I thought so too, but before I said anything more about Zoey’s mother, I took out the small, pink baby’s sweater, no bigger than a newborn might wear, and handed it to her. “Do you recall your mother ever doing any knitting or crocheting?”
Zoey put the frame down and picked up the sweater, her fingers gently poking through the delicate crocheted pattern. “I don’t think so. I doubt she ever had time. Why? Do you think this is Alicia’s?”
I held the edge of the pink sweater between my thumb and index finger and rubbed it slightly. My sense of it was that it was quite old, and made long before either Alicia, or Zoey for that matter, was born. “I can only tell you, whoever made it, made it with love. That with each hook of the needle the maker thought of the baby who would wear this.” I let go of the sweater and reached into the box and pulled out the second silver framed photo. Smaller and more ornate than the first.
“This,” I said, “is Alicia.” I handed the frame to Zoey. “Her full name was Alicia Mae Mann. AMM. Exactly like the initials you found on the tea towel with the cache of items she hid beneath the stairs. The woman in the photo with her is her mother. Her name was Margaret Mann, and, if I’m right, I believe this photo was taken shortly before Alicia’s fifth birthday. Before she drowned in the pool.”
Zoey wiped a tear from her eye. “That had to have been an awful day.”
“For her parents, unimaginable. But for Alicia, even though parents had filled in the pool and sold the house, everything remained the same. Alicia came back here as though nothing had ever happened. You can’t see it now, but the playhouse, the picnic table, it’s still here. Exactly as it was nearly seventy-five years ago, beneath the big weeping willow tree.”
“You can see it?”
“Even with a bad case of cataracts. But not so much through my eyes as in here,” I patted my heart.
“Is Alicia here?”
“Oh, yes.” I nodded in the direction of the tree where Wilson sat at the child-sized picnic table pretending to have tea with Alicia Mae and her doll. “You remember our spirit guide from the night of séance?”
“Is he here too?” Zoey face’s brightened.
“He is. His real name is Wilson Thorne. He was the previous owner of my house, and he’s having tea with Alicia Mae. She’s had a surprisingly good effect on him. Between you and me, I thought he might be a lost soul, but I’m beginning to think Alicia’s helping him to find it. I believe he considers himself her guardian.”
“And you’re his?” Zoey arched her brow.
“In a sense, yes. It’s a bit complicated, but it’s my job to help him. In return, he helps me.”
“Does Wilson know why Alicia’s here? Has she told him?”
“She has.”
I paused.
“Well, what is it? What’s she waiting for?”
“Her mother,” I said. “She’s been waiting for her mother for a very long time.”
“But I don’t understand.” Zoey shook her head. “If Alicia’s a ghost, can’t she just go find her? Isn’t that what ghosts do?”
“Sometimes when people die suddenly, they don’t realize they’ve passed on. They return to those places they knew best, and felt most at home, and wait. In my line of work, we call them shades. You might think of them as being in limbo. Frequently, they don’t recognize they’re dead. They’re just waiting.”
“And you think that’s what she’s doing here? Just waiting for her mother to return.”
“There’s a belief the mother-spirit greets us at birth, and again at death, and guides us home. For Alicia I believe that time may be drawing close. But because she’s attached herself to you, I don’t believe she’ll leave until she knows you’re happy.”
“Happy? I’m not even sure I understand what that is anymore.”
“I think Alicia does. When you moved in she bonded with you. For her, you were like her make-believe friend. Together, you shared a loss. You had both lost your mothers at a very critical age. I think she believes you’re waiting for your mother to return too. Just like she is.”
“That’s ridiculous. I’m not waiting for my mother to return. I miss her, or the thought of her anyway, but I certainly don’t expect her to come back. People just don’t do that. That’s impossible.”
“Not in the sense that you expect her to walk through the door. But in your heart, Zoey,” I put my hand on her heart and tapped my fingers, “you miss her, I can feel it in your being. You have an emptiness. You miss her exactly like Alicia misses her mother. That longing, that need to reconnect, is what’s keeping Alicia here.”
Zoey sat back in the chair and held the pink sweater to the side of her face. “And this all happened because I put in a pool and unleashed her spirit?”
“There are cultures that believe some ground is hallowed. I think when you moved in and built the pool, you unsettled Alicia Mae’s spirit. She’s been here all along. Heather knew her as her imaginary friend. They shared the same front bedroom. After Heather left, Alicia may have befriended others who lived here, or perhaps she grew dormant, waiting for the right time. I don’t know. The universe works in strange ways, and time as we know it is very different on the other side. Yesterday is today, and tomorrow is already gone and past. All I know for certain is that when you moved in and unearthed the pool, Alicia connected with you. She recognized an emptiness in you. The same emptiness she’s been living with all this time.”
Zoey stared out at the pool. The late afternoon sun sparkled on the water’s surface. “What is it Alicia wants me to do?”
“I’m not certain yet. I need to talk to Wilson. I’ll know more once we’ve spoken and he’s shared with me what Alicia’s told him, but it may require another séance.”
The patio door opened, and a young woman poked her head outside. “Zoey? You ready for your massage. I’m set up in the studio upstairs when you want.”
Zoey put the baby sweater back in the box and kissed me on the cheek. “Misty, whatever Alicia Mae needs me to do, I’ll do. But could you do me a favor?”
“Whatever you need.”
“Chad forgot his jacket when he moved out. I can’t have it in the house. Not anymore. I put it in the closet in the guest room where Crystal’s staying. Could you take it back to him? He’s staying with Zac and Kelsey. I was going to ask Crystal, but you’re here, and it’s on your way. Their address is in the pocket. Could you please?”
Chapter 28
I couldn’t turn Zoey’s request down. Taking Chad’s jacket back to him was exactly the excuse I needed. I had been worried ever since I had last talked with Chad and seen Lacey’s ghost in the bedroom, that Lacey had some kind of score to settle with her illicit lover. Because I felt it was partly my fault Lacey had followed Chad home, I was compelled to go and try to collect her spirit and return her to the spirit world.
I waited until I was certain Zoey had gone upstairs with the masseuse to go back into the house, then entered through the French doors off the dining room. With Zoey upstairs, the downstairs was oddly quiet, but not empty. I sensed another presence in the room. I closed my eyes and felt the afternoon light reflected through the great room’s floor-to-ceiling windows and took a deep breath. When I opened my eyes, a beam of light danced from the windows directly onto the baby grand piano.
More breadcrumbs.
I crossed the room and stood in front of the piano and brushed the tips of my fingers lightly atop the keys. They were smooth and cool to the touch. I closed my eyes and allowed whatever presence was in the room to embrace me. A soft, slow, almost bittersweet melody filled my head. Without realizing what I was doing, my fingers began to tap out the first notes of “Clair de Lune.” I don’t play the piano, yet the tune came to me as though I had known it all my life. My fingers knew exactly what keys to press. I stopped and looked up from the keyboard out through the big arched window at the pool. Who a
re you?
With every fiber of my being, I could feel the presence about me. I couldn’t see it, but I knew it was there, just as surely as my fingers had known which keys to strike. It beckoned to me, as though it wanted to show me something.
Behind the piano, an antique dressing screen with a triptych scene from a 1930’s movie Zoey’s grandmother had appeared in, fluttered. And then...
Bang!
Behind the screen, something had fallen to the floor. I moved, quickly as I could, to the narrow space between the screen and the oak-stained shelves that lined the wall. The shelves were thick with books and memorabilia. An old-fashioned movie reel. Black and white photos of Zoey’s grandparents. A photo of Zoey’s father and mother. A rusted horse spur engraved with the name of the horse Zoey’s father had ridden in his last movie. On the floor, a photo of Zoey and Lacey. The glass had shattered, cutting a diagonal line between the two girls.
The frame couldn’t have tumbled from the shelf by itself. All of the photos had been neatly lined up against the wall, with better than two feet of space between them and the edge of the shelf. This was no accident. This was a message. The photos on the shelf were Zoey’s family. All of whom had died young or accidentally. For the first time, I wondered if perhaps I had been wrong. Was the Chamberlain Family Curse real? Had Lacey been mistaken for Zoey after all?
I backed away from the shelf. Whatever spirit had been in the room had vanished. Its presence no longer directing me. I still had to get Chad’s jacket from the guest room closet where Crystal had moved her things, and I knew I best hurry.
The room was equally as plush as the first guest room where Crystal had originally stayed. With a large king-size bed, antique armoire, walk-in closet, and private bath, it looked like a luxury suite at the Ritz Carlton.
The better part of me told me I should ignore my urge to search the room and go directly to the closet and retrieve Chad’s jacket. Time was running tight and I sensed Crystal might return at any moment. But as soon as I put one foot inside the room, I knew Crystal had hidden something there, and I needed to find it. I could sense it, like daylight on my eyelids or the smell of rain in the air before a downpour.
I had no idea what I was looking for, but I knew whatever it was, it was there. The bed had been made up, and the room looked neat and tidy. Too tidy. I searched the dresser drawers and the nightstands. Nothing out of the ordinary. I ran my hands along the bedspread, then bent down to feel beneath the mattress. It wasn’t until my foot hit something under the bed that I knew I’d found something.
Partially hidden beneath the skirt of the spread was Crystal’s day planner, a medium-sized black notebook, she was seldom without. The fact it was on the floor and not with her made me think it had accidentally fallen off the bed in her rush to make it to her doctor’s appointment. Several letters and miscellaneous papers that had been stuffed inside the notebook were scattered onto the floor. I picked them up and sorted through them. Some of it fan mail. A few autographed headshots of Zoey. A doctor’s prescription for Xanax. Nothing the star’s busy personal assistant wouldn’t be carrying around for her client. Except for a letter postmarked three months earlier. Addressed to a P.O. Box with a return address from the Department of Corrections.
I placed the notebook, along with the other items I’d picked up from beneath the bed, on the dresser and took the letter from within the envelope. Inside were several Xeroxed pages—official-looking documents—all stamped and notarized, pertaining to Adam Johnson, aka AJ, prison number J876503, followed by an equally judicious looking document form that informed Zoey of AJ’s early release.
The letter Crystal claimed to have never received.
I put the letter down on the dresser and went back through the notebook. Like a bloodhound in search of a body, I could smell there was something more. I began by sorting through Crystal’s calendar. Several loose pages from the notepad slipped and fell onto the dresser. On them were notes Crystal had taken. Random numbers and some doodlings—not very good cartoon sketches of faces and flowers—things she had probably drawn while waiting for Zoey to finish a scene or an interview. Such is the life of an assistant. Always waiting. I leafed through the pages, then—
“Ahem.” From behind me, someone had entered the room. I closed my eyes, held the notebook tight to my chest, and turned expecting to see Crystal.
Wilson. I let out a deep sigh. “Don’t ever do that to me again. You know I don’t like it when you sneak up on me like that.”
“Why, are we playing detective?” Wilson walked over the dresser and picked up several of the pages I’d laid out on the top.
I snapped them back from his hand and placed them on the dresser top. “Look at this.” I pointed to a handwritten note. “It’s an exact copy of the message included with the flowers Zoey received after Lacey’s memorial.”
Sorry for your loss. Maybe we can begin again. Love, AJ.
“Is this Crystal’s handwriting?” Wilson ran his hands across the note and waited for my verification.
“It appears so, but that’s not what’s strange. It’s this here.” Beneath the note Crystal had written an exact copy of it, written in the same architectural style lettering used in the note sent to Zoey with the flowers. “Look at the lettering, it’s exactly like AJ used when he first made contact with Zoey and was later accused of stalking her and sent to jail.”
“How do you know?”
“After Detective Romero and I visited AJ I did a little online research. Borrowed your computer and looked up a couple of news stories about Zoey’s stalker. The press nicknamed him the Stencil Stalker because of the unusual style of lettering he used. There were photos of some of the notes AJ had written in the paper. It was all block-like lettering.”
“Which would have been easy to copy,” Wilson said.
“Particularly if you had the original to copy from.” I grabbed the notebook and began leafing through it, certain I’d find another clue. Something that would convince me Crystal had copied the real thing. I ran my hand over the inside back cover and found a hidden flap, nearly invisible to the eye. Inside were two small, yellowed note cards. I pulled them out and placed them on the table. “I’d say she did a pretty good job.”
Wilson looked over my shoulder. “Are these the originals?”
“I think so.”
“But how did she get them?”
“Same place she got the letter. The court would have mailed them to her. After a trial, you can petition the court to turn over any material relevant to the case. Crystal probably told the court she wanted to make sure nothing got into the hands of paparazzi or something like that. However it happened, here they are, and this is what she did with them.”
“And Zoey never would have known?”
“Not if the notes, like the letter from the DOC, were sent to Zoey’s mailbox. Crystal picks up Zoey’s mail. I doubt Zoey even knows where her P.O. Box is. She’s too busy.”
Wilson studied the notes. “The Ice Queen set AJ up. But why?”
“I don’t know. But based upon this letter, I’m convinced Crystal knew all along AJ was out of jail.”
“Which is where you’re going to be if Crystal finds you in her room.” Wilson took the letter from my hand and pulled me toward the door. “Come, we need to get going.”
“Why? Is she here?”
“Somebody is. I just heard Zoey’s new security gate opening.
I grabbed Crystal’s notebook and loose papers off the top of the dresser and stuffed them inside my bag. Then stopped. “Quick. Chad’s jacket, it’s in the closet. Zoey asked me to return it to him. Get it.”
Wilson ducked into the closet and was out with the jacket before I could decide what to do next. I looked around the room. What was I missing?
“Sorry, Old Gal, we need to get going.” Wilson grabbed me by the elbow, lifting me onto the tips of my toe
s, and scooted me down the hall like a suitcase on wheels.
When we got to the living room, Crystal was at the front door. “You’re still here?”
“Not for long,” I said. “I’m on my way out. Zoey asked me to return Chad’s jacket. I nearly forgot it. Talk soon.”
Chapter 29
“Step on it, Wilson.” I took the note Zoey had written with Zac and Kelsey’s address on it from Chad’s jacket and read off the address. Within moments, Wilson’s Jag was winding the narrow streets through the Hollywood Hills. Houses on either side of the road hugged the hillside. Little more than overbuilt boxes balanced on stilts, with big picture windows and views of the valley floor below. No yards. Just balconies. And that awful sinking feeling I get when LA’s next big one hits; they’ll all go sliding down the mountainside. Zac and Kelsey’s small stilted bungalow wasn’t much different.
While Wilson parked the Jag, I approached the house. I hate heights. With great trepidation, I walked across a narrow wooden bridge, with sheer drops on either side, to the front porch and knocked on the door
“Chad? Chad, it’s Misty. We need to talk.”
I waited for a response. When there was none, I knocked harder. From within the house, I could hear movement. Soft, muffled noises. Someone was moving around inside. Then, from the other side of the door, a thud. Followed by the sound of someone moaning.
“Chad? Chad, is that you?” I stood on the tips of my toes and peered into the peephole. Not that I could see in, but I could see a shadow. “Chad, it’s me, Misty Dawn. Open up.”
“Go away.” From behind the door, Chad groaned. I had a vision of him with his hands and head against the door, not knowing what to do next. “I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Chad, please. Zoey sent me. Just let me come in. I can help.”
Bam! The door vibrated. I jumped back.
The House on Hallowed Ground Page 18