The House on Hallowed Ground

by Nancy Cole Silverman

  Romero closed the front door then turned his attention to me. “I appreciate you staying to talk, Misty.”

  “That’s alright. You did say when you were here last you wanted to talk to everyone. I just hadn’t assumed that everyone included me.”

  “Let’s talk outside, shall we?” Romero nodded to the courtyard. “I’d prefer whatever you have to say stay between us, and no one else.”

  “Wherever you like.” I followed him outside.

  “I wanted to ask you about Zoey. You mind telling me how long she’s been a client?”

  “Why? You think that has anything to do with Lacey’s murder?”

  “Maybe not, but asking questions is what I do. Considering your history with the department, I’d think you’d understand that.”

  “I suppose that’s par for the course.” I settled myself on the edge of the small koi pond and put my hand into the water. “But if you plan to ask me what it was we talked about, you have to understand, I consider all my consultations private and confidential.”

  The detective suppressed a laugh and looked down at his shoes. “I was warned you might say that, but the fact of the matter is, your consultations with Zoey don’t fall under the confidentialities guaranteed by a doctor-patient relationship. If it makes it any easier, I’m not about to ask what you talked about, I’m only curious as to how long you’ve been meeting with her.”

  I cupped my hand and let the water trickle back into the pond on top of the heads of several curious koi. “Not long. In fact, I didn’t know Zoey, at least not personally, before she showed up on my doorstep.”

  “And she was there because she believed her house was haunted. Is that right?”

  “I thought you weren’t going to ask me why Zoey came to visit me. It appears you’ve been reading the tabloids.” I shook the water from my hand and stood up.

  “I’m an investigator. I’ll admit tabloids aren’t my usual trusted source, but your name did come up in several of the columns. Along with Zoey claiming she believed her house was haunted. As a result, I thought we should talk.”

  I smiled. A detective reading the tabloids, particularly this detective, felt ripe for the picking. Another potential believer about to fall into my camp. “Do you believe in ghosts, Detective?”

  “I believe in the things I can touch and feel and drag into court,” Romero said.

  “Then, unfortunately, I don’t believe we have a lot to talk about. I don’t know who killed Lacey if that’s what you’re thinking. Although, you’ll be relieved to know, I don’t believe it was the ghost, and I have a hard time believing it was Chad.”

  “He had a pretty good motive. Lacey was pregnant with his child, and he was engaged to Zoey. As for means and opportunity, look around. Lacey was here. Chad lives here. In my world, you put that together and he’s a likely suspect. Lacey may have threatened him, told him she was going to tell Zoey. Or maybe Lacey told Zoey about her affair with Chad, and Zoey killed her. Or Zoey and Chad did it together.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “You mind telling me what you’re doing here today? Seems like every time I come by you’re here.”

  “Am I a suspect?” I laughed half-heartedly. I couldn’t imagine Romero thought I might be involved.

  “Case like this, everyone’s a suspect. ’Til they’re not.”

  Romero’s response caused me to pause. I picked up my bag from the ledge next to the koi pond and held it to my chest. “If you must know, Detective, I came by to check on Zoey and Chad. They broke up last night. I thought I should see how she was doing.”

  “And you know this how? Zoey call you or something?” The detective’s eyes met mine and held steady.

  “I suppose the fact I’m a psychic isn’t a good enough reason?” I adjusted the shoulder strap on my bag and started toward the walkway. I had had enough of the detective’s cold looks and penetrating questions.

  “Like I said, I deal in facts, not the supernatural.”

  “Then you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  “Try me.”

  I stopped at the top of the stairs. “If you must know, I came by to check on Zoey because I was concerned Lacey might have followed her home after the séance last night, and—”

  “A séance?” Romero raised his brow.

  “Yes, Zoey insisted I do one.”

  “And just where did this séance take place?”

  “My home, or the home I’m leasing anyway, off Norton Drive. It belonged to a former...” I stopped. There was no point in explaining.

  Romero took a notepad from within his jacket pocket and began taking notes. “And exactly what happened at this séance?”

  “Zoey wanted to see if we could get in touch with her ghost.”

  “The one she’s been talking about in the tabloids?” Romero stopped writing.

  “Yes. She’s a four-year-old girl.”

  “A child ghost?” Romero rolled his eyes.

  “Her name’s Alicia Mae. She drowned in a pool accident in 1943. It was a big news story back in the day. You can check the papers. She fell in the pool just like Lacey fell in the spa. Both girls drowned. Which is why I probably should have figured she might show up.”

  “She?” Romero winced. “Who are we talking about? Lacey or this Alicia Mae?”

  “Both really, but Lacey in particular.” I hated when I had to explain myself to someone who so clearly doubted my talents. But if it helped to find whoever had killed Lacey, I was more than willing to put up with Romero’s skepticism. I continued, slowly so as to not confuse him. “She, Lacey that is, showed up at the séance right after Alicia Mae, and starts confessing to Zoey how sorry she was for the affair. As you can imagine, Zoey lost it. She knew nothing about an affair, and when she realized Lacey and Chad had been carrying on, Zoey screamed. Chad stood up, and the séance ended on a bad note. A very bad note. Spirits hate to be slighted. And ending a séance before they’ve had their say can be messy, if not dangerous. Hence, I was afraid Lacey had followed Zoey home, and I came by this morning to check in on Zoey and Chad.”

  “I see.” I was certain Romero didn’t see at all, but he scribbled something on his notepad, then looked up at me. “And you would swear in a court-of-law this is what happened?”

  “Spirits exist, Detective. Whether you choose to believe in them or not. They’re here. Most people spend a lifetime unaware of their presence. But that doesn’t mean they’re not here or that we’re alone. You for instance.” I pointed to the detective’s left hand. “I notice you still wear your wedding ring.” The detective blanched, and I paused. “Your wife’s passed on. It was unexpected. Cancer I think. But she’s with you. And you can’t tell me you don’t still feel she’s around you. You talk to her all the time. Oh, not in front of anyone, but when you’re alone.”

  Romero put the notepad back in his pocket. His eyes broke from mine. I sensed he was uncomfortable with what he considered an intrusion into his personal life.

  He exhaled. “She died three years ago. She was young, a teacher. You could have heard about it or maybe read her obit in the paper. She was popular, Teacher of the Year the year before she died. It got a little bit of press.”

  “But I didn’t hear about it or read it in the paper, and I certainly didn’t know about the trip the two of you always wanted to take. That Mediterranean Cruise you talked about? She wants you to take it.” I reached for the Detective’s left hand. “May I? If you like, I could read your ring.”

  Romero pulled his hand away. “Like I said, I’m not into psychics.”

  “It’s not as frightening as you might think. It’s entirely up to you, but you might want to consider it’s time to take that ring off your finger. Your wife won’t mind.” I started down the front steps toward the street where Wilson was waiting for me inside the Jag and stopped. “Detective, you
mind if I ask a question?”

  “Go right ahead.”

  “Did you find what you’re looking for today?”

  “You mean did we find a weapon or something that might have been used to knock Lacey out?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “My detectives found something. You saw them walk out with bags.”

  “Mind if I tell you I don’t think so?”

  “Not at all, as long you understand it’s the coroner who’ll determine if what we bring back matches what the killer used.”

  “And what exactly do you think it is?”

  “Don’t know for sure. The coroner says it’s something with a flat bottom. Could be a frying pan. Maybe even a shovel.”

  “Hmmm.” I shook my head. None of that felt right. “Well, good luck to you.”

  I had almost gotten down the steps when the detective hollered back to me. “That your car, Misty?”

  I looked back at him. “It’s a friend’s. I’m taking care of it for him. Pretty isn’t it?”

  “’54 Jaguar, right? Right-hand drive?”

  I could tell from the way Romero cocked his head he didn’t think I’d drive such a ride.

  “Right you are,” I said. “And you know what they say about little old ladies and sports cars.”

  “What? Go, granny, go?”

  I waved dismissively and started back to the car.

  Romero called after me. “Just don’t go too far, Ms. Dawn. I’ve a feeling we may want to talk again.”

  Chapter 16

  The following afternoon I was in the living room, snoozing with the newspaper on my lap, when I heard a knock at the door. By the time I got to my feet, someone had inserted a key into the lock, and the deadbolt slid open. Seconds later, Denise burst in and spotted me in the living room.

  “You won’t believe it.” With the keys still in her hands, Denise did a little happy dance in the entry. “Guess who’s got a meeting with Hugh Jackman tomorrow afternoon?”

  “I thought you were meeting with him yesterday.” I shuffled toward the study and pulled the door shut, lest Denise’s voice alert Wilson to his sister’s presence. One less battle I needed on my hands.

  “Oh, yes, that meeting. Well, it didn’t work out. His publicity manager Nina was supposed to get me into a fan meeting. A real exclusive she said. What a waste. I was one of three hundred people. Nothing more than a big cattle call. No way was I going to get any face-to-face time with Hugh. So I walked out, and when I did, guess who I saw?”

  “Surprise me,” I said.

  “Nina! I mean, how lucky is that? I recognized her from photos I had seen of her in the trades, and there she was, right in the middle of a bunch of Hollywood industry types. All staring at their cell phones and about to get on an elevator. And guess what?”

  “I’m afraid to ask.”

  “I followed her. Sidled up to her, all nice and cozy like. I mean she didn’t know who I was or what I looked like since we hadn’t met in person, and I pretended like I knew what I was doing, took out my phone and yada, yada, yada...”

  “Yada, yada, yada what?” I asked.

  “Well, if you must know the details. Nina was on the phone with an assignment editor from The Hollywood Reporter. Turns out the reporter who was supposed to meet with Hugh tomorrow afternoon has the flu. They were calling to tell her they needed to reschedule and would get back in touch. So...” Denise reached into her bag and produced a business card with The Hollywood Reporter logo on it and shoved it in my face. “I took the liberty of making a few business cards and calling Nina back. I told her finding a substitute was no problem, provided Mr. Jackman might be available slightly earlier than the original agreed upon time, and presto-gusto, I got the appointment.”

  I took the card from Denise and stared at it. Denise Thorne, Reporter.

  Denise had done a lot of silly things in an attempt to meet Jackman, but this bordered on insanity, not to mention fraud. That is, if impersonating a reporter is a prosecutorial offense these days.

  “What if The Hollywood Reporter calls back?” I asked.

  “Oh, please. This is Golden Globes week. By the time they get around to finding another reporter, I will have met Hugh, and my mission will be...how do the French say it? A fait accompli.” Denise grabbed the business card from my hand and asked if she could use the powder room beneath the stairs. “You mind?” Denise did a little tap dance. “I have to go.”

  “Go.”

  No sooner had Denise disappeared inside the powder room, then Wilson poked his head out of the study. “Tell me that’s not my sister.”

  I gritted my teeth. “I’m afraid so.”

  “Get rid of her.”

  “Easier said than done,” I said.

  Wilson gave me another of his Bronx cheers and was about to retreat back into the study, when the front bell rang. “You expecting someone?”

  “No,” I said. “And whoever it is, you’re going to have to make yourself scarce. I can’t be putting up with your sibling rivalry while I’m dealing with your sister and a guest. Now go.”

  I opened the front door and found Detective Romero on the porch. He was dressed in jeans, a jacket and T-shirt, and tennis shoes. And around his neck, like a neon sign, hung his gold LAPD detective’s shield.

  “You here to arrest me?” After yesterday’s interrogation concerning my whereabouts the night of Lacey’s murder, I had less than warm feelings for the detective.

  “I’m here to talk, Misty. You got a minute?”

  I glanced back at the doors to the powder room and the study to make certain they were closed then pointed Romero in the direction of the living room. My excuse for getting Denise out of the house had just materialized. I tapped lightly on the door to the study and whispered, “Five minutes, Wilson. Give me five minutes.”

  “Excuse me?” The detective stood in the middle of the living room and looked at me, puzzled. Was I in the habit of talking to myself?

  “Please,” I said, “take a seat.” I picked the newspaper up off the end of the couch and waited for Romero to sit down, then sat in one of the winged back chairs opposite him. “Is there something I can help you with, Detective?”

  “Maybe. Like I told you yesterday, I’m not a believer. No offense.”

  “None taken,” I said.

  “But I thought I’d stop by and ask your opinion.”

  “About?” Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Wilson. Curiosity had gotten the best of him. He had walked through the study door–as ghosts and shades can–and was now standing directly behind the detective. I shook my head slowly, side to side. No funny business, Wilson, not now. I’m warning you.

  “This morning,” Romero said, “I hiked up the trail behind Zoey’s house. Thought I might have a look around. I wanted to see if I could find anything that might help with the investigation.”

  “Did you?”

  Wilson moved from behind the couch and took a seat next to Romero. Crossing his arms and legs, he leaned into the detective in what I could only imagine a man like Romero would consider uncomfortably close.

  Ahem. I cleared my throat.

  Romero ran the fingers of his left hand beneath the collar of his t-shirt. “Is it hot in here?”

  “Hot and cold,” I said. “The house is drafty. I could turn the thermostat down if you like.”

  “No. It’s not necessary.” The detective shook his head. “I’m here because I found something on the trail, and I thought you should see it. It looks like someone dropped it in the bushes. May be nothing, but since I wanted to stop by anyway to ask a few more questions, I thought I’d have you take a look at it.” The detective reached into his pocket and took out a small, round, plastic, cylinder-shaped item that emitted a crude tinny sound, like that of a feral cat or baby’s cry. “I had forensics dust it for prints, but
they came up empty. Nobody knows what to make of it, so I thought I’d bring it by for you to look at.”

  Romero put the small box on the coffee table between us. I leaned forward and looked at it.

  “You want me to read it? Is that why you’re here? Because if you do, Detective, it’s plastic. For me to really get anything off it, it’d have to be metal, like a ring or a necklace.”

  “No, I’m not going to ask you to read it. I just wanted you to have a look at it. See if you thought it might be relevant.”

  “To the case?”

  Romero nodded.

  “Most of what I do deals with the paranormal, and I know you’re not here because you believe in such things. That is unless you had a sudden change of heart?”

  “Of course not,” Romero scoffed. “I told you, I don’t believe in ghosts. But it seems to me this squawk box could be something the killer used to attract attention. Zoey did say she and Lacey heard what sounded like a cat outside the house the night Lacey died. From the sounds of this thing, it could be what the murderer used to get Lacey’s attention. I wondered if maybe it might suggest something to you.”

  Before I could answer, the door to the powder room opened and the mood in the room changed. Ahh, the magic of chemistry. Like the birth of a new star, colorful fragments of light, unseeable to anyone else but myself and Wilson, filled the room.

  Romero glanced up and, seeing Denise in the entry, stood and knocked Wilson to the floor.

  The instant Denise’s eyes met Romero’s, I knew the detective was a marked man.

  With the early morning light streaming in behind her, Denise looked almost angelic. She rubbed her hands together. The scent of vanilla hand cream permeated the air. She scanned the detective like a prized bull at the state fair.

  “Misty, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you had a consult.” Denise took a step into the living room.

  I made hurried introductions. Anxious to move Denise along. “Detective, this is my landlady, Denise Thorne. Denise, this is Detective Romero. Denise was just on her way—” I was about to say “out” when Denise brushed past me and extended her hand.