Too bad I wasn’t embarrassed about sex. I couldn’t speak for Julian and I hoped Stella got this out of her system before he returned, but as for me, I gave, ironically, zero fucks. “Bit odd, isn’t it? Listening in on two people fucking? Laptop out of charge or something? I thought everyone was watching a movie upstairs.”
Stella’s thin lips crimped into a moue of distaste. “I was working. Editing this shit show into something marketable. Jacob’s ideas are laughable at best. Who the Hell wants another ghost hunting show? No, but it’ll be high stakes, he says.” She took a deep drag on her cigarette and exhaled noisily through her nose. “Men,” she pronounced carefully and loudly, “are pathetic animals led by their dicks. All CeCe,” she spat the name like lemon pith on her tongue, “had to do was tell him she thought it was a marvelous idea and had just the medium in mind, and here we are. In the middle of a career-ending shit show.”
“Not that I don’t appreciate your candor,” I said dryly, “but why the Hell are you vomiting this at me?” Usually it was dead people who got chatty with me. The living tended to either treat me like a child or give me the widest berth possible. Maybe that’s part of the reason I found Julian such an antidote—he treated me like a man. A man who confused him and sometimes annoyed him, but a man.
She bared her teeth, not even bothering to pretend it was a smile. “Because I’m pulling out of this production. And the company,” she added. “The network thinks it’s shit anyway.” She brandished her phone at me, a link to a video already queued up, which made me think she’d been hoping to corner Julian, Ezra, or me before the evening went pear-shaped. “Even with Jacob’s drama added, it’s shit.” She sniffed imperiously and waved me away when I tried to hand it back to her. “Watch it. Just leave it on Jacob’s desk when you’re done. It’s a company phone anyway and I’m not taking it with me.”
I stood in the drizzling rain while Stella did her best stomp off, the heavy front door not suited to a good slam behind her but she gave it a good try. “Are you there, god? It’s me, Oscar,” I murmured to the pre-dawn sky. “Mind giving me a head’s up next time you decide to make things exceedingly migraine-inducing?” I took a final drag off my cigarette, stubbing it out in the dirt before shoving the butt back into the cellophane of the nearly empty pack. I picked up Stella’s discarded butt as well—of course she’d be the sort to just drop them in the grass and leave them there. Her phone was heavy in my hand, a tickle of suspicion, of awareness that whatever she wanted me to see was not just poorly shot footage or a boring show but something damaging, something hurtful, burning at the edges of my thoughts. I shut the front door behind me with a shade more decorum than she’d managed and made may way past the few clusters of people still up and talking through their adrenaline rush. Ezra was back in his room, I knew for certain. He’d looked like the walking dead after the ambulance had left, lurching past me without a backwards glance. I wasn’t going to watch Stella’s nasty surprise without him, both as moral support and as the person I trusted most in the world, living or dead. He’d be able to help me figure out how to proceed, I knew. No, not just me. How we should proceed. I’m not in this alone. The not-so-distant memory of accusations, nasty comments about being greedy and how I should just do seances for free, how I was a grubbing slag for charging people who wanted me to do parties and appear at events, burned fresh in my mind and made me want to go to my own room and either cry or tear something apart—I wasn’t sure which yet. Instead, I detoured to the kitchen. If I was going to have a war conference with Ezra, we’d need fortifications.
“Oh.”
Ernest looked, in a word, disconcerted. A tea cup and the pot that went with it were wrapped in a towel, smashed at his feet. “I…I’m cleaning it up,” he said defensively. “It’s not getting all over.”
“What are you even doing here?” I asked. It was still pre-dawn, the sky a deep blue but not light enough to truly call day yet. Ernest straightened, jerking his chin defiantly, daring me to question him further. Little did he know how few fucks I had to give. “Did you come in here just to destroy the kitchen? What the Hell?” I moved closer, eyeing the towel of broken pottery spilling it’s shards from one end. The camp stove was hooked up again, I noticed, and I could smell the astringent odor of the camp fuel. “Christ!” I pushed past him, heedless of the crunch beneath my boots, and grabbed the canister, unscrewing it from the fuel line. “What the hell are you thinking?”
He shook his head and for the first time I noticed how gray he looked, washed out. “You need to sit,” I ordered, shoving a chair at him through the pile of debris he’d managed to gather up. He shook his head again, eyes wide and red-rimmed as he stared around the kitchen. Wordlessly, he stomped his foot down on the towel at his feet, the muted crunch of the plates breaking loud in the pre-dawn quiet. “Mr. Ernest, let’s go to the study, okay? I think you need to be anywhere else.”
“She didn’t mean to kill him,” he said quietly. “I know that much. He was a good one, telling me so.” He turned in a slow circle, face creasing in confusion. “The other one, he’s not as nice. Stronger, could see him better. That one,” he turned back to face me, his jaw set and voice trembling. “That one killed that little girl.”
“What little girl?” I demanded. I’d sensed no children’s spirits but that didn’t mean anything. I couldn’t sense what wasn’t there.
“Oh, not like you’re thinking,” he scolded. “Sweet young thing. Dressed up like she was goin’ to a city job.” He shook his head, his chin drooping to his chest as if his neck were suddenly unable to support his skull. “I’m so tired,” he sighed. “It’s been a long night. But when I knew her evil was workin’ again… Well, I had to try. It’s the right thing, isn’t it?”
He sounded so sad, so tinged with desperation, that I nodded. “Of course you had to try. Come on, let’s get out of here and we’ll try to figure out what to do next.”
“Oh, I know what to do next,” he said quietly. “Now I gotta go lay down a bit, don’t I?”
“Do you. Mr. Ernest?” I had hold of his arm and was guiding him slowly towards the kitchen door. “I think that’s a capital idea.”
“Capital,” he chuckled, already sounding sleepy. “Well, don’t that make it sound nice.”
“I heard the commotion,” Stella announced loudly. She was standing in the middle of the corridor, blocking it like some jerk-face avenging angel. “The cops will be here soon.”
That was the worst possible thing to say. Mr. Ernest proceeded to, and I’m going to use a very scientific term here, lose his shit.
“Cold blooded bitch.”
I startled. The words hadn’t come from me, and they definitely hadn’t been the maid, who was still drifting nearby, though she did look amused. A young, red-haired woman stood at my elbow, glaring into the study where Charlie and I had herded everyone who’d been downstairs to keep them safe while Ernest went absolutely bananas on the kitchen. Again. “Oh, another one,” I sighed. “You’re too recent to be a Hendricks.”
She shot me a jaunty salute. “You’re good. I’d heard you were, but it’s nice to verify that in person. Though it sucks I had to be on this side of things to witness it,” she sighed. “Where’s Doctor Weems?”
“There was an emergency,” I said. “He went with his sister. Who are you? Are you related to him?” It wasn’t uncommon for a ghost to attach to a relative, or even a beloved family” friend. The red head looked nothing like Julian or CeCe but that didn’t rule out a cousin, perhaps, or an adopted family member.
“Not related,” she said, motioning for me to close the door. The others were distracted enough not to notice I hadn’t joined them, except Stella who watched me with a gimlet eye. I took pleasure in shutting the door on her smug glare. “And I know about CeCe. Do you know if she’s going to be okay?”
The maid had moved closer. She and the young woman were practically touching but they seemed to be on different frequencies, so to speak. The maid was pale, h
er color washed thin by time and lack of energy to draw on. The red head was vibrant and, had I not known she was dead, I’d have supposed her to be one of the crew. I could see each individual freckle on her nose and cheeks, the silver glint of her tongue ring as she spoke. “I don’t know yet. Julian hasn’t called… Shit, maybe he has, but my phone’s dead.”
She made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “Look, the thing is, shit’s going down on this side of things. Like big time. My boss…” she trailed off and made a face. “Ugh. I hope he’s not still my boss on this side. He’s so slimy. I haven’t seen him since… Well. Since things went bad for me personally. Anyway. My boss was looking into Paul Hendricks. You know.” She winked at me, grinning like we shared a secret. “Except he wasn’t being as nice about it as you are. But she,” she motioned for the maid to move closer, “she’s been trying to tell people for years that she’s sorry and she didn’t mean it, and Paul Hendricks is way gone. Like… never even lingered.” She shrugged. “Just went,” she made a choking sound and stuck out her tongue, rolled her eyes back in her head, and twitched from head to toe, “and was gone, zoomed away into the light. Isn’t that right, Mandy?” Mandy looked a little amused as she nodded.
Upstairs, something crashed. It was heavy and loud, shaking the floor above us. Screams shot up from the study and the door flew open to reveal Charlie, eyes wild. “Dude!”
“Oh, hey! It’s Charlie! Hey Charlie! Can you hear me yet? It’s me, Annie!” the red head cheered. “I was hoping he’d come back!” Charlie didn’t seem to hear her but he did that tiny head tilt thing people do when they think they might have heard something but aren’t really sure. “He’s so hot when he—” She paused. “Well. I can fill you in on that later. I mean, not a lot to do when you’re dead and stuck here so you kind of wait for things like hot naked guys taking a shower and—” The maid reached out and pinched her. I don’t know if Annie felt it, but she did stop chattering.
“Everyone stay in the study,” I ordered. “Charlie, wait for the cops at the door. I’ll be back down soon. Ish.” Another crash sounded from the kitchen. “That’s not Ernest upstairs.”
“What if it’s a burglar?” Charlie called. “Or a serial killer?”
“It’s so not,” Annie muttered, already waiting one landing up.
“It’s not. It’s just a ghost having a temper tantrum,” I assured him, galloping up the stairs as another crash, this one decidedly full of glass, sounded from the second floor.
“You know that’s not really reassuring, right?” Charlie called. I pretended like I didn’t see him following me, camera in hand. The doors to the billiard room and the study were open, the battery operated lanterns glaringly bright. Broken furniture spilled into the corridor. “Shit…”
The maid and Annie were nowhere to be seen, or felt. Had they been scared off? Glass broke in the study again and I waved Charlie back, picking my way carefully through the debris in the corridor till I reached the doorway. Every glass and bottle from the small drinks cart, one of those cheesy globe-shaped things, was scattered across the floor. The cart itself was on it’s side, smashed to bits before the hearth. Like someone had picked it up and thrown it. The room smelled overwhelmingly of peaches and almonds, cloying and half-bad. Sweet enough to make me want to gag. “We’re going to be the police department Christmas party story,” I sighed. “I just know it.”
The local police were less than thrilled to be out at six in the morning, especially while the roads were still sketchy and they had a stack of calls from Bettina residents to deal with, everything from wild animals trying to get into garages thanks to the high water to domestic disputes after days of forced proximity with in-laws and other relatives. “Jesus,” one of the officers, a stocky young woman with hair the color of wheat, sighed as she took in the sight of Ernest, sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor, surrounded by debris and staring off into space. “Fred Ernest. Goddamn it. Les, call the chief, let him know it’s legit and we need an ambulance.” Les, tall and reedy where his partner was short and square, nodded and, with a shaking hand, called the chief. Presumably. I don’t know. He walked off to make the call. “We’re gonna need to ask some questions,” the first officer, Barton according to her name tag, said. “Who found him?”
“That would be me.” She nodded and had me follow her to the library while Les took the others back to the study.
“You’re the medium, huh?” she asked without preamble. She didn’t even bother to take out a notepad or a recorder.
Great. It was gonna be like that then. “Yes, officer. I am. Oscar Fellowes.”
“This haunted house stuff is bullshit,” she opined, glancing around the library. The maid sat at the desk, one brow arched in a way that would’ve made Dame Maggie Smith proud. She settled her gaze on me again and added, “It’s the conservatory that’s haunted.” Hello. “Took a call on it a few weeks ago. Ernest, in fact. Said he saw some lights out there, heard voices. We got out and the place hadn’t been opened in ages. Lock was rusted shut and everything.”
“She didn’t check hard enough,” Annie murmured. Only years of practice kept me from startling when she whispered in my ear. “There’s a smaller access door meant for servants located on the orchard side of the conservatory. Just… you know, an FYI. Just in case you felt snoopy.”
Officer Barton was still talking. “So when you found Mr. Ernest, was he already in his current state, or was he talking and mobile?”
I thought of his strangeness, how he seemed to be physically in front of me but a thousand miles away in his mind. “He seemed a bit off,” I allowed.
“And did you try to ask him what happened?” Her eyes narrowed. “Or did you just sit back and watch until Ms. Sparks called us?”
“I tried to get him to leave the kitchen a few times before he finally would move,” I said. I hesitated, and she caught it. I didn’t know how to explain to her what I was thinking, how to make her understand I wasn’t crazy or under the influence or any of the other things people thought when I spoke of ghosts and spirits and all that can happen when working with them, even without realizing you do. “He seemed off,” I repeated.
Barton nodded curtly. “I see. And about what time was that?”
“Just before five?”
“You don’t sound sure.”
“I didn’t look at my watch.”
“What happened to the rooms upstairs? It looks like someone had the mother of all hissy fits.”
“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “We heard crashing a bit ago, after we’d called you lot, and when I went upstairs with Charlie—the hippie looking bloke with the camera—we found the rooms trashed.”
“I see. And is there anyone else in the house, other than the people in the study?”
“My friend and business partner Ezra Baxter. But he’s ill and in bed.”
“Is he now…” She glanced up at the ceiling. “We’ll be speaking with him, too.” The look she gave me was challenging, daring me to disagree, but I just nodded. I’d go up there with them, to make sure Ezra could handle it, but I knew telling them to hold off wouldn’t end well for either of us.
Les appeared in the doorway, holding an evidence bag. Shit. Stella’s phone. “This belong to you, Mr. Fellowes?”
“It’s Stella’s. She’s the assistant producer and I suppose the one in charge right now. Jacob Grant is the producer and he’s still in Bettina, as far as I know. Business meeting,” I added when Officer Barton started to ask. “He needed to use the hotel’s conference room.”
She grunted. “Did they get Mr. Ernest situated?” Les nodded, looking decidedly green. “Don’t go far. Mr. Fellowes. We’ll have more questions on behalf of the coroner in the next day or so.”
I sank back against the sofa as they went to speak with everyone in the study. The maid moved from the desk to the bookshelf, giving me a commiserating look, and I felt the cold-sharp touch of the young woman’s fingers on my arm when she gave me a pat. “Fuck,”
I groaned. “What the hell.”
“Mr. Hendricks is angry that you’re not listening to him,” Annie said. “Mandy says he gets like that sometimes. Always has.”
“Mandy?” I followed Annie’s head tilt to see the maid waving her fingers at me. “Why can’t I hear her?”
Annie’s smile was sad. “Not my business to tell you. And don’t give me that look—I figure I’m going to be like this for a long time. Better not to start getting a rep as a blabbermouth when everyone in my new neighborhood can make me miserable for eternity if they got a mind to.” She sighed and leaned into me like she wanted to bump shoulders. Instead, I just got a sharp chill through my chest and hip. “Look, I know I’m being all cryptic and shit but it’s not like being a ghost now makes me able to read minds. I can only pass on what others tell me or what I see for myself. And what I’ve seen for myself is this Matthew Hendricks dude going ham on the billiard room more than once. He’s pissed about something in there, but I don’t know what. And I can only tell you that Mandy is sorry for something she’s done. I don’t know what it is. I can guess but it’d just be that, a guess. If you want to get more concrete answers, I suggest that you—”
“Mr. Fellowes?”
Officer Barton stood in the doorway, giving me an odd look I knew too well. The were you just talking to an imaginary friend, sweetie expression that had followed me since childhood. “Yes, mam?”
“We’re heading out now but we’ll be in touch. I suggest you charge your phone.” She glanced behind her at the foyer and shook her head. “Swear to god. This place attracts the weirdos. Remember what I said, though. It’s not the house. It’s that damned conservatory. Hell, next time you get to town, ask Laura at the library about Senior Prom 96. Wild fucking stuff, man.” She shook her head again and, with one more pointed look at the empty space beside me, left.
Bump in the Night Page 16