Murder Comes Calling

by Raven Snow

  “Where should we do this?” asked Willow.

  “In the den.” Rowen had given the matter a lot of thought. “That’s probably the best place to start. We’ll try another room if we don’t get any answers there.”

  Willow led the way to the den. She seemed to know her way around in the dark well enough, having been to the house during daylight. She placed the flashlight down first, then the Ouija board. It had been a while since Rowen had felt the need to use one. Usually, Rowen could sense spirits just fine without needing the board as a conduit. Here, however, it was clear that Bertha had moved on. That didn’t mean there weren’t other spirits to contact, other spirits that might have seen what happened. This was a very old house, after all.

  “Do you know who we’re looking for?” asked Peony, going to sit by her sister. She tucked her legs under her skirt and hugged herself. With no one living in the house and the heat being off, it was freezing. It was easy to see how an elderly person might have frozen to death.

  “Not by name,” said Rowen, sitting as well. “We’re looking for anyone willing to talk with us. Hopefully, we can stir someone up.”

  “Hopefully,” Willow echoed. “I’m going to be mad if you dragged us all the way out here for nothing.”

  “If I dragged you all the way out here for nothing, I’ll owe you a favor.”

  “Hmm.” A faint smile flitted across Willow’s lips. She reached for the planchette.

  “I want a favor,” Peony mumbled.

  “You’ll both get favors. Now, let’s do this, okay?” Rowen nodded to the board. As annoying as her cousins could be, she still remembered why she had brought them along in the first place. They were definitely doing their jobs. She didn’t have a chance to feel sorry for herself. She settled her own fingers lightly on the planchette. All the flashlights were pointing in its direction, illuminating everything enough to easily make out the letters.

  Rowen took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She took a few more of those deep and cleansing breaths, giving her cousins a chance to do the same. As difficult as they could be, they knew the drill. This was something they had all done many times in the past. It was difficult to concentrate, difficult to totally clear the mind in the cold. Hopefully it didn’t prove to be too much of a distraction.

  Rowen opened her eyes and looked down at her naked fingers, willing them not to shiver. “Hello,” she said, speaking from the diaphragm and letting her voice echo off the walls. “Is there anyone with us tonight?” she asked the empty house, looking around in the darkness slowly. Sometimes she could sense movement or a presence. It was difficult to sense things in older houses, specific things anyway. There were many emotions in old houses. There was a lot vying for attention all at once. It could be nearly impossible to single things out. That was a large reason why Rowen was using the board. She was hoping there was an actual spirit among those emotions.

  “How long are we going to wait?” asked Willow, glancing up from the planchette.

  “Longer than this,” Rowen grumbled back at her. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Is there anyone here with us?”

  Again, there was no answer. The house was as quiet, still, and cold as ever. The emotions there swirled.

  Rowen wanted answers. More than that, she didn’t want to owe her cousins any favors. “I’m Rowen. With me are Peony and Willow. They’re my cousins. I’m the daughter of Desmond, Desmond Trainer.” She wasn’t sure that would make a difference, but it was worth a try. “Is there anyone here? Anyone at all?”

  The planchette moved. It was just a small jerk upward. It could have easily been a twitch from Willow or Peony. It could have even been a byproduct from Rowen’s own shivering. She held her breath and watched, hopeful it was indeed someone attempting to communicate. Rowen released the breath she had been holding when the planchette moved to “YES.”

  Willow swore quietly. She had been hoping for that favor. Rowen made a mental note to do something nice for her cousins soon anyway.

  “Who is this?” asked Rowen.

  The planchette was still for a few seconds before moving. S, T, E, L, L, A.

  “Hello, Stella. Are you someone from the Trainer family?”

  YES. The movements of the planchette were strong now. It jerked quickly beneath Rowen’s fingers. The spirit was getting the hang of things. Rowen still couldn’t sense her presence in the room, but she would settle for this.

  “Were you here the night Bertha died?”

  YES.

  “Did you see what happened?”

  There wasn’t a response that came immediately. The planchette sat there motionless while Rowen frowned at it, waiting. Rowen began to worry that the spirit had faded away, back into the corners of the house. She opened her mouth to repeat her question when the planchette slid sideways. M… I… The planchette slid between letters slowly, uncertain.

  “Did you only see part of what happened?” asked Rowen, rephrasing the question.

  YES.

  “In your opinion, did someone murder Bertha Trainer?”

  YES.

  Rowen could feel her pulse pounding in her ears. “Did someone let her freeze to death on purpose?”

  YES.

  “Was…” Rowen found her mouth incredibly dry. She swallowed and darted her tongue out along her lips. It didn’t help. She took a deep breath. That didn’t help either. Her pulse was still pounding. It was louder than ever, pounding away in her chest and making her stomach churn. She had to get the words out. They were making her see stars stuck in her head. “Was my father there that night?” she asked. “My father is Desmond Trainer,” she added quickly, just in case that was unclear.

  The planchette was motionless for a handful of silent and terrible seconds. Rowen wasn’t sure she could ask the question a second time without her voice quivering. She was about to anyway when the planchette finally moved.

  NO.

  “Good, good, good,” Rowen breathed out on her exhale. She shouldn’t care. Desmond wasn’t family, not really. He wasn’t even a good person. That much had been established already. “Who was it then?”

  GOODBYE

  Rowen stared at the planchette as it hit the bottom of the board. “I asked another question,” she said, just in case Stella hadn’t heard. “Who killed Bertha? Who murdered her?”

  Despite the goodbye, the planchette still moved. D… E… S… NO. GOODBYE. NO. The planchette was jerked this way and that. It was near impossible to follow and even harder to move her hands along with the snatches of messages. It wasn’t long before the planchette left the board completely, sliding sideways so fast it flew right off the board and into the wall a few feet away.

  “Well,” said Peony, sitting back on her heels and placing her hands on her lap.

  “It looks to me like there are several spirits around,” said Willow, looking around them like she might suddenly spot a ghost with her naked eye. “They all have different opinions too. That’s weird.”

  “Not really,” said Peony with a shrug. “If I was a ghost and my family murdered someone… I dunno. I might do that.”

  “Do what?” asked Willow, frowning at her sister. “Make things all complicated? You should just say who murdered who.”

  “Well, it would depend on who was murdered and who did the murdering.” Peony said all of that a little quieter, like she had realized the morality of it was questionable at best. “What? I’m sorry. I would.”

  Willow nodded, like that made perfect sense. “Oh, I get it. Like, if I killed Margo.”

  “No! I’d turn you in.”

  “Why? What if she was doing something annoying?”

  “You can’t kill her because she’s annoying. She’s always annoying.”

  “Quiet down, you two.” Rowen crawled over to the wall and returned with the planchette. She held it in her hands, not sure what to do with it. It seemed like Peony and Willow were right. There were several spirits around them, and they had differing opinions. That was probl
ematic, to say the least. It rendered the piece of wood in her hands pretty useless.

  “Are we going to try again?” asked Willow, eying the planchette.

  “I don’t know that it would do us a lot of good.” Rowen closed her eyes. For one last time, she reached out. She probed for a spirit with her own abilities, not using the Ouija board this time. They had stirred up a lot of activity, but that didn’t mean a whole lot. If anything, it made matters more complicated than ever. Rowen was good with the dead, but she could make neither heads nor tails of what were spirits and what was emotion, what was a spirit trying to lie to her and which was telling the truth. Only one thing was clear. Only one emotion seemed to be agreed upon. Bertha’s death in this house had not been an accident. Someone had adjusted the thermostat on purpose.

  Chapter Eleven

  “This is a bad idea,” Eric said again. Rowen had lost count of how many times he had said those words. They were in the high twenties, surely.

  “It’s a little late to turn around now.” They were already driving through the countryside. Not that Rowen had been willing to back down at the front door either. Eric had been trying to get her to turn around since before they left.

  “I don’t see how any good can come of this.” Eric slouched down in the passenger’s seat, arms crossed over his chest. Rowen could already see him biting down on future ‘I-told-you-so’s.’

  “There’s not anything good that can come from any of this anyway,” Rowen reminded him, in case he had somehow forgotten how terrible the past week had been. “I need answers.”

  “You really don’t. The police have nearly dropped this. The news is dropping it. You’re the only one keeping on about it. Let it go. Move on.”

  “I told you what I heard.”

  “You didn’t hear anything. You got a mixed message from a Ouija board, which isn’t the most reliable source of-”

  “Eric,” Rowen snapped. She didn’t like snapping at her husband, but she was tired of him saying the same thing over and over. “I need answers,” she said again. “I have to try. Let me at least try. I’ll be haunted forever otherwise. Do you want a wife that’s haunted forever? Hmm?”

  Eric sighed noisily. “Seems to me like I’ve got a haunted wife regardless. You’d sooner listen to a ghost than me.”

  “Eric.”

  “I’m not grabbing the wheel and trying to force you to pull over, am I? You do what you have to do, but I don’t have to like it.”

  Rowen didn’t say anything else, lest she provoke Eric into expounding further on precisely how he didn’t like any of this. He had tried to stop her this morning when she told him it was time for her to speak with the women of the Trainer family. They were the only two to be there the night of Bertha’s death that she hadn’t spoken with directly. Eric had been quick to fight her on that, tell her what a lousy idea it was. The Trainers were trying to move on, he’d said. Given that Lacie and Kate didn’t seem to like her much to begin with, going to speak with them was just about the worst idea Rowen had had this week. Of course, he wouldn’t be able to stop Rowen and he knew it. He might be able to keep her from going out the door, but she would go on her own sooner or later. The only difference would be that it would be without him. He seemed to think that the version of events where he tagged along was the lesser of two evils.

  ***

  The stables where Lacie worked were near the borders of Lainswich. There was a hilly region there, the foothills of a mountain that wasn’t entirely in their borders. Rowen had never been there before. She had never even ridden a horse before. She’d had an interest in them as a kid. What little girl didn’t? There hadn’t been money for horses, though. Instead, it was learning about nature spirits and spell ingredients. All things considered, that had probably been a pretty enviable childhood as well.

  “Have you ever ridden a horse?” asked Rowen.

  “What?” Eric laughed. He must have pieced together what she’d asked and found the question so random as to be humorous. “Yeah. When I was a kid my parents had me play polo.”

  “Ah. Rich person sports.”

  “I’m sorry I ever had money.”

  Rowen purposely rolled her eyes, though she could feel herself smiling. She squinted at the horizon. “There it is.”

  Sure enough, the stable came into view a few seconds later. There was what looked to be a sprawling campground, sun filtering in through the trees. Further off there was a lodge and several barn-like structures. Rowen could make out a fenced in ring with more direct sunlight. A horse with a shiny black coat was meandering around in the confines of the ring. Someone sat on the wooden fence with their back to the animal, head angled down at something in their hand, likely a cell phone.

  There were a few cars parked in a square of gravel to the right of the paved road on which Rowen was driving. She veered off and parked there. The person on the fence glanced up when they did so but didn’t make a move toward them or the barn.

  Rowen reached into the back seat and grabbed the plate of brownies she’d brought along. They were on a floral plate wrapped in cellophane. Not that Rowen had actually taken the time to cook them herself. They were store bought and repackaged. She’d had one in the process of transferring them over to the plate. They tasted fine. Maybe no one would notice.

  “Are you sure about this?” asked Eric. It seemed he was set on giving the talking Rowen down thing one last shot.

  In response, Rowen got out of the car and shut the door hard. Eric sighed noisily behind her as she walked toward the barn. No one had come out to greet them yet. The person on the fence was still watching them. Rowen wasn’t quite sure what to make of that.

  As Rowen got closer, she realized that the figure on the fence was female. To be more precise, it was Kate, the Trainers’ daughter. She had her bleached hair pulled back. Her skinny jeans were tucked into her riding boots and her open flannel shirt fluttered in the wind behind her. “What are you doing here?” she asked once Rowen was close enough to hear. There was a scowl on her face, but then again, there was always a scowl on her face.

  “I was looking for your mother.” Rowen raised the plate of brownies like they perfectly communicated why she was seeking out Mrs. Trainer. “Do you know where she is?”

  Kate pointed to the lodge. “She’s at the front desk,” she said before looking back down at her phone.

  “Thanks.” Rowen made a point to smile even though Kate didn’t bother looking up again. “I brought brownies. Don’t suppose you want one.”

  “Ew, no.” Kate still didn’t bother looking up

  Rowen tried not to take that personally. Kate was a scrawny-looking teen. She probably said no to sweets as a general rule. “All right, well, thanks.” Rowen headed for the lodge. She let herself in, taking care not to let the screen door bang shut.

  “That you, Chester?” called a woman from behind a counter.

  “No,” Rowen said. “Not quite. It’s Rowen Greensmith and my husband, Eric.”

  “Hey,” Eric said when his name was mentioned, looking around for another human face in the seemingly empty lodge.

  Lacie’s head popped up from behind the counter. Her sparse brows were drawn together in incredulous surprise. Her head moved as she looked Rowen up and down and then back up, like there was a law of nature that should have prevented her from standing there. “Why are you here?”

  Rowen raised the plate, angling it a bit so that Lacie could better see her peace offering. “I can’t help but feel like we got started on the wrong foot. I just wanted to make sure you knew that I’ve spoken with my father and tried to get him to do the right thing. There’s just not a whole lot I can do. I’d never really met the man until last week. He’s not a great guy… Though, I’m sure you probably already knew that.”

  “I did.” Lacie was standing now. She hadn’t come around the counter. She stood on the other side of it, her arms crossed and her expression hard to read. She probably didn’t much care about any excuses o
r explanations Rowen could give her. “Why didn’t you go to the house? Why bother me at work?”

  Rowen had prepared for that question. “It feels like I only ever get to talk to your son or your husband that way. I couldn’t help but get the feeling that you were angry with me. I want to talk, woman to woman. I wanted to make sure there weren’t any misunderstandings between us.”

  “This is because of the Channel 2 interview.” That wasn’t a question. Lacie shook her head. “I didn’t have anything to do with that. They took advantage of my girl. They had questions and she was more than happy to answer them. She’s angry about all this and has every right to be. She lost her great aunt and all.”

  Rowen nodded in agreement, not sure how else she was supposed to take that statement. “Of course. I’m sorry for her loss. I’m sorry for the whole family’s loss. I wish I’d gotten to meet the woman. It’s a shame I only found out about our relationship now.”

  “Consider yourself lucky. The woman was a royal pain.” Lacie motioned Rowen around behind the counter before taking a seat again.

  Rowen walked around to the other side of the counter. There were three desks behind it. Two were empty. The one Lacie sat at was laden with a computer and framed pictures of her family. There was only one Rowen saw that had Bertha in it. It looked like some sort of family reunion. There were at least a dozen people all standing together in front of a park bench. “I made you brownies,” said Rowen, holding out the plate. She wasn’t entirely sure what to say after hearing Lacie’s true opinion about the deceased.. Rowen supposed that was the stereotype, that most people didn’t much like their in-laws. She hadn’t expected to hear such a thing from Lacie. It was especially disarming to hear after the woman had been so cold to her.