She didn't mean to but she sighed.
"I don’t need to make money off you," he continued. "And it’d be a shame to see a house like that be torn down."
She almost asked, why would you help me after what happened all those years ago? But she was afraid of his answer. Dori swallowed but the lump in her throat wouldn't budge. "All right," she said, one hand cupped around her eyes so she could better see the polished wood floors and antique furniture in his office. "What do you want me to do?"
She could almost see his smile of victory.
If Dori had any dreams last night, she couldn’t remember them. The moment her head hit the pillow, she fell into a black hole. Then suddenly it was morning again. She shut her eyes with the hope of a few more moments of sleep. But she was wide awake and sore.
After talking to Gavin, she'd made good on her promise to feed his crew in exchange for a discount. She'd nearly worn out the shocks on her Rav-4 from all the stuff she bought at Costco. It had taken an hour to haul it into the house, and her side burned as she now eased up to sit on the edge of the bed.
Showering and dressing for the appointment with her therapist, Dori congratulated herself for not taking the meds. Last night before bed, she'd Googled Jakob and Emilia Vazquez's address. The house was just as Vicente had described, except now old and run down. She almost cried at finding more evidence of his tales. Meg had given her a list of websites to help her locate their birth and death certificates. Hopefully she'd find Anna and, perhaps, Vicente.
A few moments later, she was downstairs, stretching the sleep out of her muscles on the porch outside the kitchen. Her breath made clouds in the early morning chill. The fog licked wet trails on the ground and left translucent beads on the windshield of her car. If she was – no - when she was fully cleared and back at work, Dori wondered if she'd miss Vicente.
She turned the corner and her stomach lurched when she saw him staring up at her house. She almost tiptoed back inside. But that would be cowardly and incredibly awkward if he caught her.
"Find what you’re looking for?" she called out.
"Oh, hey." Gavin started at the sound of her voice and then snatched the ball cap off his head. "Any more problems with the roof?"
She grinned, pleased to have caught him off guard. "I dried everything as best I could."
"I thought I’d let you get a few winks in before we started demo today."
"You’re starting today? I thought the roofer was coming with the sheeting."
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Yeah, well, I thought you’d want to get it started sooner than later. We got our job up to speed, and I pulled a few guys to start in your basement."
"Oh. Thank you." Dori took a deep breath, guilty that she'd been so bitchy with him.
"I hope that’s okay," Gavin said. "I meant to call you last night, but time got away from me and it was too late."
"It’s fine. Thanks."
"Can I ask you a question?"
Dori now wished she'd tiptoed back into her house. "Uh sure."
"Is one of my guys already here?" he asked.
It took her a moment but then she finally said, "No, why?"
"I saw someone in that window."
Dori stared at him, not quite understanding. He stepped close enough that his arm brushed against her shoulder. He pointed up at her bedroom window. "That one. When I got out of my truck, I could’ve sworn I saw a guy standing right there watching me."
The curtains hung motionless. Dori could see the outline of her headboard. She pictured her bedroom as she’d left it this morning, the blankets and sheets left in the swirl of her departure; pajamas tucked under her pillow and the tea cup she’d forgotten to bring down to the kitchen sink. Then it hit her: Vicente.
"You okay?" Gavin asked.
"Yeah. I have to go back inside. I left my phone and-" She stepped back, not sure why she had to keep Vicente a secret. If Gavin saw him, then that was one more check in the box next to "Dori is not crazy."
Gavin cleared his throat, toying with his hat. "He was up there for a couple of seconds," he said after a brief moment. "We stared at each other and then you came around the corner."
"Huh, I don’t know what to tell you," she said, looking him straight in the eye without blinking.
"For a second, I thought maybe he was your boyfriend or something."
"I don’t have a boyfriend."
"Oh. Okay."
Dori crossed her arms over her chest. "What? You don’t believe me?"
"I do." Gavin held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "I mean not like that."
Dori knew she was acting weird. Hell, she had a prescription for it. An apology for her prickliness clogged her throat. But then she’d have to explain everything and while she had proof that Vicente was more than a figment of her imagination, she didn't want to expose herself in that way with Gavin.
She glanced up at her bedroom window, expecting to see Vicente laughing down at her. But he’d apparently seen enough.
"There's food in the kitchen," she said. "I stocked up the downstairs bathroom, too."
"Thanks. I don't want to run you off, but it's gonna get real loud."
"I'll be fine."
"You might want to cover your furniture, too."
"Okay."
She frowned as a camouflaged school bus turned into her driveway.
"They're here," he said.
"What is that?"
"My foreman's bus. He carries everything in that thing."
The noise was deafening from both ends of the house. The floor rattled and dust exploded up in the cracks of the walls. As the roofers nailed in sheeting, it felt like she was inside a drum. Music screeched from a boom box and Dori escaped with her ears ringing. She went back to the library to kill time before her appointment, but it was closed. She drove up to South Park and settled into a window table with her laptop and a cup of Hibiscus Breeze at Halcyon Tea on Beech Street.
She was waiting for her laptop to fire up when her phone buzzed. Dori frowned at her mother's name on the text message. Against her better judgment she opened it and read: I would appreciate a return phone call.
Dori had been ignoring her mother's calls. She punched out a quick text that she was busy and she'd call later – which was a total lie - and then tucked her cell phone into her bag.
As steam curled up from her cup, she typed Jakob Vazquez's name into the International Genealogy Index. When she saw the immense list of possibilities that popped up, she narrowed it San Diego and reduced her list from 500 to 350. She sat back against the chair and breathed in deep. No stranger to investigation, Dori realized it was a lot easier when her persons of interest were alive.
She flipped open her book on Prohibition and checked the date of repeal. She then narrowed her time frame from 1924 to 1933 and the system spat out his death certificate.
"Holy shit," she said out loud.
Two women with their toddlers in strollers glared at Dori.
"Sorry," she said and typed in Emilia's information.
Emilia had died in May 1, 1927. Jakob followed soon after on October 14 of the same year. She made a note so she could look them up in the obituaries. She then found them in the 1900 census in Anthony, New Mexico. Jakob was listed as a business man and they had five children. Anna's name was not among them and if she was a year younger than Vicente, her birth year had to be 1910. Dori searched for their marriage and birth certificates, but her search ended there. She could call the local cemeteries to find where they were buried. If Anna was dead, she might be buried with them or nearby.
For the hell of it, she typed in Anna Vazquez and the list was so extensive, she checked the time. "I know you exist," she muttered to herself, shutting down her laptop.
When Dori returned to her house, two dumpsters blocked her driveway. The camouflaged school bus was gone. An ancient red Ford Pinto was parked behind Gavin's truck.
Feeling like the rubble that had once been
her basement, she considered pulling back onto the street and going to the movies.
Walking into the kitchen door, she reared back at the reek of incense. Her sensitive eyes burned while Gregorian monks chanted from the other room. Gavin lay under the sink.
"Is that your music?" she asked, setting her laptop bag on the table.
"She said they’d be done blessing the house by the time you’d get back," Gavin said, his voice muffled.
Dori didn’t have to ask who "she" was. "You let her in?"
"You hired me to work on the house, not keep your family out."
"Why are you under my sink when I hired you to fix my foundation and the roof?"
He sighed and then scooted out from under the sink. "Your grandma asked me to fix it."
"What's wrong with it?"
"The hot water wasn't working."
Dori sighed long and hard, debating if she should turn around and leave, or put a stop to the pagan rites in the other room.
"The good news is that it wasn't your water heater," Gavin continued. "Although, don't be surprised if it dies in the near future."
"Of course," she muttered.
"You want me to have the guys install a new one? It'll save you on the water bill."
"Do I have to?"
"Do you like cold showers?"
She held her up hand. "Okay fine."
Leaving him under the sink, Dori followed the music that switched from Gregorian monks to Tibetan ones chanting to her living room. There she found Grammy wearing all black with a mantilla covering her from head to her black-and-white converse sneakers with sequined skulls. She was really laying it on thick, praying piously alongside a woman who was flicking water all over Dori's coffee table.
Dori rolled her eyes. She was about to go back to the kitchen when Vicente said, "When I was alive, I wasn’t into all that church stuff. I sure as hell haven’t changed now that I’m dead."
She flinched and turned to find him standing with his shoulder resting on the door jamb, one foot crossed over the other.
"Aren't you going to do something?" he demanded.
Dori gestured to Grammy and the Holy Water lady. "This wasn’t my idea."
He opened his mouth to answer when the chanting switched off.
"What are you doing here? We almost had him going to the light," Grammy demanded.
Dori quickly stepped between them and Vicente, not sure if she was protecting them or him. "What’s going on here?" she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest.
"La luz, mija," said the lady with the plastic water bottle. "The light. Where we are all destined to go when-"
"Who are you?" Dori interrupted, having questioned enough crack heads and drunks to know where this conversation was headed.
"This is Bernice," Grammy said. "She owes me a favor so, instead of using it for myself, I brought her here to help you out with el fantasmo."
"Azucena, is this the one who-?" Bernice hurried over to Dori, arms held out. The sleeves of her black sweater fluttered like wings. "Oh my baby girl! What you've survived!"
Before Dori could get away, she was grabbed in a gut-squeezing hug. She glared at Grammy over Bernice's shoulder.
Bernice then yanked her away, holding her by the shoulders before reaching down to take Dori's hands in hers. "Tell me, did you see the light? I can tell by your aura that the angels have sent you back with so many gifts to share with us."
"What the hell is she flapping on about?" Vicente asked, now standing right beside Bernice.
Dori tensed, waiting for Grammy and Bernice's reaction. Apparently they couldn't see nor hear him.
"Many of my clients have had near death experiences. Tell me everything. Did your Grampy send you back?"
Anger choked off her breath. How dare this woman try to manipulate her? Dori hardened her stare and leaned forward. "I blacked out, and then I woke up in the hospital."
"Oh." Bernice tried to pull her hands away, but Dori held on wanting to put some fear into her. She had half a mind to shove her into the front parlor and see what would happen.
"Why were you in the hospital?" Vicente asked, distracting her.
"I got shot," Dori answered without thinking.
"Oh, that's makes sense," he said knowingly.
"What does that mean?" Dori asked, releasing Bernice's hands.
He pointed at Bernice to remind Dori that they couldn't see or hear him.
"It makes sense that you didn't see the light," Bernice said, thinking Dori was talking to her. "You weren't meant to go. You have unfinished business on this plane."
"See, Bernice knows what she's talking about," Grammy chimed in. "And she saw him right away. Your ghost told her that he died right here."
Grammy pointed to the floor and Bernice nodded regally, as it were proof that her powers were undeniable.
"Really?" Dori asked, remembering the night she found Vicente sprawled on the hallway floor. "Right here in the living room, he told you?"
"I’ve been able to communicate with them since I was a tiny little girl. He's a sentient being. Very troubled. Much gray and black around him. He needs to cross over."
Dori slid a glance in his direction. He stared at Bernice, devoid of any expression. He reminded her of criminals and cops alike when they had their game face on.
"The way I understood things is that you have to ask the homeowner's permission for this to work," Dori said, with the authority of having read James Van Praagh's book.
"Azucena, the energy is no longer right for this work," Bernice said as if Dori hadn't spoken. "Perhaps another time."
"Thanks, but I don’t think so," Dori said. Even if Bernice was a phony, she couldn't take the chance that she'd accidentally send Vicente into the light or whatever. She'd promised to find Anna, and she would do it.
"Mija, you don't know what you're dealing with," Bernice said with a sniff. "Unlike a residual haunting, a sentient being is stuck; trapped by strong emotions or violence."
Grammy's eyes grew wider as she edged closer to the psychic who was oblivious to Vicente mad dogging her.
"The longer you keep him here, the greater dangers you face," she said. Dori thought of that day when she smelled blood in the front parlor and the cold that seemed to suffocate her. "He may have appeared to you, but some spirits just want you to believe they won’t hurt you so they catch you off-guard."
Even though she didn't like it, what Bernice said corroborated James Van Praagh's book. But that hadn't been Vicente in the front parlor. It seemed to fit the definition of a residual haunting.
"Who the hell is this broad?" Vicente demanded, now standing beside Dori. She tried not to flinch at the searing cold that radiated from him. He jerked a thumb in Bernice’s direction. "She’s a high hat phony."
"I know she’s a phony!"
Bernice gasped and held her hand to her chest in an exaggerated pose of offense. Dori realized she’d said that out loud. She might as well take it all the way. "Bernice, I didn’t invite you into my house."
"But-" Grammy started.
"This is my house, and when I’m ready for you to send my ghost into the light, I’ll let you know."
"You think I’m going to let some woman tell me when and where I can go?" Vicente demanded.
"Mija, you have no idea what you're dealing with," Bernice said darkly. Dori half expected her eyes to glow red. "But if you insist, I'll leave you here against my better judgment."
Grammy sighed and rolled her eyes, coming over to reassure her.
"Leave me the bill," Dori said. "I’ll be in the kitchen."
She made it to the hallway when she realized Vicente hadn't moved. She cleared her throat.
"Do I look like a dog to you?" he sneered.
With Grammy and Bernice turned away from them, Dori flapped her hand at him. When he refused to budge, she shook her head and went to the kitchen to see if Gavin was finished.
"Fine, what do you want?" Vicente said, appearing right in front of her. She
stopped just short of walking through him.
Just then a power drill started up and made an awful high-pitched whine that threatened to peel the enamel off her teeth. It shut off, and Gavin cursed.
Dori muttered to Vicente, "Follow me."
She led him into the butler’s pantry and then shut the door. "I didn't ask her to come here."
He crossed his arms over his chest.
"Was that you who shoved me out of the front parlor?"
He didn't react.
"Was it?" she insisted.
"What are you saying? I've done a lot of things in my life-"
"I can just imagine."
"I bet you can." He lifted his chin, grinning like a predator thinking how good the prey tasted. "But I never hurt women. I mean, I used one or two and-"
"What's in that room? I felt like something was trying to strangle me."
He lifted a shoulder. "I don't know."
She waited a second longer and then backed off. "Sorry. I had to be sure."
"That’s because you don’t know me."
"I know your kind well enough."
"Really?"
She grinned back at him. "I’ve had the honor of putting them in jail."
He made a dismissive sound. "The cops only came close when I handed them their monthly cooperation compensation."
"Is that why they, uh-" She summoned her courage to say it. "Killed you in my house."
He took in her measure and then uncrossed his arms. "We were preparing for repeal and setting up legitimate operations, but the sheriff and his KKK friends wanted part of the action."
"The KKK lived in my house?"
"One of them."
"Is that what's in my front parlor?"
He lifted a shoulder as if he had no idea and could care less.
She'd later deal with the possibility that it was a Klansman ghost haunting her front parlor. "But why did they beat you like that? There are easier ways, I mean, moving a body isn't that-" She caught herself from saying something insensitive.
His jaw stiffened, and then he finally said, "What do I look like to you, Dori?" He advanced towards her, but she knew better than to cower. "I was nothing more than a greaser monkey in a suit to them, someone who made twenty times what they could in their whole damn career. The fact that they had to open the door to me was an insult to them."
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