by Mona Marple
Taylor shifts from one foot to the other, his heavy-duty boots clomping as he does. “I’ll give that some thought.”
A baby begins to cry and Adele groans.
“You guys should get going.” I say. “You’ve done more than enough for me. Really, I’m so grateful.”
“You have a spare key?” Taylor asks.
“Mm, I think so.” I say. I’ve never had reason to give a spare key out to anyone.
“Would you be happy to give it to me? I’d like to pop by in the night, make sure everything’s okay.”
“I guess.” I say. “I just… if I hear someone walking around in here, how will I know if it’s you or…”
“I could shout out when I come in?” He suggests.
“Surely, if you can see that the outside’s secure, there’s no reason to come inside and spook her?” Adele says.
Taylor cocks his head to one side. “I guess. Okay, I’ll do that. I’ll be over tonight to check the outside. If you need anything at all, you call me, okay? I’ll keep my phone on and I’m just a minute away.”
I remember how quickly the blackness swallowed me.
A minute away is too far.
17
Connie
The pity party lasts for exactly four hours and twelve minutes.
I know because during that time I lie on the couch and watch the clock move, listening to every creak in this old house and fearing another attack.
I vow to keep my nose out of anyone else’s business and, in my mind, I hang up my murder investigation hat and look forward to a quiet life, while simultaneously fearing that I don’t have much life left to live at all.
And then, four hours and twelve minutes after Adele and Taylor and their beautiful babies have left, I feel a rage like I’ve never experienced before.
“darn you.” I mutter. I’m pacing the bedroom at this point, unable to sleep. Hyped up, full of energy, which could be the drugs the hospital gave me. “You’ve messed with the wrong woman.”
“Hell, yeah, there she is.” Sage sings out, appearing for the first time since the attack happened. She looks sheepish, but I’m not angry with her. Spirits can’t hurt the living, that’s a well-known fact, despite the horror film industry wanting you to believe otherwise. There was nothing she could have done. “You ready to kick some ass?”
“I’m gonna find out who did this, and who hurt Lola. It’s time to step this investigation up a notch.”
“Woohoo!” Sage cheers, pretending to shake pom poms in the air. She would have been a great cheerleader if we’d grown up here. Back home in England, we were both stuck with drizzly matches of hockey in the school field. Enough to put a girl off sport for life, which it did in my case.
“First stop, Nettie Frasier. Coming?” I ask.
Sage shakes her head too quick, actually floats backwards a little.
“What’s wrong? You love looking in people’s houses.” I say. The rule here is that spirits can’t let themselves into someone’s home uninvited. It’s our way of protecting people’s privacy. My way of reassuring any locals nervous of our spirit community that they don’t have to listen out for bumps in the night. I know the rule gets broken, of course, but it’s frowned upon. And the spirits tend to police themselves. So for Sage to refuse an open invitation into Nettie’s beautiful home, something is up.
“I don’t like that house.” Sage says.
“Are you kidding? It’s beautiful.” I argue. Desmond’s investment banker money afforded the couple a home that almost rivals Violet’s in terms of size and grandeur. I’ve never been inside it, but I know the layout. I checked out the sale listing after they’d bought it. The house is out of this world.
“There’s just something… something bad there, Connie. Be careful.”
I refuse to be afraid. I’m going to confront Nettie, suggest that she killed Lola as revenge for her affair with Desmond, and then hurt me to stop me investigating. It all fits together, and I’ve told Patton (who did his own moonlight supervision of the house to make sure I was safe) to accompany me. He won’t be able to do anything to help me, if things go wrong, but I’ll feel more confident with a witness.
“I’ll be fine.” I say, forcing a smile onto my face. “And anyway, I have a client in a couple of hours. If I’m not back then, call for help.”
Sage grimaces but doesn’t try to stop me.
I grab my jacket and slip into my shoes, and brave the world outside.
**
Nettie answers the door on the third ring, just as I was about to wonder if my visit will be wasted. I’m not sure I’ll find the courage to return a second time and, indeed, by the time she answers the door in a cherry-patterned apron, her hair falling in perfect ringlets, I can feel my nerve already slipping away.
“Connie? Are you okay?” She asks.
I nod. “Can I come in? I need to talk to you.”
“Erm.” She murmurs and glances behind me, down the path, straight through Patton who will follow me in if she allows me entry. We don’t have the kind of relationship where I can show up unannounced and ask to enter, and my request troubles her. “It’s not really a good time.”
“It’s important.” I say.
“Let’s go to the coffee house?” She suggests. “The house is a bit of a mess.”
“It needs to be here.” I say. I wonder what she’s hiding in this big, grand home. A home that never hosts dinners, parties, or even informal movie nights. A home that never sees guests invited over.
She looks down at the veranda and I wonder for a moment if she will just slam the door in my swollen face, but she sighs and holds the door open, stands to one side, allows me to walk in.
“We can go in the sitting room.” She says, gesturing to a room off towards the left. She leads the way. The room is palatial, but nothing apart from the size is impressive. It’s nothing like the photos I saw of how it looked before she moved in.
I do a full 360 and take in the whole of the room. The peeling wallpaper and the sagging couch. And then I look at Nettie, who is as immaculate as always. Outfit perfectly colour-coordinated, hair style straight from a salon, make-up applied expertly.
“ I know, it’s a mess.” She says, clearly seeing my reaction.
“Oh, no, no. Your home is beautiful.” I lie. It was beautiful, I think. From the sale photos, I know there was no work to be done. It was immaculate. How on Earth could Nettie have allowed it to end up like this?
She laughs. “It’s a complete mess. That’s why I didn’t want you to come in. I’m working on it, but things break quicker than I can mend them, ya know?”
“Oh yeah.” I agree, but I don’t know. Wallpaper manages to stay up on the walls in my house.
“Drink?” She offers.
“Sure.” I say. I’m completely thrown off-course by the state of the house and have no idea how I plan on accusing her of being a murderer. I need to buy time. “You have any sweet tea?”
“Mm-hmm, I think I do. I won’t be a moment.” Nettie says. She leaves the room and I exchange glances with Patton, who floats near the window, and then take the chance to explore the room in more detail. The wall is black around the power socket, as if the electricity has blown.
A small bang erupts from the kitchen and I jump and move out of sight.
“darn it!” Nettie exclaims.
I go to her, ignoring the threadbare rug over the hardwood floor. I recognise the kitchen from the show photos. The room is circular, with a round island in the middle, large windows, and French doors leading out into the garden. It’s a complete, and utter, mess.
Dirty dishes are piled on the granite countertops, a pile of soggy laundry sits on the floor, and Nettie stands, head in her hands, in front of a kettle as black smoke pours out of it.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
Nettie shakes her head and refuses to look at me. “Can you just go? I don’t want you to see me like this.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” I say.
“We need to talk. You know that, right?”
She looks at me then, eyes wide. I can’t picture her stabbing a young woman to death, but then I can’t imagine discovering a husband’s affair and not wanting to kill him and the mistress.
“Everything in this house is falling apart.” She says quietly. “The kettle was fine this morning. I sat here and had a cup of tea. And now, look at it! I can’t take much more of this.”
“You can replace it.” I try to soothe her, needing to keep the conversation focused.
“And the dishwasher? And the washer?” She asks with a groan. “I can’t replace them as quick as they break.”
“Nettie, please. I need to talk to you.”
She takes a deep breath and pulls out a stool from the island, slumps down onto it. I stay standing. Patton hovers near the doorway.
“We have a new Sheriff in town.” I say. “He’s going to be investigating Lola’s murder. And the attempted murder against me.”
Nettie blinks. “The what against you?”
“Attempted murder.” I say.
She looks downward, curls spilling across her face as a shield. “Someone tried to hurt you?”
“Someone did hurt me.” I correct. “Last night. I was lucky to survive.”
Nettie returns her gaze to me, then takes a deep, pained breath and closes her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
“Do you know anything about it?” I ask.
She shakes her head, darts a glance across towards me.
“Are you sure? Because the obvious thing to think is that it’s connected with Lola’s murder. That the killer was trying to stop me discovering who they were.”
“Why would you discover who they were?” She asks, and her question jolts me.
Of course. If I’m a target because of the investigation, the only possible suspects are people who know about the investigation.
“I don’t know.” I lie, no longer sure who to trust and who not to trust. “I’m just trying to talk to everyone. I need to know who did this to me.”
“Of course.” Nettie says. She glances around the room. “It’s an awful feeling, that someone is trying to hurt you.”
“Just out of interest, were you at the party?”
“The April Fools’ Party?” Nettie asks. “No. I knew she’d be there. I didn’t want to see her.”
“Lola?”
She nods and a single tear falls, cutting a line through her make-up, revealing a slice of natural skin tone there’s no reason for her to hide. “Desmond and I didn’t have the perfect marriage, especially towards the end. You could say I hated him for what he did. We were so young when we met. I knew I was beautiful back then. I was that kind of cheerleader girl, perfect tan girl, ride in the back of your truck girl. I never realised my legs would start to wobble. I thought wrinkles were for other people. I wasn’t ready to age but, more than that, Desmond wasn’t ready for me to age. And as soon as I did, he looked elsewhere. I knew it was happening, I’m not stupid. But I thought, maybe, if I could be perfect enough, maybe he’d stop. Maybe I’d be enough.”
I bite my lip. “He was a darn fool, girl.”
She laughs, my bluntness cutting through the emotion. “Oh, I know that now. I realised it, just too late. He and Lola, they deserved each other. She was playing him just like he was using her. As soon as she got too needy, or her body started to sag a little, he’d be on to the next one. What a sad way to live.”
“Are you okay living in this place alone?” I ask.
She looks at me then, a steely determination in her eyes. “Oh yes. This is my home. I’m going nowhere.”
18
Connie
“You’re wanted.” I call out into the empty house. “Patton?”
Silence.
I hope he shows up. He disappeared pretty quick after we left Nettie.
No time to worry, though, as the doorbell rings.
I smooth down the orange and purple dress I’m wearing and pull the door open, determined to offer my biggest smile.
“You could have just let yourself in.” I say with a laugh.
Taylor Morton smiles at me and holds my spare key out for me. “I wouldn’t do that. You want it back? Everything seemed fine last night but I was ready to come in if needed.”
“Everything’s fine.” I say. “Come on in.”
He’s already been here, of course, but he was here last night as my caregiver, my protector. The Sheriff. Today, he’s here as a client, and I want to impress him with my professionalism. I’m still convinced he’s only here at Adele’s insistence. I can imagine her, behind the scenes, suggesting he take me up on my offer and make an appointment. Plus it allows him to unofficially check on my welfare.
I show him through to the consultation room, where I’ve already put out two glasses of water and opened a window. The air was a little stale in the room, it’s freshened up now.
“So, how does this work?” He asks. “I’ve never done this before.”
“I’ll invite the spirit in and then you can just say whatever you want out loud, and I’ll tell you what they say in response. I can’t guarantee they’ll turn up, but like I say, Patton is still pretty involved, so it shouldn’t be an issue.”
“I don’t want to speak to Patton.” Taylor says with a nervous smile.
“Oh. Okay. I just…”
“I mean, I might want to speak to him another time. But for now, I want to speak to someone else. Ya know, if that’s possible.”
“I usually ask for an item that belongs to the person. I guess you don’t have anything?” I say.
“I do.” He says. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a delicate, silver anklet, which he passes across to me. I clasp it in my hands and close my eyes, a whirlwind of emotions hitting my senses as I focus only on the jewelry.
“Lola.” I say. Her face comes clearly into view in my mind, her bee-stung lips, thick eyebrows, tousled hair, attitude. I open my eyes. “You knew her?”
He shakes his head. “I picked this up from the evidence container across town. My wife told me you’d need something.”
“I have to warn you, I doubt this will work.” I say with a sigh. “Someone’s already tried to reach her.”
“We can try.” He says, and takes a long sip of water.
“Okay. Lola Anti, if you can hear me, I have the new Sheriff here. We’d like very much to speak to you. We wish you only well. If you can hear me, please make yourself known. We want to help you.”
Silence.
I take a sip of water too, to give me something to do as we wait.
“Is it common for spirits not to, erm, tune in? Or whatever you’d call it.” Taylor asks.
“Not for me, no.” I say. “They usually respond. But it’s their choice.”
“It’s a lovely house you have here.” Taylor says, his eyes taking in the room. “I thought it last night but it didn’t seem the time to mention it.”
“Thank you, for last night. I can’t remember if I said it already.”
“Only about a hundred times.” He says with a grin. “It’s fine. And anyway, I owe you. My wife told me about your kindness, holding the babies so she could have a hot drink. She was pretty down before then, you know.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, this whole thing’s been awful timing. Moving so soon after the babies arrived. We should have all moved at the same time, but I had a big case I needed to finish in the city, and by that point the movers had got all our furniture, the new people were ready to move into our house. It seemed like me staying behind on my own was the best thing, but I don’t know. I was worried about Adele.” He says, then notices the concern in my eyes. “Oh, nothing serious. She was just lonely. And she’s given up a pretty big career to stay home, that’s why I took the transfer, we can live on my wage here. So I was pretty psyched when I heard she’d made a friend.”
I beam at his words. “I really didn’t do anything more than cuddle a cute baby for a while. Trust
me, most people here would jump at that chance if they had it. Your wife won’t have any shortage of people to love on those babies.”
He laughs. “That’s good. They say it takes a village to raise a child, so it must need a whole town to raise twins.”
I smile, but don’t want to lose the focus of the meeting. “Lola, if you are out there, please know that this is a safe space for you. We are here wanting to speak to you. Please join us.”
“I gather she wasn’t this shy when alive?” Taylor asks, and something about his tone tells me he doesn’t believe. He’s here to check on me, without making it appear that way. I try not to be insulted.
And then, in a manifestation so sudden and powerful the window slams shut, she arrives.
Sultry and simmering, as powerful in death as she was alive, she remains by the window, glaring at me and Taylor, who has spilt his glass of water all over his khaki slacks.
“Lola. This is Taylor Morton, he’s the new Sheriff. He’s going to find out who did this to you, and he’s going to have them punished. Will you help him?”
Lola moves across the room, taking a close look at the Sheriff. She says nothing. I gesture towards Taylor to be quiet, and sit back in my chair, giving her the time she needs.
“You want my help?” She asks, finally.
“We want your help. Taylor, why don’t you tell Lola how she could help you with the investigation.”
Taylor clears his throat. His skin has blanched and his right leg shakes involuntarily. “Lola, hello. I want to find the person who did this to you. Do you know who that was? I can have them arrested and sent to a grand jury.”
Lola laughs. “I’m sure they’ll be terrified.”
“Lola.” I say. “Help us.”
She rolls her eyes. “Have you spoken to Nettie? You know she’s the obvious one, right? I mean, she did assault me. I guess she couldn’t handle her husband finding a younger model.”
“Did she do it?” I ask, then turn to Taylor who is watching the one-sided conversation in confusion. “She’s asking if you’ve spoken to Nettie. Nettie Frasier.”