“I need to turn on the lights,” she explained, “and I thought you could come with me, see the bedrooms for yourself.”
“Very good idea,” Berg said, pressing both hands to the pew back, propelling himself upward. “I’ve only seen the kitchen and sanctuary.”
“And the narthex,” I said.
Carissa led us back down the hall, past the kitchen, still smelling of grilled cheese, and around a corner.
“This wasn’t always an Episcopal church,” Berg said.
“How did you know?” Carissa said.
“The nave and sanctuary aren’t separated, there was no sacristy that I could see, no altar rail or pulpit—unless you removed them?”
“We’ve only removed some of the pews.”
“The church is a hybrid, halfway between what it was when it was built and what it eventually became.”
“Ray Nickle told me it was a Methodist church about eight years ago, until the Methodists sold it to the Episcopalians.” She headed inside the first open door and quickly switched on a bedside lamp. “We turn on all the lights before nightfall, even when the kids aren’t home.” She paused, lowering her voice, emphasizing the gravity of the situation. “They sleep with the lights on now, like when they were two. Kids shouldn’t have to go through this.”
“When we first talked, I got the impression they weren’t that affected by events,” I said, circling the bed and opening the room’s closet. “At least until they heard the police were here. Did this use to be a utility closet?”
“Yes, there were vacuums, cleaning supplies, that sort of thing stored inside. The noises have become more frequent, and Sophie’s very sensitive to anything out of the ordinary. So is Liam, but Sophie’s more so.”
I parted the hangers, pushing the child’s sweaters, jeans, and dresses to the sides, and felt along the back wall.
“What are you looking for?”
“I won’t know unless and until I find it.” So much of the job was guesswork. Or flailing around in the dark—sometimes literally. “First we need to know if there are natural explanations for any of the noises you’re hearing.”
Inside the closet now, pushing here and there on the closet walls, I heard Matt enter and tell Carissa that he’d turned on their home’s other lights, except for the bedrooms.
I shut the closet and turned to face him. “If we hear things tonight, that’ll help tremendously.”
He stuffed his hands in his pants pockets. “If you hear things tonight, and you will, you’ll leave and never come back.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Berg said. He began to walk the room, examining photos and crayon drawings thumbtacked to the walls.
Typical for a seven-year-old girl, the room’s primary color was pink: a pink chenille bedspread, freshly painted pale pink walls, a braided rug in different shades of pink. The nightstand by her bed and a four-drawer dresser opposite it were off-white respites from the pink monotony. On the dresser sat a small flat-screen TV and a large doll with braided hair.
“That doll on the dresser,” I said. “Did Sophie turn its face to the wall?”
“She loves that doll, but she doesn’t want it looking at her at night—that’s what she told me,” Matt said.
“What did you say to her when she told you that?”
Matt shrugged and let his hands drop to his sides, taking on the posture of a powerless man. “I just said, ‘That’s okay.’ I figured it was her doll and whatever made her comfortable. I don’t know what to say to her or Liam anymore.”
“It’s meant to be a comfort at night,” Carissa said sadly. “Company.” She turned the doll to face the bed.
My eyes traveled to the ceiling. “Acoustic tiles?”
“Fat lot of good those do,” Matt said. “They’re everywhere, but we still hear noises from the ceiling.”
“What’s directly above?” Berg asked.
“Rafters,” Matt answered. “Joists, insulation, ducts. I’ve been up there with a flashlight. The church was unoccupied for only three days after the sale, so it’s not like it sat derelict and animals built nests. But anyway, the noises don’t seem to be coming from above the kids’ rooms.”
“But we do hear noises above our bedroom,” Carissa said. She wandered to the window and gazed out over the yard. “And in the lobby, the sanctuary, the rooms that way.” She swung back and pointed to a section of the building we hadn’t yet seen. “Sometimes I hear scratching noises that sound like they’re coming from outside.”
“Scratching from closets too,” Matt said. “It’s weird, but it’s like—”
“Someone’s trying to get out,” Carissa finished.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Matt said.
“Then there’s that basement,” Carissa said pointedly. “I don’t go down there anymore.”
“Could we look at Liam’s room now?” Berg said.
Matt nodded. “Across the hall, follow me.”
He swung Liam’s door open and held out his hand, letting me enter first. Berg flicked on the bedside lamp and I turned on a second lamp on a dresser opposite the end of the bed. Immediately Berg began to eye the ceiling tiles.
The couple stayed outside, Matt leaning on the doorjamb. “Carissa says you don’t approve of Madame Lebec,” he said.
“Matt, sheesh,” Carissa objected.
“There’s no sense hiding things, honey.”
While I checked the closet, Berg continued to inspect the ceiling and then began to move about the room, examining the furniture and pictures on the walls. After a couple minutes, he pivoted toward the Petersons and said, “Mediums are always a bad idea.”
“How could it hurt?” Carissa asked. “Madame Lebec is the genuine thing. She knew there’d been a violent death in this church.”
Berg walked to the end of Liam’s bed and sat. “The building is more than a century old. Did you know a worker died during its construction?”
“Really? No, but—”
“Lebec knew. I guarantee you she’s researched every square foot of this church and every year of its existence.”
I stooped down, lifted Liam’s bedspread, and looked underneath his bed. Thank goodness the boy wasn’t around to see me do that. He’d never sleep in the room again.
Carissa wasn’t convinced by Berg’s argument. “But Madame Lebec was suggesting the death here was more recent, and this was four days before the contractor found the body.”
“That’s peculiar, don’t you think?” Berg said.
I went to the window, this one facing west and overlooking the back yard, and tugged on the shade until it snapped upward. The November sun was slanting low through the trees, setting quickly behind the distant mountains, painting the horizon violet and orange.
“Maybe it’s peculiar,” Matt said, “but what do I know? I thought calling her was worth a shot. If Carissa wanted to and it made her feel more at ease, why not?”
Carissa latched on to a lock of hair, twisting it in her fingers. “You make it sound like I bullied you into it.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“But you wouldn’t have invited her.”
“Honest answer, honey? No.”
I turned back from the window. “Please trust us, Carissa. Mediums, psychics, shamans, whatever—they’re bad ideas.”
“You’ve made that clear.” Frustrated, she frowned and cocked her head. “I can’t figure you out, Teagan. Ray Nickle said you were a ghost hunter”—she raised her hands in apology—“but that I wasn’t to call you that because you were so much more and in a way so much less. His words. I didn’t ask what he meant.”
“Ray Nickle doesn’t know me,” I said.
“I never imagined you’d object to people like you helping us out. Even Ray said he would—”
“We’re nothing like Ray Nickle or this Madame Lebec.”
Carissa’s next words were cut short by the sound of rapping from somewhere down the hall, a fist pounding slowly and meth
odically, then with increasing urgency.
“Sounds like someone’s ticked off,” Matt said, “and just when I wanted to sample that apple pie.” He marched off, calling out, “First thing next week? I’m installing a doorbell and putting up a sign that says, ‘Go Away, This Isn’t a Church.’”
The sign, if worded with less hostility, wasn’t a bad idea. I looked out at the shadowed yard, wondering if skunks, raccoons, and other house-invading critters were part of the landscape here.
Breaking the uncomfortable silence, Berg piped up. “When I was last in Wells, there was a Bricktown Burgers just east of downtown.”
“It’s still there,” Carissa said.
“Excellent. A small, early dinner, Teagan?”
“You’re welcome to eat with us,” Carissa said, glancing from me to Berg. “You didn’t finish lunch, and we have more than enough.”
“That’s kind, but I’d like to see the restaurant again, and I’d like to show it to Teagan.”
Carissa exhaled and dropped to Liam’s bed. “Matt and I never used to fight like this. We had normal fights. Now we’re picking at each other all day long.”
“You need some time to yourselves. Eat, relax, and know that Teagan and I will be back in less than an hour.”
Matt poked his head inside the room. “Speak of the devil, it’s Madame Lebec. She’s in the lobby and wants to see where the body was found. I didn’t invite her,” he added, directing his last words at Berg. “She says she was in the neighborhood and she’s worried about us. What do I do with her? Tell her to leave?”
“No, hang on,” Berg said. “We’d like to talk to her before she goes.”
CHAPTER 5
“Madame Lebec, welcome back,” Carissa said, reaching out for the medium’s hands.
“My poor Carissa.” In a swift and prissy move, Lebec touched and released Carissa’s fingers. The woman was in her fifties, I judged. Far too old to be playing psychic games. Dressed in a boxy black trench coat, she was plump and on the short side, and she reeked of cigarette smoke.
“It’s been so hard,” Carissa said.
Lebec’s eyes shot past Carissa and Matt to me, and then burrowed in on Berg. She angled her head for a better view of him, sending her towering bun of brassy auburn hair listing to one side.
“Let me introduce Teagan Doyle and John Bergland,” Matt said.
I nodded politely. Berg stepped forward and stuck out his hand.
A hint of a smile twitched at the corners of Lebec’s mouth and she briefly grasped Berg’s fingers. “I know Mr. Bergland very well.”
“They’re here to help,” Matt explained.
Lebec’s microscopic smile evaporated. “Oh, but you should have called me back. I heard about your discovery on the radio. That body—and a priest at that! How awful for you. You must be sick with worry.”
“The only one who should worry is the man’s killer,” Berg said.
Lebec threw him a dismissive look. “I felt more than one presence the moment I entered this place, Matt, and I still do. He wanted his earthly body to be found, but his spirit is not at rest, and he isn’t alone.”
Carissa’s hand rose to her collarbone. “That’s what I was worried about. How many are there?”
Job well done, Lebec. Fear stoked and stirred to new levels.
“Oh, Carissa.” Lebec laid her hand on Carissa’s arm, staking her claim. Scam artists always pursued the weakest in the herd.
“I’d like to hear an answer to Carissa’s question,” Berg said. “How many are there? And what exactly do you mean by ‘presence’?”
Lebec let go of Carissa’s arm. Oozing arrogance, she slowly pivoted, hair tower and all, toward Berg. “Naturally I mean the restless spirits of the dead. They’ve attached themselves to this place, drawn to it because it’s a church. Their souls are trapped here, and until they move on, the Peterson family won’t find peace.”
“Hogwash,” Berg said.
Oh boy, here we go.
“Your ignorance is overwhelming,” Lebec squawked, raising her chin in defiance. “I know all about you, John Bergland.” Her eyes shifted to the Petersons. “He’s not your friend, and what he knows about the spirit world would fit in a thimble. Show him the door, before it’s too late.”
“Utter hogwash.”
I pressed my lips together, squelching a grin.
“I have—I have . . . experience,” Lebec sputtered. “Over many decades. Many encounters—and successful ones. Very successful. More successful than yours. You know that, but deny it, go ahead. Deny it.”
Funny what one old-fashioned yet astute word could do. And not a harsh one by any modern measure. Merely a statement of fact. Hogwash. Lebec was now struggling to form meaningful sentences, so engaged was her brain in vying for her position, in sizing up her new standing in the Peterson household.
Matt, less excitable than Carissa, seemed to be losing patience with Lebec. “We need to allow for a difference of opinion, and right now, we need a new approach to our problem. I’m not saying we won’t ask you back, but for now—”
“I have a great deal of experience,” Lebec said.
Matt stuck to his guns. “It’s our home, and we want to try something else.”
“Carissa?” Lebec bleated.
Perhaps trying to avert another clash with his wife, Matt’s tone became more conciliatory. “We appreciate your help, Madame Lebec, and we might need it again, but for now—”
“What does this man have?” Lebec asked, tossing her chin at Berg. “Better yet, how many years of experience does this woman have? Doyle, is it?”
“This is my sixth case,” I said.
Carissa gave a small gasp. “Sixth?”
Lebec snorted. “Enough said. Neither of you know what we’re dealing with.”
“That’s fair,” Berg said. “We don’t know yet, but we will.”
“And then? You can’t begin to comprehend the scope of it, Mr. Bergland.”
“Comprehending the scope is my strong suit, Mrs. Lebec.”
“You’re a minister,” Lebec hissed.
“Retired,” Berg corrected.
Once more Lebec pleaded her case by fastening her hooks in Carissa. “Did you know he was a minister? He’s not even Catholic.”
Carissa looked confused. “Why should he be Catholic?”
“That’s the way it’s supposed to be,” Lebec went on. “Worst of all, he doesn’t believe in ghosts.”
“Quite right,” Berg said.
“Then how will you drive them out?” Lebec challenged. “You can’t fight something you don’t believe in. Are you aware of this church’s reputation? It’s a dangerous place, and the Petersons have two children.”
She was doing her level best to frighten Carissa, and I’d had enough of it. “We’re aware the family has children, and we’re trying to settle this by the time Liam and Sophie return.”
Lebec cackled. “This from someone with a whole five cases under her belt. You don’t believe in ghosts either, I’d lay money on it. How do you banish spirits if you don’t believe in them? You’re not a medium, I knew that the second I saw you.”
“You’ve got that right,” I said.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Carissa give Matt a helpless look. Ordinarily Berg would leave under such contentious circumstances. If he didn’t have a family’s full support, there was no point.
But I sensed he refused to abandon Carissa to this huckster—and to whatever evil lay behind the Petersons’ experiences in the church.
Berg cleared his throat, drawing all eyes his way. “Mrs. Lebec, give us an opportunity to resolve the issue, and if we can’t, you can take over. Give us three days—until Monday morning. Is that fair?”
“Three?” Carissa griped.
“Three days?” Lebec said, piggybacking on Carissa’s complaint. “While spirits infest this building? Why should I hang around like a beggar for three days?”
“Because should we fail, you wouldn’t w
ant to leave the Petersons in the lurch. You would never do that.”
Lebec was struck dumb. What could she say without sounding like the scam artist she was?
“So it looks like we’ve come to an agreement,” Matt said. “Madame Lebec, we’ll phone in three days if we need you, and I’m sure you understand when I say I hope we don’t. Thanks for stopping by.” He strode to the front doors, putting an end to the conversation.
Berg and I followed them both, Lebec throwing agitated glances at us over her shoulder. Carissa, looking supremely uncomfortable, left her husband to deal with the goodbyes and walked back up the hall in the direction of the kitchen.
Matt opened one side of the church’s double doors, but Lebec lingered inside.
“So you’re not a medium,” she said, “but are you a psychic, Teagan?”
Apparently she’d assessed me as the weak one in my two-person herd.
“Never cared to be.”
“What will you do when you encounter a disturbed soul?”
I shrugged. “It wouldn’t be my first encounter with a disturbed soul.”
Matt coughed.
“Is that supposed to be amusing?” Lebec asked. “And you, Bergland. You’re not even a minister anymore, let alone a priest. What does an old ex-minister know?”
“I’m a retired, small-time minister of a small-time, nondenominational church, yes. We’ve established that. Can you tell me something?”
“Undoubtedly.”
“What makes you think the body Matt found was a priest?”
Lebec blanched. “I heard it was—or read about it. I think I read it somewhere.”
“The police haven’t released the man’s identity or description,” Berg said. “For now it’s anyone’s guess who he is.”
“I knew a priest went missing from this church, so I put two and two together,” Lebec retorted. “I remember reading about his disappearance when I researched the Petersons’ new home. I’m thorough in my preparations. You dare insinuate that—”
“Well, thank you again,” Matt said, pushing the door wider.
Chasing Angels (Teagan Doyle Mysteries Book 1) Page 4
