NIGHT CHILLS: A Bracken and Bledsoe Paranormal Mystery

by Jones, Bruce Elliot

* * *

  At least there was a new, bright red Mustang waiting at the car rental place for us.

  I’m partial to Mustangs, the redder the better.

  I gave them my credit card, signed the papers and strolled into the lot with Katie.

  She gazed south at the impressive range of mountains. “Mexico, right? Huh.” She swiped at her brow. “You know, I’d have thought it would be less humid here…”

  “It is where you’re looking now, over in Tijuana, and much less humid only a couple of miles out of the city. You’re feeling the moisture off both the Pacific Ocean and the San Diego Bay. The bay separates mainland San Diego from the island of Coronado.”

  She glanced at me as we approached the gleaming red rental. “You’ve been here?”

  “I lived in L.A., remember? Joined Rita later in Austin. Yeah, I came down here. Once.” I flipped her the keys. “You drive.”

  She caught them one-handed, opened the driver’s side door. “You’re not that drunk.”

  “I’ve been airborne enough for one day.”

  Katie slid behind the wheel. “What does that mean?”

  I scooted in beside her. “You’ll see.” I flipped open a local map purchased at the airport. “You want to hang a right up here and get on the I-5 heading south. It’s just a short hop from here to the Sanderson’s house on Coronado Island.”

  Katie pulled from the lot, signaled, got on the highway. “How do you know it’s so short?”

  “Because the island itself is short. And thin. Plus the U.S. Naval Air Station is at the north end, occupying nearly half the island. It isn’t a real island anyway—it lies on a peninsula connected to the mainland—a narrow isthmus called the Silver Strand. Only the locals call it The Island. Heads up! Turn right off the highway there at the Coronado sign.”

  “Wow, that was fast.”

  “It’s a very concentrated paradise. Merge into your right lane here…”

  Katie merged. “If the Sanderson’s place is on the other side of the bay, how do we cross it, a tunnel?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You’ll see.”

  “Why does that sound ominous? Oh my God! What is that?”

  “What?”

  “Don’t play dumb—that!”

  “Oh, that! That’s just the San Diego-Coronado Bridge, Katie. Steep, isn’t it?”

  “And thin!” Katie’s knuckles were white on the rental’s wheel. “And high! You’ve driven this before?”

  “Once.”

  “Oh, my God! There isn’t room! It’s—it’s—“

  “Perfectly safe. Just stay over here away from oncoming traffic. Oh, and I wouldn’t look over the side when we reach the top if I were you…”

  “Oh, Christ, is that the water way down there?”

  “I believe it is. Full of sharks, I’ve heard.”

  “Elliot, you bastard! This is terrifying!”

  “Really? Don’t have a fear of heights….do you?”

  “You had me drive on purpose!”

  “Ah, there’s the suicide prevention sign against the railing. ‘Please write for emotional support information at—‘“

  “You son of a bitch!”

  “Katie, Katie…lower your voice. Try to listen to what I’m reading, not what I’m saying…”

  * * *

  We pulled through the toll booths at the other end of the bridge and into the winding streets, manicured lawns, tall and thin, thick and fat palms, and neatly trimmed shrubbery of the mostly pre and post war homes and neighborhoods of Coronado.

  “Wow. This is really pretty! I still hate you but this is nice, like a postcard!”

  “A very expensive postcard. Even a modest home over here will cost you a million and a half. Turn left here on C Ave. The streets go C, B and A to Orange Avenue, which is the main drag.”

  “Very cute. I could go for this if it weren’t for my hair frizzing. What was that darling little doll house-like place with the red turret roof we saw from the top of the bridge?”

  “Hotel del Coronado. Or The Del, as the locals call it. Very historic. Built in the late 1800’s and still one of the world’s top resort spots. Remember Some Like it Hot with Marilyn Monroe and Tony Curtis?—it was filmed at the hotel. If there’s time later, I’ll give you the tour.”

  “'Cause you’ve been there. Once.”

  Amid the smallish single family homes a dun giant rose.

  I was up in Eureka, California once to pay a quick visit to the William Carson Mansion; it came to mind the instant I laid eyes on the Sanderson’s place. Their humbler gingerbread house didn’t quite compare to that massive Queen Anne style manse, but it held the same asymmetrical façade, dominant front-facing cantilevered gable, overhanging eaves, even a jutting polygonal tower. A wrap-around porch covered the front, including the primary entrance area just like its big brother up north, with a second-story pedimented porch and balconies. All of it was encased in a differing array of wall textures and patterned wood shingles of various designs over brickwork. Horizontal bands of oriel leaded windows marched below three high-jutting monumental chimneys.

  Katie eased the rental to the curb, craned up through the windshield past the Sanderson’s shiny Lexus in the front drive and sat marveling a moment at the lentils, classic columns, spindle work, painted balustrades, white wood fence and neatly trimmed, lively flower gardens.

  “Wow and double wow.”

  I shook my awed head, puffed out humble breath: “Photos don’t do the place justice, huh. Sure this is the right house?”

  She snagged the tablet from her purse and tapped it twice. “It’s the house all right.”

  I sighed. “And these people need our help?”

  Katie put the tablet away thoughtfully, reached for the door handle. “Let’s hope we can give them some…”

  I climbed out, swayed uncertainly against the door, caught at the handle for support.

  “Drank too much,” I mumble quietly to myself.

  “No kidding,” Katie announced loudly, “I hadn’t noticed.”

  * * *

  The paneled cut-glass front door swung back and sunlight washed a pretty blonde cupid face. Donna Sanderson peered out in gray sweats, baby Natalie cradled, 3 year old Nathaniel peeking shy reproach from behind mamma’s long-legged designer jeans.

  “Mrs. Sanderson--?”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s Katie Bracken.”

  Beach bunny cute maybe, but Donna Sanderson was not without a patina of worry lines at brow and mouth and sleepless shadows under clear green eyes, which brightened at mention of Katie’s name.

  “Oh! Yes! I didn’t expect someone so—you’re young and pretty!” and she adjusted the baby to hold out a slim, perfectly tanned hand.

  Katie took it, nodded at me. “And this is Mr. Bledsoe, my associate.”

  “Hey.”

  “Hey!” gripping my hand like a lifeline. “Sorry for the slow uptake; you don’t look like, well…”

  “Paranormal Investigators?” Katie smiled.

  “Not that I’d know. But I guess I expected…”

  “Nerdy?” from me.

  “Well, certainly not Central Casting!”

  “We’ll try hard to be stuffy and officious,” Katie winked.

  “I’m so glad you came! Come in, come in! Sorry the place is such a mess! It’s so nice to meet you both!”

  We stepped in the massively ornate foyer. It gave me a feeling not unlike that of entering a cathedral. A very elegant cathedral.

  “Uh…where is the place a mess?” from me.

  Enviously slim and bouncy Donna led us into an even more massive living room of what looked like a mix of motifs: original, deep mahogany Eastlake Style paneling amid upscale classic Modern. With a scattering of plastic kids’ toys across shiny hardwood floors.

  “I love toys!” Katie said.

  Donna bent one handed and set aside a plastic pedal car. “Oh, these are Natha
niel’s things. It’s my husband who’s making most of the mess. Byron’s trying to retain the Victorian style of the place while ingratiating a sort of mutated Danish Modern furniture approach. You can probably smell the sawdust from various parts of The Mausoleum—our affectionate name for the place. We’re a bit in a state of flux, so please be patient.”

  “It’s lovely,” from Katie, “and truthfully I’m not a die-hard of fan of Victorian homes, but the styles mesh wonderfully. Your husband must be a genius.”

  “So he keeps telling me. Nathaniel, come out from behind the couch like a gentlemen and say hello to our company.”

  The 3-year-old’s head disappeared again behind the lush sofa.

  “Such a handsome young man!” Katie cooed. “Going to break hearts someday.”

  “Not if he doesn’t get over his shyness,” Donna beamed.

  “Maybe I can help,” I suggested, hardly listing at all, “I’ve an entire collection of phobias.”

  Katie gave me a patient look, Donna a curious one. “Really? You look so…together. The perfect couple. Do you two have children?”

  Katie smiled wryly. “No.”

  Donna’s free hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, God, I’m sorry! ‘Bracken and Bledsoe’—of course! I just assumed…” she shrugged, “…I am sorry! I guess you two just look married for some reason.”

  “S’okay, “Katie smiled, “we get that all the time. Mmm. Is that coffee I smell?” and she gave me a pointed look.

  “Yes! Fresh! Come have some!” Donna motioned us down a filigreed hallway. “I was just about feed the kids and make myself some breakfast, will you join me?”

  “Sounds wonderful,” Katie chimed in, “doesn’t it, Elliot?”

  “You bet! All they have on airlines is peanuts these days.”

  “You poor things, I hope they at least offered you something to drink.”

  “Oh, you can drink as much as you like, isn’t that right, Elliot?”

  “Well—“

  She glared me down. “And doesn’t that coffee smell delicious! Elliot?”

  The kitchen was clearly all Donna’s, with not a trace of her architect husband’s mixed style remodeling here unless it was Byron who’d put in the modern range, fridge, generous island counters and wall-to-wall windows.

  “Oh, this is beautiful!” from Katie.

  Donna fetched eggs and bacon from the fridge one-handed. “Thanks to the genius. He thought up all the sunny new windows, the place was dark as a crypt when we moved in.” She stopped in the middle of what she was doing, food in one arm, baby in the other, and stared a moment into space. “Why do I keep making a metaphorical cemetery of this place…?”

  Katie held out her hands for the baby. “Here, let me, may I?”

  Donna handed little Natalie over, turned to pull pans and cups from the cupboard. “She on the other hand is not the least bit shy--a totally unscrupulous flirt, in fact! Don’t let her near your husband—shit, there I go again—your associate. Sorry.”

  Katie held the baby close, rocked her gently. “Well now,” she cooed, obliviously goofy-faced, “just the little homecoming queen, are we, hmm?”

  The baby cooed back.

  I thought I’d seen just about every kind of smile on Katie’s face before—but I’d never seen one quite like that.

  “Mr. Bledsoe—?”

  I broke my trance and looked up (without weaving at all, I’m sure) at Donna, who was smiling from the counter. “Hm?”

  “Would you like to sit down at the table while I get your coffee?”

  I shook my head—but not too fast. “No! I’m fine, thanks! And it’s Elliot. Please.”

  “Go sit at the table,” from Katie, rubbing noses with the baby. “Donna knows you had too much to drink on the plane.”

  I turned to Donna. “Am I slurring?”

  She smiled brightly, held up a hand, thumb and forefinger, separated just a little.

  I flushed humiliation, trudging to the table. “Great. Great start, Elliot. The Sandersons will put their full trust in you now.”

  Donna laughed lightly, poured me a steaming cup of black liquid. “Don’t worry about it. I too, go in terror of the Great Magic Bird. Katie, just set her there in her highchair if she gets too heavy.”

  Katie didn’t even look up from the cherubic cheeks. “She’ll never get heavy…”

  I shot her a look she ignored.

  Donna glanced quickly once between us, smiled a secret smile, and returned to the range.

  I looked up as little Nathaniel waddled into the room clutching a piece of paper and a crayon. He looked up at me once, turned and went straight to Katie.

  Katie looked down at the yank on her jeans, straight into a lustrous mop of nearly-white hair accompanied by gorgeous, wide green eyes.

  “And what have we here? A budding artist?”

  She took the child’s scribbling with histrionic enthusiasm. “Well! Isn’t this just lovely? What a talented little man we are! Look, Natalie, isn’t your big brother talented? I should say so!” She showed it to a jaded Donna, then handed it back to the boy, who shook his head and stepped back.

  “Is this for me? Oh, my! Thank you, sir! I am so honored! Will you sign it?”

  Nathaniel burbled laughter.

  I rolled my eyes.

  Donna turned from the range. “How do you like them, Elliot, over easy or scrambled?”

  “Any way,” I said.

  Donna cracked shells amiably. “Katie?”

  “That’s fine, thanks.”

  “How many?”

  “Twins,” Katie said.

  She looked up quickly, blushing horror. “Two, I mean! Two eggs, please!”

  Donna turned back to the pan, grinning ear-to-ear.

  I endured sudden sobriety from the table.

  * * *

  In the hallway, after breakfast and somewhat less wobbly, I consulted my watch, brows arching. “Is it almost noon already?”

  “Set your watch back, partner,” from Katie, walking ahead beside Donna, who held the baby in her arms, as Nathaniel exploring the view from Katie’s shoulder.

  “Oh. Yeah.”

  “10:00 a.m. Pacific,” from Donna, “and time for morning naps!”

  I followed behind like a third wheel as the women climbed to the third floor with the kids.

  “Unless we sell this place in the next ten years,” Donna said, not even breathing hard, “I’m going to have Byron install an elevator!”

  Katie chided: “And lose that girlish figure?”

  Donna beamed at her across the stairs. “Aren’t you sweet? I just knew we’d get along!”

  “She’s not really sweet at all,” I puffed three stairs down.

  Katie craned around. “Are you all right?”

  “Perfect,” I smiled up mirthless, “sober as a judge, thank-you!”

  “Not short-winded? Tight around the heart?”

  “Want to race to the top?”

  “If you’ll carry Nathaniel! I think he likes you!”

  That shut me up.

  Katie leaned toward Donna. “He’s right, actually, I’m not sweet at all. We shall, notwithstanding, get along famously, I promise!”

  “Knew it the moment I opened the front door!”

  I drew in a shaky breath. “Did she mention anything about payment?” I yelled up the stairs.

  Katie snapped to me. “Elliot! Don’t be rude!”

  “It involves your firstborn child!” I called.

  Katie sighed. “He’s not always like this, I promise.”

  Donna laughed. “He’s adorable! Sure you two aren’t engaged or something--?”

  * * *

  Outside the Sandersons’ spacious, third-floor bedroom, Katie paused suddenly at the door.

  Donna had the already-asleep Natalie down and centered on the big king-size bed, arranging a bank of pillows around her.

  She looked up at Katie and Nathaniel still in the doorway. “It’s okay,” she smiled, “come on in.”


  Katie took a step inside…halted again. “They nap in your bed?”

  Donna nodded, stacking pillows. “Sleep with us at night, too. Ever since…you know.”

  Katie looked down at Nathaniel’s delicate features in her arms, his little eyes beginning to lid sleepily. “Donna…?”

  Donna turned from the bed, straightened.

  “Yes? What is it?”

  Donna was clearly uncomfortable about something, choosing her words carefully. “The kids sleeping with you and Byron…do you really think—“

  Donna smiled, waved her hand. “I know. I’ve read all the books. It makes it harder for children to break away from the parents later. I think it’s hogwash. They’re perfectly fine with us. And perfectly comfortable.”

  Katie nodded, still looking down at the now lightly snoring boy. “I’m sure. But…”

  Donna came toward her softly. “What is it, Katie?”

  Katie handed her the child gently. “Your husband—Byron—called us because he needed our help. That took courage, I know. More importantly, it took a certain amount of trust.”

  “Katie, I do trust you. Both of you. I feel like we’re old friends. Really.”

  Katie nodded. “Good. Then help me to trust you, Donna.”

  Donna pulled away an inch. “I don’t understand.”

  “The trust has to go both ways. Run deep. I going to have to ask you to do certain things while we’re here…things you might not like. And that’s okay. You don’t have to like them. But I do need to feel you’ll follow my lead on this thing…that I can trust you to believe I have both yours and your kids’ best interests at heart.”

  Donna frowned, just the slightest. “Go on.”

  “The sooner we begin to work on your problem, the greater chance of success.”

  “I’m listening.”

  Katie turned to look at me in the doorway. I moved quickly, steadily to her side.

  She looked back at Mrs. Sanderson. “Donna, I need for you to put the children back in the nursery.”

  Donna flinched, stepped back again “To sleep?”

  Katie nodded.

  Mrs. Sanderson seemed to hold her breath a moment. “At night as well?”

  “Yes.”

  Donna glanced uncertainly at both of us.

  She looked down at Nathaniel asleep in her arms. I saw her throat move once.

  “Starting when?”