea bargain offered by the FBI: a life sentence with the possibility of parole after twenty years. McElone had told me that was “a sweet deal” considering that he’d killed a man in cold blood, then later attempted to kill a woman (me) to cover it up. The fact that a federal informant had been lost to them as part of the same operation did not help Luther’s case, but again, they were letting the local officials be the public face of the prosecution. Various other charges regarding the false evidence given to police officers and all the drug offenses (only some of which could be proven after two years) had contributed to the plea deal. “He’ll be there for quite some time.”
Little Bob sighed and shook his head again.
“But that’s not why I came here tonight,” I told them. I held my beer mug high. “Here’s to Big Bob,” I said. Rocco, Little Bob and three other bikers who had known Bob Benicio raised their glasses to the ceiling. So did Maxie, although her glass was imaginary. “I never met him, but he sounds like he was a nice guy who didn’t deserve what he got. Let’s hope he found what he was looking for in the next world.”
“Wherever that is,” Maxie said. The other ghosts and I were the only ones who heard that.
Those of us who actually had physical glasses in our hands drank to Big Bob’s memory. Then I hugged Rocco and Little Bob—which was an experience, since his arms were so long I think they circled me and still touched his hands to his shoulders—and told the group I had to get back home.
“I have a special guest in my bed tonight,” I said, just to get them to cheer me out, although Little Bob looked a little shocked.
Melissa had asked to sleep in my room that night. It was one of the rare nights we had with nobody else in the house, and she had gotten used to a little more activity around the place. It seemed eerie when it was just the two of us.
“Dad already left,” she informed me when I got back from the Sprocket. “Lucy was going to the airport, and he decided it would be better if they flew out there together.”
She snuggled next to me. The air-conditioning seemed more efficient somehow when we were alone in the house, and we were under a comforter and a top sheet, but her feet, she took great glee in demonstrating, were icy cold. Ten-year-olds are strange beings.
“I know he can be disappointing sometimes, but he’s still your dad, and he always will be,” I told her.
“I’m not disappointed,” she said. “I pretty much expected it.”
“Sure you did.”
There was a long pause. “You know…I kind of spied on you for him.”
“What do you mean, you spied on me?” The light was out, but I looked at her anyway. I could sort of see the outline of her head, but not her expression.
“All that stuff about why you married him and how you wished he would still work to help people,” Melissa said. “Dad asked me what would make him more…what would make you like him better, so I asked you some stuff, and I told him what you said. He wanted to know about the TV stuff they filmed here, too. I didn’t know anything about that, but I told him what you said. I’m really sorry.”
I hugged my daughter close. “You don’t have to be sorry, honey. You wanted your dad to come back and make us a real family again. I understand.”
“We are a real family,” she told me. “But I wanted to see what it would be like if he lived with us again.”
“And what did you find out?” I asked.
She paused for a long time, thinking that over. “I really love Dad,” she said. “And he’s fun to be around. He always wants me to be happy, and he always acts like just another kid to play with. There’s just one thing.”
Melissa didn’t say anything after that, so I asked. “What thing?”
“I just wish he didn’t always end up being such a swine.”
The next morning, Melissa was already out of the room when I woke up. We’d have a whole day to ourselves, since the new Senior Plus guests wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow. I decided the best thing was to get some work done in the attic. I was in the middle of putting down a hardwood floor over the plywood that was there, and would stain that after it was down and prepped. But when I got out into the hallway, I was met with a crowd.
Melissa and Mom were right outside the bedroom door, looking surprised that I had emerged from there. “I was wondering where you were,” Mom said. “Melissa thought you were in the attic.”
“I don’t know why she’d think that,” I said.
“I called Grandma and she came over to take me for bagels,” Melissa said. “I thought you’d be upstairs. You never sleep this late.”
I would have asked exactly how late it was, but now I was embarrassed. Luckily I’d put on my work clothes before I left the bedroom, because behind my mother and daughter were Tony and Jeannie, standing in front of a blue tarpaulin that Tony had hung in front of his secret project. Maxie was hovering near the ceiling above Tony’s head. I started searching my mind for behavior of mine that might have triggered an intervention, but came up short.
“I was tired,” I said.
I walked toward Tony, who was wearing a grin so wide I was afraid it would meet at the back of his head. “I assume this means you’ve finished your fiendish plan,” I said to him.
“I have,” he admitted. The grin got a little wider.
“I don’t know what it is, either,” Melissa told me. “Tony said it was for my room, so it had to be my surprise, too.”
I have never had to question Tony Mandorisi on any home-improvement project, ever. The man is an unsung genius. So I had no trepidation when I told him, “Okay, then—let’s see it.”
“Stand back,” Jeannie warned.
I couldn’t imagine what might be behind that tarp. A staircase to the attic would take up far too much room and eat up almost the entire hallway. Fireman’s poles seemed impractical, as they really only work in one direction. I had not seen any construction going on outside, which would have required permits
from the borough and cost far more than I could afford.
But Tony, I knew, wouldn’t let me down.
So it was with great anticipation that I pulled on the rope that Tony indicated, which let the tarp loose and dropped it to the floor. And with a little disappointment that I saw what was behind it.
“It’s…a closet,” I said.
“A closet!” Jeannie shouted. “You think my husband spent the last two days up here building you a closet?”
Melissa, of course, caught on much more quickly. “It’s an elevator!” she yelled, and launched herself at Tony for a hug, which he supplied.
But he shook his head. “It’s not exactly an elevator, Liss. It’s a dumbwaiter.”
Melissa looked up, and I knew she was confused. “Is that a joke, Tony?” she asked. “It doesn’t sound like a very nice name for something.”
“I can’t help what it’s called, Liss,” Tony answered. “But I think it’ll help you get up and down from your new room once it’s finished.”
Walking closer, I could see how the contraption was going to work. Deeper than it first looked, it would be possible to hoist up at least some small furniture items or boxes for some-assembly-required pieces. And the chains mounted inside would raise and lower Melissa slowly and safely, but also add an element of fun to the process that just running up the stairs would not be able to offer. The accordion grate she’d have to close to prevent her falling out would keep her safe.
“You’re a genius,” I told Tony, and gave him a hug of my own.
“Didn’t I tell you?” Jeannie glowed, rubbing her ever-growing belly.
Melissa tried out the dumbwaiter first; then, after having deemed it “awesome,” and noting how easy it was to raise, she insisted on giving her grandmother a ride up. Mom looked momentarily wary, but refused to concede that her granddaughter could do anything that wasn’t perfect, and took the ride.
The rest of us went up the pull-down stairs, which Tony had suggested I leave intact, “for emergencies, and just because you won’t always want to pull everything up with your arms.”
My attic, soon to be Melissa’s bedroom, was still about as far along as Jeannie, but it was definitely getting there. The walls were up and smooth, the windows installed, the paint bright yellow (the final decision having come after Melissa had compared color cards for a day and a half), the border wallpaper hung around the crown molding and the skylight installed. But there was still no air-conditioning up there because the ductwork I needed was lying in a carton in the basement. It would be the first equipment the dumbwaiter would deliver.
“It’s beautiful,” Mom said after climbing out of the dumbwaiter with a big grin on her face. “You’ve done a wonderful job up here, Alison.”
Paul and Maxie, floating near the skylight, smiled down at us.
“I had help,” I said.
Table of Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Haunted Guest House Mystery 03-Old Haunts Page 28
