Skeptic in Salem: An Episode of Death

by Fiona Grace

  Mia glanced at Sylvie, amazed by Doug Tanner’s admission.

  So Doug thought Cindy had dragged down his career? Was that the motive? Had he killed Cindy Moore?

  “Speaking of the house, my friend here is looking for a fixer upper.”

  “Well, I have a number of places—” Doug Tanner began and eyed Sylvie. “Can I ask what you do?”

  “She’s a very successful musician,” Mia said.

  “I’m releasing an album next year,” Sylvie said in a bored and haughty voice. “Sylvie Payne and Radio Forever. I used to tour with Amplitude.”

  “Wow,” Doug said, getting excited. “I have several wonderful homes I can show you.”

  “What about that Elmswood House?” Sylvie said, looking over her rose-tinted glasses.

  “Well, that’s tricky,” Doug said, his energy suddenly dropping. “As I said, that house was Cindy’s project. I’m not planning to take over representing it. The owner is very stubborn about a number of things. She has certain stipulations.”

  “Can I talk to her?” Sylvie said bluntly.

  “Connie Carol?” Doug said sourly. “I’ll see if I can dig up her number.”

  “Are there any other interested buyers?” Mia said.

  Suddenly Doug Tanner stiffened in his chair. “Well, funny you should mention it, the police asked me the very same question. They’re coming by today to pick up Cindy’s things. I’m really not at liberty to say.”

  Sylvie slowly slipped her phone out of her bag and looked at it casually.

  “Excuse me. I’m expecting an important text,” she said.

  Then she glanced at Mia as if to say now? In return, Mia nodded almost imperceptibly. Sylvie’s fingers flew across the surface of the phone.

  Then, with a high, keening noise, the SUV’s car alarm went off.

  We-ou! We-ou! We-ou! We-ou! We-ou!

  Tandy leaped to his feet and started whining before barking at the window. Doug Tanner leapt from his seat as if he’d just been hit with a red-hot poker. He ran to the window and pressed his nose against the glass.

  The receptionist poked her face in the room.

  “Is everything okay?” she said, concerned.

  “Will you excuse me for a second?” Doug said and rushed out of the room followed by the receptionist. He reappeared in the parking lot and ran to his car, looking desperately in both directions, trying to find out who had set off the car alarm.

  Tandy ran over to the window and wagged his tail, thinking this was a fun game as Doug rushed around the parking lot.

  “Better find out what’s in that book before the cops show up,” Sylvie said.

  Mia slipped over to Cindy’s desk and opened the appointment book. She ran her finger along the entries and found the date of Cindy’s murder.

  There were two names listed.

  1. Howard Angler

  2. Mr. Fat Cat

  Howard’s name had an address scrawled beside it.

  But Mr. Fat Cat was still a mystery. Who was he?

  Mia opened a drawer, grabbed a slip of paper and a pen, and copied the names and addresses. She glanced out the window to see Doug frantically running around his car trying to shut off the alarm. Finally, the alarm stopped and Doug stood framed in the window, one hand on his head and the other on his hip clearly confused why the alarm had gone off in the first place.

  Tandy watched him, tail wagging.

  “How did you do that?” Mia said, impressed.

  “Well, I didn’t technically hack his car, just the Wi-Fi network,” Sylvie said.

  Mia glanced out the window to see Doug Tanner run his fingers through his sandy blond hair. Then he started to walk back to the front door.

  “I need another second,” Mia said, examining the book.

  “You got it,” Sylvie said. “Can’t have the cabana boy come back too soon.” Her fingers danced over the keyboard. Suddenly the car radio blared. The song “Gangnam Style” blasted over the speaker and the lights flashed on and off.

  Eh Sexy Lady!

  Oppan Gangnam style

  Doug took his phone out and frantically pressed every button. He opened the door and turned off his radio. The music finally died and he stared at his car, puzzled. But just as he started to walk back to the office, the song blasted again.

  Eh Sexy Lady!

  Eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh

  As Sylvie distracted Doug Tanner, Mia tried to decipher Cindy’s handwriting. There were some hastily written notes in the margin concerning the owner of the house, Connie Carol.

  Tell Fat Cat to stop trying to reach Connie or else!

  Next step, restraining order!

  According to this, Fat Cat was pushy, maybe even aggressive.

  Was Cindy planning to confront Fat Cat that night? Did that lead to her death? Maybe Connie knew something? Mia searched the book for Connie Carol’s address, but there was nothing in the book. Darn it!

  “Okay, let’s go,” Mia said and shoved the slip of paper in her pocket.

  Sylvie pressed a button and the radio and lights switched off.

  Mia and Sylvie tried not to laugh as Doug Tanner stared at the car suspiciously. Then he locked the doors again and rejoined them inside.

  “Sorry about that,” Doug said, frazzled by his possessed car.

  “Now about Elmswood House—” Sylvie said.

  “Listen, the police are due here any minute,” Doug said. “Can I text you that contact info for Connie Carol?”

  “Absolutely,” Sylvie said and smiled.

  He shoved a card into her hand.

  “Call me with all your real estate needs,” he said.

  As soon as Mia and Sylvie got back to the car, they sank into a fit of giggles. Tandy sat in the backseat, panting happily from the excursion.

  “Tell me you got something out of that?” Sylvie said.

  “Two people were scheduled to see Cindy the night of the murder-—Howard Adler and Fat Cat,” Mia said and handed Sylvie the slip of paper.

  “That sounds promising,” Sylvie said and typed Howard Adler’s address into her phone. He lived on Chatham Street in the neighboring town of Lynn, only ten minutes away.

  Just as Mia was about to pull into traffic, a Ford Explorer belonging to the Swampscott PD pulled up in front of the Seaside Estates. Mia’s instincts were to duck out of sight, but she remembered Charlie Waite already knew what her car looked like. She pulled into traffic, hoping he hadn’t seen them.

  Sylvie twisted in her seat to look through the rear window.

  “Looks like we’re about to have company,” Sylvie said.

  Mia checked her rearview mirror. There was Detective Charlie Waite, hands on his hips, head cocked, looking directly at Mia’s car. They had a slight head start, but only barely. It wouldn’t take the detective long to find out the exact information she had just extracted from Cindy Moore’s appointment book. After that, he would follow the same trail. Once he found them snooping around town, Mia doubted he would be thrilled.

  “We better hurry,” Mia said, trying to stay calm. “I don’t want to run into Detective Waite if we can help it.”

  “So, you think Howie here is the murderer?” Sylvie said.

  “I guess we’ll find out,” Mia said. She couldn’t help but be nervous. Whoever had killed Cindy was ruthless, and cold-blooded. If Howard Adler was the murderer, they might be walking into a dangerous trap.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Mia drove through the back streets until they crossed into Lynn. The old wooden houses started to have a more modest look, with peeling paint, roofs that needed patching, and room air conditioners wedged into windows. Mia pulled up at the address she had discovered in Cindy Moore’s appointment book.

  The small, two-story house sat behind a security fence, flanked by an alley. The wooden siding was rundown and needed a paint job.

  “That’s odd,” Mia said. “This guy wants to buy a fixer-upper in Swampscott? That’s an expensive proposition.”

 
; “Yeah,” Sylvie said. “Howie Adler can’t even fix up his own place, let alone that Elmswood House of horrors.”

  Mia, Sylvie, and Tandy climbed out of the car and let themselves through the security gate. Then they climbed the wooden steps to the dingy front door and knocked. The sound of footsteps could be heard inside the house, crossing the floor. Then the door opened. Standing in the frame was a balding middle-aged man. He stared at Mia and Sylvie through glasses perched on the end of a beak-like nose and was dressed in a too tight Pinhead T-shirt from the 1980s Hellraiser movies over grubby jeans. Behind him, on the wall, was a vintage Nightmare on Elm Street movie poster, with the signature of Robert Englund, the actor who played Freddy Krueger, scrawled boldly across it.

  “Howard Adler?” Mia said.

  “That’s me,” Howard said. “I already told the last guy. I’m not buying a stupid magazine subscription. Not unless you’ve got Fangoria, which you never do.”

  Fangoria? Mia thought. What the heck was Fangoria?

  “Oh no, it isn’t that,” Mia said. “We wanted to talk to you about the Elmswood House.”

  That information hit Howard’s eyes like a depth charge. He squinted, looking a little closer at the two women who had turned up on his doorstep.

  “You mean the Browder place,” he said cautiously.

  “Bingo,” Sylvie said and smiled.

  “What about it?” Howard said, looking nervous.

  “Do you know Cindy Moore?” Mia said. “She represented that house through Seaside Estates?”

  “Sure, I know her,” Howard said. “Well, I’ve spoken to her on the phone anyway.”

  “Did you make an appointment to see that house the day before yesterday?” Mia continued.

  “Sure I did. Say, what is this? Who are you guys?”

  “We’re from Bell, Book, and Candle—” Mia started to say.

  That information made Howard Adler’s jaw grow slack in amazement.

  “T-the podcast? You’re kidding me!” Howard said with growing excitement. “Holy moly!”

  “Ten out of ten, Howie,” Sylvie said. “We’re the podcasters.”

  “You must be Mia Bold? I saw your picture at ParaCon last year! Why didn’t I see it before? Come in,” Howard said and led them into his living room, which was lined with display cases housing models from various horror movies. A collection of fantasy swords was displayed on one wall, hanging between framed vintage horror posters.

  “Wow, Howie, you like the nasty stuff, huh?” Sylvie said.

  “Go ahead, sit down,” Howard said, pointing to a black leather couch with excitement. “I can’t believe Mia Bold is in my house!”

  “I guess I really am the sidekick,” Sylvie said under her breath.

  Mia stifled a laugh at her joke. What would Johnny do in this situation? she wondered. No doubt, he would be charming. She took a deep breath and smiled.

  “Thanks,” Mia said and took a seat. “Great collection, Howard.”

  Howard’s eyes widened and he grinned sheepishly.

  “You think so? Wow! So why are you guys here?” he said, thrilled. “Is Johnny Astor with you?”

  “Not today, I’m afraid,” Sylvie said.

  “That’s okay, would you autograph something for me?” Howard rushed around the room looking through stacks of magazines until he found an issue of Fangoria with Johnny featured on the cover. The title read: The New Breed of Ghost Hunters! Up in the corner was a little box the size of a postage stamp with a picture of Mia. Underneath the box were the words: Johnny’s new sidekick!

  It was obvious why no one had showed her this insulting cover!

  “Sure,” Mia said and took the pen and the magazine. She wrote across the front of the issue: To Howard Adler, Keep searching for the truth, Mia Bold.

  “Wow, thanks!” Howard grinned, staring at the autograph.

  “Listen, Howard, we have some bad news,” Mia said. “Cindy Moore is dead.”

  “Whoa, are you serious?” Howard said, an expression of surprise spreading across his face.

  “No one’s sure what happened,” Mia said.

  “Crap. Was it that haunted house? I almost walked into that place.”

  “We aren’t really sure what happened. We’re trying to find out,” Mia said. “When you first saw the property, did you ever feel any negative energy?”

  “Not really, it just looked like a dump.”

  Mia wondered why no one else seemed to feel the awful energy of that house. Had her mind played a trick on her? Was her own silly fear getting the best of her? It didn’t feel that way. The sensation of terror felt genuine. There must be some logical explanation for the reaction she was having, if only she could figure it out.

  “Weren’t you supposed to meet her that evening?” Sylvie said.

  “I was, but she cancelled that appointment.”

  “Why did you want to see the house?” Mia asked.

  Howard looked at her sheepishly. “It’s haunted. I wanted to see, you know, the ghosts.”

  “Do you know why Cindy cancelled?” Mia said.

  “She said another client had arrived unexpectedly,” Howard said.

  “What time was that, Howie?” Sylvie said.

  Howard took his phone out and scrolled through his outgoing call record.

  “Here,” he said. “Cindy called me at five thirty p.m.” Howard turned his phone so Mia and Sylvie could read the call log.

  They stared at the date. Cindy had called Howard the night of the murder.

  “Thanks, Howard, that really helps us,” Mia said and stood up to leave.

  “Hey, Mia? Are you going to film at the Elmswood House?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe.”

  “If you do, can I come and watch?”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Mia said. “One more thing. A cop is going to come by and talk to you—Detective Charlie Waite. Maybe pretend we were never here?”

  Howard Adler ginned. “You got it.”

  Mia, Sylvie, and Tandy walked back outside and jumped into the car, anxious to make their exit before Detective Waite appeared.

  Sylvie’s phone started to buzz and she looked at the text.

  “It’s Doug Tanner. He found the contact info,” Sylvie said and showed Mia the screen.

  “Looks like she lives on the edge of Swampscott,” Mia said, locking her seat belt. “Let’s go. It’s time we had a talk with Connie Carol.”

  ***

  Connie Carol lived in an apartment on the first floor of a two-story Victorian house painted a sunny yellow, just down the street from Swampscott High School. For the affluent suburb, this was about as tough as it got. There were two front doors set into the porch. After Tandy went crazy sniffing around the fence, Mia and Sylvie climbed the porch steps and knocked on the front door. The sound of a small dog came from behind the door, yapping and sniffing at the threshold.

  “What do you want?” a low, rasping voice called out.

  “Connie Carol? I’m Mia Bold and this is Sylvie Payne. We had some questions about the Elmswood House?”

  “Is that a dog you have with you?”

  “Yes, this is Tandy. He’s friendly.”

  “Meet me in the backyard. My little Nutmeg could use a playdate.”

  Mia and Sylvie walked back down the steps and opened the gate. Tandy leaped inside. At the side of the house, a door opened and a caramel-colored miniature poodle ran down the steps. Tandy approached, tail wagging, ears at attention. The poodle barreled toward Tandy. Just before they collided, the little dog screeched to a halt and his tail whirled in a circle. Then they sprang up in the air in a series of hops and greeted each other, sniffing, tails wagging before springing up with a burst of energy and tearing around the yard, leaping and frolicking.

  The owner of the dog made her way down the steps, an older woman wearing overalls splattered with paint. She was holding a coffee cup in one hand as she settled down on the lower step to watch the dogs play.

  “Connie
Carol?” Mia said.

  “I am, and that’s my dog, Nutmeg.” Connie looked Mia and Sylvie up and down. “Who are you exactly?”

  “I’m Mia Bold and this is Sylvie Payne. We wanted to talk to you about your house on Elmswood Road.”

  Connie shook her head slowly back and forth.

  “Well, if you’re from Hollywood, I’m not interested,” Connie said gruffly.

  “Oh no, we’re local,” Mia said.

  “That’s funny. You look like those Hollywood types,” Connie said. “Well, if you’re newspaper people, I don’t know a darned thing about Cindy Moore. I got a call from the cops, end of story.”

  “We actually just had a few questions about the property,” Mia said.

  A look of comprehension dawned on Connie’s face. “Oh, I know, you’re the ghost hunters, aren’t you? Cindy said you were filming at the house, the poor woman.”

  “What happened to Cindy was tragic,” Mia said. “We were all shocked to hear about it.”

  Connie nodded solemnly. “So why are you here?”

  “We’re trying to understand what happened to Cindy,” Sylvie said.

  “It wasn’t the ghost, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Connie said and sipped her coffee, starting at the dogs as they tumbled and played.

  Mia glanced at Sylvie, eyebrow arched in surprise.

  “What makes you say that?” Mia asked.

  “Because I know that ghost. She would never hurt Cindy or me or anyone.”

  “I thought you were run out of the house by that ghost?” Mia said.

  “Fake news,” Connie said. “The ghost I knew would never hurt a soul.”

  “What ghost is that?” Mia said.

  “Why Lydia, of course,” Connie said.

  Mia felt a clammy sweat spread across her brow.

  “You saw Lydia?” Sylvie said.

  “Sure I have,” Connie said. “What’s wrong with your friend? Is she okay?”

  “I’m fine,” Mia said, taking a deep breath. “Could you tell us about her?”

  “Lydia showed up the week we moved in. She would appear on the old playground next to the house or running across the yard. Dean even got a picture of her. Hey, you don’t look so good. Why don’t you sit down?”