NIGHT CHILLS: A Bracken and Bledsoe Paranormal Mystery

by Jones, Bruce Elliot

  “Thank you, Mrs. Sanderson. My, this certainly is a beautiful old place. Queen Anne, isn’t it? Like the Del?”

  Del? I thought.

  Rand caught my expression, jerked his thumb behind him. “Big hotel on the beach down the block. Red turret roof? Quite a place. You should see it, Mr. Bledsoe, before heading back to Texas.”

  Back to Texas. Rand had certainly done his homework.

  Rand surveyed the living room with genuine admiration. “Actually, don’t bother with the coffee, Mrs. Sanderson, we don’t want to keep you good folks. What I was wondering—say, what’s this--?”

  He was bending down to the coffee table, retrieving the set of Byron’s keys Katie had thrown there.

  “Ah!” Byron proclaimed with great relief, “there they are! Always the last place you look!”

  Rand tossed him the keys with a wink and a grin. “Happens to me all the time! Thinking about getting one of those voice recognition cars! Have you seen them?”

  “It’s very late,” Katie put in impatiently.

  “Or early, depending on your view,” Rand winked at her. “As I was saying, I was wondering if we could have a wee look at the children, Mr. Sanderson! Little Natalie, isn’t it? And…”

  “Nathaniel,” Donna answered drily, coming back down with the still-wailing Natalie in her arms.

  “Hello, sweetheart!” Rand cooed, patting a tiny arm, “why all the tears?”

  “The doorbell woke her!” Katie told him flatly.

  “Nathaniel’s in the bedroom,” Donna said, handing the baby to her husband. She looked and moved with the inevitability of an automaton and seemed to have to look twice to find the staircase, a sudden stranger in her own home, “right this way.”

  Byron took Natalie into the kitchen so we could hear.

  Donna led the way upstairs, gripping the railing tightly like an old woman, Rand and Fellows behind her, Katie and me bringing up the rear. I glanced at my partner but she didn’t meet my eyes, apparently having run out of tactical measures for the moment.

  At the top of the landing Donna swayed a moment, clutched the newel for support.

  To his credit, Rand was right there in a flash. “Are you all right, Mrs. Sanderson?”

  Donna, hand to head, nodded in a moment. “Yes. Fine.” She looked up at Rand. “I’m sorry, did I say bedroom? Nathaniel’s in the nursery.”

  “Slept in there tonight with Mr. Sanderson and me,” I announced.

  “Uh-huh,” from Rand, who steadied Donna gently until she got underway again.

  All the way to the open nursery doors I kept repeating to myself, Let the kid be there, let the kid be there, please by some miracle of God let the kid be there…

  The lights were still on as we’d left them.

  The nursery was empty.

  Donna, as if repelled by some invisible force, lingered at the door, hollow-faced and colorless, clinging to the jamb for support.

  Rand and Fellows swept in, walked around, cased the place, noted the camper mattress, the nice view from the bay window, the big clock above the mantle. Rand leaned close to the latter as if listening for ticking, then finally turned to us. “Clock’s broken.”

  I nodded wearily. “It’s an antique.”

  Rand looked back at its silent face, unmoving hands. “Uh-huh.”

  “Mrs. Sanderson--?”

  She looked about to shatter. “Nathaniel…sometimes wanders…”

  Rand looked at Fellows. “Uh-huh.”

  “Perhaps he wandered into the Sandersons’ bedroom,” Katie suggested quickly, half stalling, half in hope.

  Rand sighed, signaled his partner. “Let’s go take a look at the bedroom, then!”

  Back down the hall, Katie was right beside Donna now, ready to grab an arm or hand.

  I gazed down at the wine-colored carpet, reciting that same refrain on the way back: Please let the kid be in the bedroom, please let all that stuff I saw before in the nursery be a dream, please let the kid be in the bedroom…

  Katie and I exchanged brave looks as Rand stepped through the master bedroom door.

  The bedroom was empty.

  Fellows checked the bathroom and closets like a good detective, just to be sure.

  Finally Rand turned to Donna again. “Well, Mrs. Sanderson?”

  I wanted to clobber him. Clearly Donna was close to passing out.

  Katie had her arm around her, throwing dagger eyes at both cops. “I think Mrs. Sanderson needs to lie down for a moment, gentlemen. How about that coffee, now? I’ll make it.”

  Rand shuffled his feet. “I’m afraid we need to ask Mrs. Sanderson a few questions first. This is the second time her son has gone mi—“

  “She can lie down on the bed and rest for five goddamn minutes!” Katie snapped.

  Rand actually jerked back a little; when Katie’s gets adamant it tends to fill the room.

  The detective finally sighed, nodding at his partner. “Okay. Five minutes. But my partner stays up here with her.”

  Katie guided Donna to the bed. “C’mon, sweetie…”

  The rest of us turned from the bedroom.

  That’s when the downstairs doorbell rang again.

  * * *

  Byron, being closest—Natalie finally asleep in his arms now—got there first.

  I came up behind him as he pulled open the door.

  “Mr. Sanderson?”

  A familiar voice.

  “Are you still entertaining houseguests?”

  I came round the side of the door. “Liz!”

  A middle-aged but very striking woman smiled up brightly from the front stoop. She might have been an aging hippie. Or, in her peasant skirt, bright paisley blouse, shoulder length black hair and gold hoop earrings, she might have been a real gypsy. “Elliot!”

  She threw her arms around me. “How’s my handsome son?”

  “Liz! Where did you--have you been driving all night?”

  She waved a hand in the air like it was nothing special. “Forgot about the time change, wouldn’t you know! Oh, dear, my mind’s a sieve these days! So tired when I got here I nearly drove off that crazy bridge! When I finally found the house, I parked the Galaxy at the curb, turned off the motor and promptly fell asleep! Your old mother’s not what she used to be, dear! Katie! Gorgeous thing, is that you?”

  Katie nudged against me. “Hello, Mrs. Bledsoe! So good to see you again!”

  “And you, sweet child! But please, it’s ‘Liz!’” She took Katie’s hands in hers, leaned way back to appraise her approvingly. “My, don’t you look lovely? Prettier than that day you visited my home back east! Had lunch, remember? --showed you Elliot’s student film! Has he married you yet?”

  “Who?”

  “Elliot, of course! You two did hit it off, didn’t you?” Waving that impatient hand again. “Course you did, wouldn’t be here together otherwise! Now I warn you, dear, he does snore! But you’re such a natural fit, aren’t you! Well? Are you all going to just stand there, leave me out here in the cold all night?”

  I opened the door wider. “It’s San Diego, Liz 76 degrees. Is your…outfit supposed to be that wrinkly?”

  “Told you, dear--slept in the car!”

  Her eyes went immediately to the two detectives. “And who are these handsome gentlemen?”

  “Liz, Detectives Rand and Fellows—detectives, my mother, Liz.”

  Liz held her hand up like a princess to Rand’s face so he had to take it or fear rebuffing the sparkling eyes and inviting smile. “Charmed! Well, Detective Rand, is that a gun in your pocket or are you just glad I’m not wearing a wedding ring?”

  Rand coughed, probably trying to let go of her hand, but Liz kept her strong fingers pinched on his a moment longer. “I’ll have to come to the southwest more often! Has anyone ever told you that you look like Sean Connery, Detective Rand?”

  “Uh…”

  “—the young arrogant one, unfortunately! Not the older, wonderfully soft-jawed one!”

 
; “Liz--?”

  She let go of Rand to turn to me. “Dear?”

  “You slept in the car all night?”

  “Most of it, dear, yes. Oh, but I had company, never fear! My companion and protector—now, where did he go--?”

  She craned about, brushing the bright peasant skirt aside, reached around and got hold of something behind her.

  “Found him curled up in my backseat, holding tight to that marble ball!” She guided a sleepy-eyed Nathaniel into the circle of porch light. “Does this belong to anyone?”

  FOURTEEN

  The police left shortly thereafter.

  I think Liz chased them off.

  Typically embarrassed for her (okay, for myself), I leveled a look her way as Byron closed the door behind the cops. I stepped forward, arms spread wide. “Byron, Donna—my woefully demure and shyly retiring mother, Liz Bledsoe. Liz, may I present the Sandersons.”

  The Sandersons smiled at her, not really sure what to make of the crazy lady in the loud clothes and screaming red lipstick, but too grateful for the return of their son at that moment to care.

  I came up behind her, kissed the back of her head. “Liz, the little scene with the police, was that really necessary?”

  Liz smiled without taking her eyes off Byron. “Got rid of them, didn’t it, dear?”

  After that everyone needed a drink.

  After that everyone needed sleep.

  Liz took Katie’s smoking room upstairs.

  Byron dragged the camping mattress down from the nursery after locking the door securely, then grabbed both kids under an arm and nestled them between him and his wife in their bedroom.

  I shoved the mattress in front of the divan, then laid down on it; the divan, not the mattress. Katie got the mattress.

  In pre-dawn darkness, mind awhirl and unable to sleep, I turned my head toward Katie, who was also, I was certain, not asleep.

  “You know how ridiculous this is, of course…”

  “I offered you the mattress.”

  “Which we both shared just last night. So why am I up here again?”

  “Decorum, Elliot.”

  “You can’t mean the Sandersons so you must mean my mother. She’s practically throwing me at you, Katie!”

  “Which I why you’re up there again.”

  “I don’t get it. She was bohemian before Bohemia.”

  “She was a woman first.”

  “Still don’t get it.”

  “Because you’re not a woman. Tell me about what hap—about your dream in the nursery.”

  “It was the same dream I had back in Austin just before you showed up.”

  “You didn’t tell me about it!

  “At the time it didn’t seem significant! It was just a scary dream. But that—creature was in it, whispering to me in an inhuman growl about how she made him do it! There was a small figure of light there too, it must have represented Nathaniel, and the creature leapt on it and tried to devour it! Suddenly Nathaniel came in behind me—when I first noticed the nursery doors were open. I think I was in a kind of shock by then. I asked Nathaniel how he got in and he said, ‘Animal people.’ Then he ran past me.”

  “Where?”

  “’Where’?”

  “Where did he run to?”

  I blinked. “He…to the clock, he ran toward the clock above the mantel, I could still hear it chiming as he disappeared into the shadows of the fireplace.”

  “And--?”

  “That’s when you shook me. Woke me up on the mattress. Then Byron came in and…well, you know the rest.”

  The living room was silent.

  “Katie? So, what do you think?”

  “Go to sleep.”

  “What!”

  “You need to sleep. We both do, we’re done-in. We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

  “Are you serious? I can’t sleep now!”

  “Close your eyes, Elliot. Sleep.”

  “I can’t!”

  But, amazingly, I could.

  * * *

  …my mother was saying something from the kitchen…going on about how I was late for my paper route and would therefore be late for class…

  Yeah, yeah…I tossed in my strangely uncomfortable boyhood bed, rolled over to find the pillow, realized it was not my pillow, not, in fact, my bed and that mom’s voice was coming from further away than usual and was accompanied by another voice, which turned out to be Byron Sanderson’s and that oh, yeah, I was in Coronado, California, not Cincinnati, Ohio.

  I pushed up, found Katie cutely curled and still asleep in a trail of sheets beside me, eased from the divan so as not to wake her, dragged up my jeans, stopped by the hall bathroom to pee and came yawning into the Sandersons’ kitchen and the good smells of fresh coffee, bacon and eggs.

  “…and how did you two meet?” Liz was saying to Byron, whose back was to me at the kitchen table. He was in pajama bottoms and wrinkled Tee, surfer hair still sleep-tousled, head sagging a bit between his shoulders, one bare foot doing a nervous tap dance on the chair strut, none of it looking quite right.

  “We met after I finished college in Los Angeles. I was apprenticing there at a small architectural firm that had a minor contract for refurbishing a wing on the del Coronado Hotel here on the island….”

  I hesitated in the doorway, and watched their backs, wondering why Liz and Byron were down first and Donna was nowhere to be seen.

  “…Donna’s parents from Sacramento were spending their yearly summer vacation there. They always brought Donna along, it was their family tradition. I knocked her down one afternoon on the beach, approximately where Tony Curtis tripped Marilyn Monroe in Some Like It Hot. That’s what I remember as I helped her up from the sand—Jesus, I just knocked down Marilyn Monroe!”

  “Nice tactic for meeting the opposite sex,” from Liz, stirring something. “I must remember that!” Fifty-eight but with the hips, as she stirred, of a woman half her age.

  “It wasn’t a tactic, I was playing Frisbee with a partner from the L.A. firm—I ran into her. Really jarred her teeth. Cut her lip.”

  “Ooo!” Liz cooed, shuffling bacon, “it gets better! So, you naturally had to take her back to your room to fix that lip!”

  Byron grunted, poured himself more coffee from the pot. “A fixed lip is what I’d have gotten if I’d tried that. Remember when Curtis tries to pass himself off as a millionaire from Shell Oil in front of Marilyn? Well, Donna’s father had a partner himself, a certain oil company.”

  “Uh-oh, a rich girl!”

  “Very. Which may have been why she declined my assistance with the bleeding lip even after I explained what a hotshot young architect I was. She said salt water was best for cuts, told me to take a walk, and took a walk herself into the ocean. I stood there watching her backside as she slid into the sea and I knew it was all over.”

  “All over?”

  “My bachelorhood. We were married by the end of the summer in that beautiful little lattice garden behind the hotel.”

  “Her family in tow?” Liz asked, and then, back still turned: “Good-morning, Elliot! Wake up and smell the coffee?” without seeing me.

  Like she was psychic.

  Or something.

  Byron nodded hey as I joined him at the table. “Yes. Donna’s mother reminding me that Donna would hate Chicago, my hometown, while her father continually admonished us that architecture was a high risk occupation. Over and over.”

  “So what happened?” from me, pouring myself a fresh cup.

  “Donna hated Chicago. As predicted.”

  “Ouch.”

  “We ended up on the Mortons’ doorstep in Sacramento one night, where I ended up in Mr. Morton’s study until the wee hours listening all about how Shell Oil was booming more every year, the ridiculous figure he’d start me at—way more ridiculous than the expensive house they had picked out for us in Sacramento—if I put my heart in it and towed the line.”

  I smiled. “And--?”

 
“And I lay awake all night in the Mortons’ ridiculously huge guest bed, then called my old partner in Chicago at three in the morning. He dazedly gave me the number of an outfit in Carlsbad that was thinking of moving to San Diego, told me that there might be an opening for me if I got off my ass and was among the first through the door.”

  Liz shoveled scrambled eggs on our plates. “And the rest is history!”

  I saw Byron’s eyes grow dark over the lip of my cup at the word ‘history’, then exchanged looks with Liz, whose grimace was proclaiming self-admonishment, and turned back to Byron.

  “Donna and the kids still asleep upstairs?”

  Liz turned quickly from the table to get busy again with the stove.

  “Donna took the kids to her folks’ place in Sacramento this morning,” Byron managed with only a small crack in his voice.

  “Shit,” Katie whispered barefoot from the doorway.

  * * *

  After that nobody said anything for a while.

  Somebody said, “I’m sorry, Byron,” I think. Katie maybe. Maybe me or Liz, maybe all three of us.

  I sat there at the kitchen continuously pouring myself coffee I didn’t want, not finding it comfortable to look at anyone.

  Not comfortable to look at Katie because I felt I’d failed her.

  Not comfortable to look at Byron because I felt we’d both failed him.

  Everyone at the table, in fact, looked like they’d failed someone else. Except Liz.

  Liz sat across from me, drinking her own coffee and eating her own scrambled eggs and bacon, looking up at me with an oblivious smile every time I glanced at her. Or maybe not so oblivious. My mother had, it seemed to me, always been a lot of things, but oblivious was never one of them. Eccentric-minded maybe, but that mind was always busy, always headed somewhere and rarely looking back. Some might view this as a fault. But I’d always looked admiringly upon her, though I could have told her that more often, I suppose.

  When Liz was through eating, she shoved back her plate, took another long sip of coffee, turned to Byron next to her, placed a hand on his wrist and said, “She’ll be back.”

  Byron nodded solemnly to himself, pushed his chair back and put down his napkin. “Thanks for breakfast, Mrs. Bledsoe. Just leave the dishes, I’ll get them later—“