by Jill Cooper
It makes me almost wish I stayed behind to argue with my parents some more about my ‘attitude’ problem and how I needed a quick adjustment. That wasn’t fun, but at least it was safe.
I step over the fence and approach the drawing-room. The walls are all glass and inside are delicate pieces of furniture that look so old, they must belong in a museum. And the ivory door is definitely open.
Thanks, Winnie.
I feel guilty for using her to gain access to her house, but I can apologize for it later. Maybe find a way to make it up to her.
I push on the door and gently close it behind me, making sure it doesn’t latch shut. I locate Jackson’s study on the first floor, and it’s over by the stairs. It’s hidden in an alcove that I probably would have never spotted if I wasn’t getting help. I follow the corridor out of the drawing-room and the electric candles lining the wall flicker.
Voices come from the study, and I draw near, putting my ear to the door. “I really don’t want to have this conversation again.” The voice is Jackson’s, and he sounds exhausted and withdrawn. “What more do you want from me? We’re married. Everything I have is yours.”
“I want a present husband and father. Now isn’t the time to be skipping out on events. That girl Maxx was murdered, and we both need to be present at her wake.”
“Why? We don’t even know her. Who cares if I skip one event? Give me some peace Carolyn.”
“Peace? Am I so hard to live with? To love? Jackson? Can’t you even look at me anymore?”
“Leave it alone,” Jackson begs. “Just…find someone else to bother.”
Carolyn draws a deep breath. “Why could you never love me the same way you loved her? Why? You disgust me!”
I turn away from the door, uncomfortable with the conversation. A scent of electric heat seems to come off the walls, and this time, I smell lavender. Amber’s with me. I’m pretty sure of it. I try to keep my fear at bay and pause at Jackson’s study. Her ghost appears in the center of the hall, flickering like the picture is out of focus. Her hair obscures her face, but her dress is clear. I think it’s white with lace.
The misinformation that she died in her prom dress colored my perceptions. It’s not a pink prom dress at all. It’s a long white wedding dress. I struggle to call out to her, fear mounting in my chest. A moment later, she disappears and appears further down the hall, away from the front door. She wants me to follow her.
My legs tremble, but I do. She leads me around the corner and points down a set of stairs that must go into the basement. I’m terrified. Following the ghost into the creepy basement is the worst piece of advice I can think of. I would shout at anyone who did that if I saw it in the movie, but here I am—moving forward.
I go down the creaky steps and turn on my phone’s flashlight. It illuminates the door at the bottom, and as I reach for it, it swings open. And yup, it squeals. If Amber is trying to scare me, she’s doing a fine job of it. I remind myself that Amber is my mother. It’s a surreal moment, and it makes me want to cry.
I love the parents I have. Yet I mourn the mother I lost so long ago.
Would Amber’s ghost really want to hurt me? I would think she’d want to help me. I cling to the fact that her consciousness hasn’t been twisted with decades of hate and vengeful thoughts thanks to her untimely death.
The door slams shut behind me. I jolt and run down the last of the basement steps until I meet the dirt floor and move my flashlight around. The wall in front of me has a rack of boxes and supplies. I can go left toward storage, or I can go right. Amber appears to the right, and she’s pointing at something far in the back of the room.
I follow and walk around her ghostly visage. She’s stationary, but through the veil of hair I’m staring at a stack of paintings against the wall. Above them are shelves of folded towels and sheets. I can’t imagine what it is she wants me to find.
“What is it?” I whisper.
She’s unmoving. Unflinching. But a low growl comes deep from within her. If she’s getting impatient, I don’t have any more time left to lose, do I? An angry spirit is a vengeful spirit. I go through the paintings. They are clearly originals with oil paintbrush strokes, and for all I know, they are priceless, but given how they’re stored, I think that’s probably unlikely. Some of them are of the sunset, twin children in old-fashioned clothes from maybe the early 1900s, and I find one of Jackson and Amber.
Jackson is handsome, and I’m struck by how different he looks. Hopeful, glad, bright-eyed, and nothing like the sad man I’ve met. He seems like he has given up on life, and I wonder what it would be like to find true love so young only to have it taken away.
Amber is vibrant, and her skin appears to glow right off the canvas with perfect apple cheeks, and soft hair curled around her shoulders, and her bangs fall right to her brow line. Her eyes sparkle with mischief, and her lacy dress is impeccable. They’re holding hands, appearing so happy and relaxed with each other. It looks nothing like a staged portrait but more of a candid shot.
I feel despair for the two in the painting, who had no idea the tragedy that awaited them. They were rushing toward it. If only it could’ve been stopped.
Beautiful and sad, but I don’t know what Amber wanted to show me. “I don’t understand,” I whisper.
Amber flickers, drawing closer to me and to the paintings. The vengeance builds in me, but it’s coming from Amber. It builds to the point where I grab my chest, feeling like I’m going to explode when she rushes me and screams. Her face fills my vision, and it’s ghastly, a skeleton, nothing human left at all.
I scream as she travels through me, and I fall over. The painting falls, and I hear something crack. The canvas has come dislodged from the frame. I pick it up, and something is left behind.
A letter.
It’s folded in an old envelope. I pull it apart and read one more message from beyond the grave.
Dearest Jackson,
I know this letter will surprise you. But I couldn’t keep away from you any longer. I saw in the papers you’re to wed Carolyn. Congratulations I guess are in order, but before you wed her—before you forget me forever—I have something powerful to tell you and to show you.
Meet me at our old meeting place one more time. You must know what she’s done, what I’ve done, and why I left in the first place.
If you still want to marry her, I won’t stand in your way.
Love Forever,
A
I fold the letter up with shaking hands and slip it into my pocket. Whoever read this letter killed Amber, then hid it. It’s their motive, but who in the house had the best opportunity? Penelope Sinclair might’ve had opportunity and motive, but was she frail seventeen years ago, or would she have had help?
Jackson could’ve killed Amber in a fit of rage and hid the letter to cover his tracks, but if someone had intercepted the letter, he might never have seen it.
Would Martin Alistair know? Could he have been covering for someone all those years?
Or were my suspicions correct? Could it have been Carolyn, the bright-eyed blonde with a bob haircut who was such a rule follower she couldn’t even break curfew? Would the notion of losing Jackson push her over the edge so she took steps to ensure that would never happen?
I retreat back toward the staircase and slowly climb back up, my phone leading the way. Behind me, I hear a scattering of footsteps and claws, clattering against the planks. I gasp and glance behind me. A series of shadows, twisted and disjointed as if broken and put back together again, chase me up the stairs. I scream and bang into the door, but it won’t budge.
They’ll be on me soon. I grow pasty cold and sweat pours from my brow. I’m as hot as I am cold, terrified about what will happen as they reach me. “Help!” I slam my hand on the door just as someone pulls it open from the other side, and I tumble out.
“Miss Chase? Is that you?”
It’s the butler. Crap. I dust off and pull myself up to my feet, slamming the basement d
oor in one fell swoop. “It’s me. I guess that is definitely not Winnie’s room. I’m meeting her to go over our school project.” I clear my throat and hope my guilt isn’t plastered on my face.
His brow clenches, but soon rights itself. “We better get you out of there before Mrs. Sinclair discovers you. Your scream ripped through the house.” Gently he takes me by the arm, and he leads me toward the front door.
“I really need to see Winnie.”
“What is the meaning of this?” Carolyn’s voice booms from the balcony of the stairwell. She’s in a green bathrobe, cinched tight along her tiny waist, and she grips the railing tightly. Her mouth is set in an equally tight scowl of judgment.
I wave to her and muster my bravery. “Sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Sinclair. I was just looking for Winnie. We’re doing a project together.”
Her eyebrows raise, and her mouth falls open. It’s the most I’ve ever seen her express.
Winnie rushes down the stairs. “I invited her, Mom. I wondered where you were.” There’s doubt and suspicion on her face as she looks at me.
Carolyn lets out a deep breath. “Unacceptable. I won’t allow her in our home. She must leave—”
“Nonsense.” Jackson rounds the corner from his study. “She’s welcome here anytime. You girls can head up to Winnie’s room. I’ll have a snack brought up.”
Carolyn huffs and slams her hands on the railing. “Would it kill you to take my side, just once?” She storms off, and if I’m not mistaken, Jackson smiles.
“We will. Thanks for the snack, Dad.” Winnie grabs my arm and pulls me toward the stairs. We race up.
I take a shaking breath. “Thanks for rescuing me out there.”
“You weren’t really lost, were you? You know where my room is, Jess.” We step inside her room, and she crosses her arms.
I snort. “I was snooping, but not for what you think.”
Winnie levels me with a twenty-yard stare. “This has something to do with Amber Chetwood, doesn’t it? You’re looking for something to tie my father to the crime? Well, you won’t find it. And if you’d just be honest with me, I’d tell you that. My dad wouldn’t hurt anyone.”
“I agree with you, I think. Sorry if I got wrapped up and confused in all this.”
Winnie blinks fast. “Well…it’s all right. I know it’s all messing with your head. Where did you go? Did you find anything?”
“Nothing concrete.” I can’t tell Winnie that I suspect someone in her family that she loves very much might be guilty of murder. How do you do that to a friend—or even a frenemy? “Your basement though, I saw…I thought I saw…Well, I’m not sure what.” I don’t want her to think I’m more insane than I already appear.
Her face turns white as a sheet. “Shit! You’re not supposed to go into the basement after dark. There’s parts of this house where you just…you just don’t go.”
Well, that’s ominous. I shudder at the notion. “A warning would’ve been nice.”
“I didn’t know you’d go down there. Who goes into creepy basements at night?”
“Good point. Sorry.” I shake my head. “Have you been down there?”
Winnie shakes her head. “I’ve never seen them before if that’s what you mean. I’m not sensitive to them. Rumor is they skip a generation in our family. Some old voodoo witch magic or something.” Winnie shrugs. “Of course, if you’re able to see them…”
Maybe I am her sister. And maybe I’m gifted. Gee, am I lucky or what?
“I’ll see you tomorrow. Maybe we’ll luck out better.” I say goodbye, and we hug briefly. I don’t hug her because we’re friends. I hug her because I think maybe I really do have a sister. I’m torn in two over how to feel about that.
Jackson Sinclair might’ve killed my mother. Even if he didn’t, I’m sure someone in his family did. And here I am about to show up to Thanksgiving dinner while one of them might very well want me dead.
Chapter Forty-Two
Jessica: September 13th, 2020
Early the next morning, I wake up to the smell of coffee. I get dressed and put my hair in a messy bun. I finish putting away the clutter that’s on my desk and don’t leave anything important out. I won’t make the same mistake twice. I keep the phone and autopsy report in my bookbag. I throw my hair in a quick braid and hurry down the stairs.
I can hear my parents in the kitchen. Someone is putting more coffee on, and I hear low voices. I approach the door, wondering if I should stop in, but I want to avoid any drama. Mom says in a crisp voice, “How do you expect her to react after you gave us the shaft? Think about it!”
“I need you not to criticize me right now, Jan. I made a mistake. And she’s getting too close to the truth. We’ll lose her if she figures it out.”
“No, we won’t,” Mom’s voice is full of hurt, and it stills my heart. “She’s smarter than that. She’s smarter than all of us put together. She would never do that.”
I don’t know what they are talking about. I’m afraid of what they’re talking about. I have no choice but to put it out of my mind. I decide I’ll text Mom from the road. I hurry out of there and skip down the front steps.
There’s a black car with tinted windows waiting at the curb. As I approach, the back-window rolls down. I see Carolyn Sinclair sitting in the back seat, her hair done up in a tight French twist. Her eyes darken as soon as she sees me, enough so that I suspect I’m the one she wants to see. She gives me a tight, unpleasant smile.
I arch my eyebrow, but I don’t say anything.
“I figured it’s time we have a little chat.” She pops the door open. “Why don’t you get in, and we can finally get to know each other, Jessica?”
This is the moment I’ve been waiting for. I toss my backpack in the car and slide in the seat opposite her and slam my door shut.
Carolyn offers me a tall glass of orange juice. “Have you had a chance to have breakfast yet?”
I take it from her but reserve a thank you. “Nice of you to pick me up.”
“Well,” she crosses her legs. She’s in a tight yellow skirt with matching pumps. She’s the picture of elegance. “You’re going around stirring up all sorts of trouble, aren’t you? I wanted to talk to you the other day at the fundraiser, but it was the wrong time.”
“I guess last night was the wrong time, too. You seemed a little upset to see me. Almost like looking at me is painful for you.”
She looks like she’s sucked on a lemon for a split second. “It was a bad day, I admit. Long and nothing went the right way. I’m sure you can understand that.”
“Oh, sure.” I open my eyes wide and innocent.
“Anyway. I apologize for the scene Jackson made. It’s a specialty of his, but it doesn’t mean what you might think it does.”
“And what do I think it means since you know me so well?”
Carolyn barely flinches. She’s much calmer than she was last night. “That he carried a torch for Amber all these years. He didn’t. We married shortly after her body was found. He wouldn’t have done that if he had been upset by her death. He got over her a long time ago.”
“Funny. When I saw him on the cliffs at the Princeton Boat House, he seemed far from over Amber’s death.”
Her eyes darken. Is that rage I see in her face? “He was drinking that night. I apologize if he scared you.”
I sip my orange juice. “I wasn’t scared. He seems to drink a lot, from everything Winnie tells me.”
Her eyebrows raise, and her nostrils flare. “Winfred means well. She does, but she doesn’t know what she’s talking about half the time. I’m more concerned with what you think is going on.”
“I’m not sure yet, but I know someone in this town killed Amber. I know she had a baby. I don’t know who its father was. And I know you knew she was pregnant. Amber wanted to see Jackson, and I’m wondering what he thought of that. Did he kill her to appease his mother? Did Martin kill her out of his obsession over her? Or…” I sip my juice, “was it you?”
>
I hold my breath and watch for her reaction. Her jaw grates back and forth. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, but you are playing a very dangerous game. This secret you’ve uncovered will do no one any favors—least of all you. If you know what’s good for you, Jessica, you’ll stop now. While you still can.”
“Why? Are you going to kill me?”
Carolyn shakes her head. “I won’t have to. There are others who will do it for me.”
Her words shake me, not so much for what they are, but for how unfeeling and icy they sound. The car pulls over to the curb near school.
“Have a nice day, Jessica. I hope the next time I see you, we can be friends.” She warmly pats my hand, as if she hadn’t just threatened my life.
I stare at her hand and up at her face. “Amber thought you were her friend.”
Her face finally falters. There’s real regret on her face. “I was her friend until the end. She didn’t understand that either, but I did what I could to protect her. I told her what to do. She just refused to do it. Have a nice day, Jessica.” She smiles and waves me off.
The great Sinclair has dismissed me. I climb out of the car and watch it speed away from the curb. A sense of desperation pits in my chest.
Carolyn Sinclair had Amber killed, I’m sure of it. But I have no proof, and the police will never believe me. In fact, Chief Evans is more likely to kill me to protect Carolyn and his job. Which means I’m walking around with a target on my back.
Cameron calls, and I’m desperate to talk to someone. I head over to his place, and he’s happy to see me. He’s alone, except for his dog, Happy, a golden retriever that fits his name. We sit on Cameron’s bed, and I tell him what happened between Carolyn and me. The more I talk, the wider his eyes get until he looks like he wants to be swallowed up by his bed.