The woman heaved a dramatic sigh. “Shame he’s taken. He was so very charming.”
“Uh-huh. He was here though, right?”
“Yes, with that behemoth of a man that your townsfolk seem so enraptured by. They went that way.” Her long fingers danced in the direction of the platform stage. “Bring him by again when you find him, won’t you?”
“I’ll try.”
I circled around the meditation booth. On stage, the owner of the local bookstore was auctioning off rare texts to a small, subdued audience. I slipped around the back, where the metal support system beneath the platform was hidden by lengths of black tarp. I glanced around. I was alone. No one else bothered with the back end of the entertainment.
My heart pounded as I lifted the tarp and peered under the stage. The black fabric prevented the sun from illuminating the space underneath. I squinted, forcing my eyes to adjust. Several feet to the left, a large shadow lay unmoving. I shimmied over to it.
“Bodhi,” I whispered, turning him over. “Baby, wake up.”
He groaned, and I exhaled a sigh of relief. A purple bruise decorated his temple. Ethan had hit him. Hard.
“What happened?” Bodhi asked, blearily opening his eyes.
I tugged him into my lap, inspecting the discoloration on the side of his head. “Ethan gave you the slip and came after me.”
“Where are we?”
“Under the stage at the summer festival.”
He groaned again, rolling over to sit up.
“Easy,” I told him, shielding his head with my hand to prevent him from bumping it on the cross rails of the stage’s support system. “Everything’s okay for now, but we need to get to the house. There are some things we have to talk about. All of us.”
“Who’s all of us?”
“You, me, Patrick, and Caroline. Do you think you can walk?”
Bodhi gently probed his injury with the pads of his fingers. “Yeah. Hang on a minute. Did you say Patrick?”
I peeked out from under the tarp, checking that the coast was clear, then scurried out from under the stage. Bodhi followed, and I pulled him to his feet. “Yup. Patrick is Milo. Milo is Patrick. This way.”
I led Bodhi around the back side of the merchandise booths, where we were less likely to run into curious locals, but Bodhi held me back.
“What?”
“We can’t go back to the house.”
“Why not?”
“Ethan.”
Before I could fill Bodhi in on Ethan’s current state, microphone feedback interrupted the balmy summer evening. I winced as the shrill tone found my eardrums. On stage, the book auction had ended, and a tall, handsome man wearing a black flat-brimmed hat and a dazzling smile had taken the mic. Bodhi and I watched from our secluded spot behind the merchandise booths.
“Ahem. Hi, folks,” he said, giving a friendly, awkward wave to the gathering crowd. “As you probably already know, I’m Alexander Lido. I own Lido’s Restaurant across the way.”
A cheer erupted from the growing assembly, and Alex grinned. Lido’s was the most popular establishment in Black Bay, and it had been for quite some time.
“Anyway,” Alex went on. “You know why we’re all here.” He gestured to a large banner that hung on the stage curtains behind him. “Welcome to the twentieth annual Winchester Celebration!”
The crowd hooted and hollered, and someone even fired off an air horn. Alex gestured for silence, smiling widely.
“All right, all right,” he said. “So our schedule is a little cramped this year because of today’s late start, but we’ve still got time for the fun stuff, including the fireworks show over the bay. But first, get your competitive spirit on because we’re doing an egg toss, water balloon fights, and my personal favorite—” He pointed across the lawn to a black pickup truck with gold accents. “Whoever can throw a football through the open window of that truck from twenty yards gets to take the truck home with them.”
Another roar of applause rose from the crowd.
“Don’t worry though,” Alex went on. He tipped his hat to the crowd. “For those of you with less than stellar aim, we’re giving you the chance to win one of these amazing hats. They have the vintage Black Bay Golden Eagles football team logo on the front from 1996 and Patrick’s jersey number on the back.”
Alex rotated his hat around to showcase the number twenty-two embroidered in bright gold thread.
“We’re also selling these hats to raise funds for this year’s Patrick Silas Winchester Memorial Scholar Athlete Scholarship,” Alex said. He pointed to a booth near the opposite end of the stage, draped in Black Bay High School’s signature black and gold, where the hats were stacked high on the table. “As you know, this award is presented to one outstanding senior student at the end of the school year in honor of Patrick’s lasting athletic influence on Black Bay High.”
Alex cleared his throat as the crowd chattered, nervously adjusting the mic cord to prevent it from tangling around his ankle. He pulled the brim of his hat low over his eyes. When he spoke again, the tremble in his tone echoed through the park. “Before we get the festivities under way, I’d like to say a few words about the Winchesters. Chris, Liz, Patrick, and Caroline were four of the best people I’ve ever met.”
My heart grew heavy. I knew firsthand that Alex missed the Winchesters more than any of the other residents of Black Bay.
“They were practically my second family,” Alex continued, pacing back and forth across the stage. “Chris and Liz welcomed me with open arms, Patrick was like a brother to me, and my day wasn’t complete if Caroline didn’t direct some kind of smart aleck remark my way.”
Everyone chuckled. Caroline’s sardonic personality and tailored wit was remembered fondly.
“Were it not for the Winchesters, I firmly believe I would’ve missed out on a lot of important life lessons,” Alex said. He sniffed lightly, wiping his nose with the back of his free hand. “They taught me love, respect, and the value of family, and for that I am eternally indebted to all four of them. I know that growing up in Black Bay would’ve been an entirely different experience without them.”
A general murmur of agreement filtered through the crowd. Nearly everyone who’d attended the summer festival now listened intently to Alex’s speech. He wasn’t the only one who had been so positively affected by the Winchesters. The locals gave him their full attention, reminiscing on the Winchesters’ influence as one united community.
“So,” Alex went on. He took off his hat and held it to his heart. “Everyone please join me for a moment of silence in memory of Christopher, Elizabeth, Patrick, and Caroline Winchester.”
The park grew quiet. Hats were respectfully removed, heads bowed, and a collective sense of honor lingered in the air. Even the children were calm and hushed, sensing the change in the atmosphere as the setting sun bathed the park in peachy pink light. My eyes watered, and I blotted the unexpected tears from my cheeks with the collar of my frayed shirt.
“Thank you,” said Alex as the crowd began to stir again. “Let the games begin!”
The throng dispersed, dividing to the different areas of the park to start the first round of friendly competition. Bodhi had sank to the ground at some point during Alex’s speech. I nudged him to his feet.
“We should go,” I murmured.
“But Ethan—”
“Patrick said we’re safe at the house,” I reassured Bodhi. “At least for a little while.”
We leaned heavily on each other as we lumbered through the less populated areas of the park. My head swam with the effort of keeping myself and Bodhi upright, and when we finally reached Bodhi’s truck, I folded over the steering wheel and lightly rested my sweaty forehead on the horn. In the passenger seat, Bodhi mumbled something incoherently.
“What?” I asked.
“Snowcones,” he clarified. “We deserve snowcones.”
“Sure, baby. We’ll get some later.”
I put the truck in dri
ve and hit the gas, jerkily accelerating to leave the summer festival and the Winchester celebration and the Black Bay locals in the rear view.
An hour or so later, I lounged in a deck chair on the widow’s walk of the Winchester house. From this height, the view of the bay was stunning. Fairy lights twinkled in the marina as the moon reflected off the surface of the rippling water. Beside me, Bodhi, slumped in his own chair, was holding a sandwich bag full of ice to the side of his head. He stared across the walk to where Patrick—whose blond locks danced in the breeze—leaned over the railing. I tapped Bodhi’s shin with the toe of my good foot.
“Stop staring,” I whispered.
“I can’t help it,” Bodhi answered, his gaze unwavering.
“You know, the sound carries up here,” Patrick said without turning around. “It’s because of the wind.”
“Sorry,” said Bodhi.
Patrick pivoted on the heel of his deck shoes to face us. “Don’t mention it. I know the situation is a little weird.”
“Beyond,” Bodhi corrected, adjusting his ice pack. “Um, Patrick? Not to be rude, but what exactly is it that you want from us?”
Patrick sat down, dangling his legs through the gaps in the railing of the widow’s walk. “Today, Black Bay celebrated the twentieth annual Winchester celebration, right?”
“Right.”
He looked over his shoulder at me. “They’re a week early. The official anniversary isn’t until next Saturday.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Bodhi asked. The sandwich bag full of melting ice dripped steadily, dampening his T-shirt, but the conversation at hand demanded his full attention.
Patrick peered wistfully out at the water. “Do you remember what I told you a few days ago, Bailey? In the woods?”
I wasn’t likely to forget it. The run-in with Patrick, who then appeared as Milo, was frighteningly violent. He’d been covered in blood—something I had not yet been able to persuade him to explain—and we had literally, albeit accidentally, hit him with the truck.
“You told me that time was running out,” I recalled.
Patrick nodded solemnly. “Caroline and I have been fading for twenty years. I’m not sure how to explain what it feels like, but as you’ve probably already guessed, we don’t have the ability to move on to whatever’s next. Lately, it’s gotten worse. I feel this pull to stay near the house, almost like I’m tethered to it, and at the same time, I feel less and less human.”
“Probably because you’re dead,” Bodhi interjected. I smacked his arm.
Patrick, thankfully, didn’t seem to take offense. “I came to terms with that a long time ago, Bodhi, but what I can’t accept is being stuck here forever to live out some kind of half-life. That I won’t do.”
I perched my casted foot on the edge of Bodhi’s chair, sighing as the elevation soothed the steady ache. “And you think you’re running out of time to move on.”
“Yes,” he confirmed. “Again, I can’t explain it, but I know that if Caroline and I don’t figure out how to pass over before next Saturday, we’ll be trapped here without another chance.”
Bodhi rubbed his head, grimacing as he tested the bruise on his temple. “What are we supposed to do about it? Turn Ethan in to the cops?”
Patrick shook his head. “That won’t help. It’s not enough.”
“Why not?” Bodhi asked. “We have enough proof. The damage to Ethan’s boat alone is enough to bring him down.”
“The process of bringing Ethan to justice would take too long,” Patrick said. His shirt billowed in the pleasant wind. “Way more than a week.”
“So we need another way to free you and Caroline,” I confirmed. “Do you have any ideas?”
Patrick kicked his feet in the open air below him as if he wanted to hop off the widow’s walk and learn how to fly. “I do, but I have a feeling you’re not going to like it.”
I laid a reassuring hand on Patrick’s shoulder, marveling at how real and warm he felt under my touch. “Patrick, we’ll do whatever we can to help you and Caroline move on.”
He swallowed hard. “I’m not so sure of that.”
“Why?” Bodhi asked, his tone tinged with suspicion. “What is it that you need from us?”
Patrick looked at us, pursing his lips as if anticipating our reactions. Then he held up three fingers and ticked off his conditions. “One, I need you to bring me the weapon that Ethan used to kill me. Two, I need you to find whatever’s left of mine and Caroline’s bodies. And three, I need you to lure Ethan Powell back to this house. What happens then will be up to me and Caroline.”
Bodhi and I sat in stunned silence, staring at Patrick openmouthed. The first firework of the evening burst into the sky with a deafening boom, and a shower of pink and gold sparks rained down on the bay. The three of us looked up, losing ourselves in the colorful explosions. The night was young, but the day was old, and Bodhi and I were much too exhausted to even begin to ponder Patrick’s requests until the morning.
25
Missing Person
Bailey and Bodhi: Flipping Out
The day has come, flippers! I’ve finally lost my mind. Remember when I told you all that the Winchester house was haunted? I was right. It is. Both Patrick and Caroline are still kicking. Figuratively, of course. And you know Milo, the friendly Black Bay local who sold us the house? He doesn’t actually exist. It was Patrick all along! Anyway, we have less than one week to help Patrick and Caroline dig up their own bones and take revenge on the guy who murdered them. Sounds like fun, right? Don’t worry. When we find the bodies, I’ll take pictures—
I deleted the entire paragraph, slammed the laptop shut, and cast the computer aside. This was ridiculous. How was I supposed to keep up my happy-go-lucky blog when Patrick’s requests weighed so heavily on my mind and a sociopathic killer was on the loose in Black Bay? Not to mention, Bodhi and I needed to keep up appearances in town. That meant continuing construction on the Winchester house as if nothing was wrong, but what if one of the guys from the construction crew spotted Patrick hanging out on the widow’s walk?
Bodhi slept beside me, snoring lightly. I didn’t understand how he did it. I’d been awake all night, staring at the ceiling and wondering how the hell we were going to riddle ourselves out of this one. Figuring out who killed the Winchesters was one thing. Locating dead bodies was a whole different ball game. The good thing was that I already had a head start on Patrick’s first request. The nautical rope that Ethan had used to hang Patrick from the rafters in the living room was in Ethan’s boathouse. The challenge remained in returning to Ethan’s house without knowing whether he was there or not. I wasn’t about to charge into the lion’s den empty-handed.
Patrick’s second request posed an even bigger challenge. The entire town of Black Bay understood Patrick and Caroline to be lost at sea. As such, their graves in the cemetery behind the local church were most likely empty. The problem was that, for some reason, Patrick couldn’t just tell us what Ethan had done with the bodies and with no one else in town aware that the Winchesters were murdered, we had zero resources to further our investigation.
I kicked the quilt off my legs, stood up, and stretched. Bodhi lay unmoving. It was the first time in a while I’d seen him sleep so soundly. These days, if I so much as flipped over, it stirred him from slumber. I knelt by his side of the bed to study him. The bruise on his head looked worse than yesterday, and I’d kept an eye on him all night to make sure he made it to morning. His breath was nearly imperceptible, but he breathed all the same. Relieved, I pulled the quilt over his shoulders and left the room as quietly as possible. Bodhi needed his sleep. Otherwise, we had no chance of pulling off our operation.
In the kitchen, Patrick sat on the floor of the living room, gazing out of the massive sliding glass doors that we’d recently installed. He wore black workout shorts, a gold sweat-wicking shirt, matching sneakers, and one of the flat brim Golden Eagles hats that Alex had advertised yesterday. If
I didn’t know better, I would have thought that he was on his way to football practice. He glanced my way as I padded down the stairs.
“I like what you’ve done with the place,” Patrick said. “Though I’ll admit it was easier to watch the sunrise when there was furniture in the room.”
When we first bought the Winchester house, we had no idea how long it would take us to renovate. It was meant to be an easy project—the house was in great shape, and our original intention was to simply update the interior—but the presence of a restless spirit had set our schedule way back. The living room, kitchen, and dining area were nearly done. We’d knocked down the walls between the three rooms to open up the area, repainted, refinished the floors, replaced the cabinets and counters in the kitchen, and nixed the bay windows to make room for the industrial-sized glass doors. All that was left was to install the new appliances.
“It’s not our job to furnish it. Whoever buys it from us will take care of that,” I told Patrick. I unlocked the first set of doors and slid them open. This entire side of the house had an unhindered view of the water, stained pink and purple as the sun rose opposite the sea. I sat next to Patrick, stretching my legs out in front of me. My ankle itched beneath the neon yellow cast, but I tried to ignore the persistent irritation. “Where did you get that hat?”
Patrick grinned, flipping the cap off his head and twirling it on one finger. “It’s nice, isn’t it? Alex always had great taste.”
I snatched it out of his grasp to inspect it. Sure enough, it was tangible, not something dreamt up or created by a bored ghost. I could wear it myself if I wanted to. I gave it back to Patrick, who pushed his messy blond hair away from his face and put the hat on with the brim facing rearward.
“I don’t get it,” I said, analyzing his lifelike appearance. “How is it that you look like you could run a marathon and Caroline is nothing more than a passing thought?”
A clatter from across the room caused me to jump. The toolbox had upended itself, spilling a jumble of hardware across the floor. Patrick watched as a package of nails popped open and spewed its contents in a metallic arc.
The Haunting of Winchester Mansion Omnibus Page 27
