“Don’t be silly,” Esther finally managed. “You hardly need me hanging around, making all this extra work for you. You’ll be fine. And someday, a wonderful man is going to sweep you off your feet and treat you the way you deserve.”
“I don’t need a man, Mom. You didn’t need one, and I don’t, either.” Not only did Gertrude not need a man, she didn’t want one. But as much as she wished her mother understood who she really was, that was not a conversation she was going to burden her with on her deathbed. As far as secrets went, this one only hurt her, not Esther. So it was well worth keeping.
“That’s true. All I meant was you’re going to be fine. And you are. You’ll see.”
“Thanks, Mom.” She returned to her mother’s side and kissed her forehead, which felt as thin and dry as tissue paper under her lips. “Why don’t you rest now? Maria will be here in case you need anything, and as soon as she gets here, I’ll need to go back to work for a bit.”
Esther frowned. “So late? How can Henrietta expect you to keep these hours? It’s not decent.”
“It’s only temporary, just while the restoration work is going on. It’s better if I’m there at night so I’m out of their way.” The lie slipped so smoothly off her tongue it frightened her. She was getting to be too good at lying, but it was most likely because she’d had so much practice while staying with the Foxworths. Practically everything she’d told poor Dallas had been a lie.
Her mother’s face cleared. “I suppose that’s all right, as long as it’s temporary. You can leave now, dear. I’ll be fine until Maria gets here. Can you turn off the light? I think I’d like to sleep for a bit.”
It was tempting to leave, but Gertrude was determined to wait for her mother’s nurse. She’d heard horror stories about what happened to the elderly and infirm when people thought no one was watching, that no one cared. She wanted to make sure Maria understood exactly how much she cared about her mother. Even when she’d been staying at Glenvale during those few short, blissful days, she’d kept a close eye on how things were at home. Besides, waiting for Maria gave her some time to plan her attack on Glenvale.
Not a real attack. In spite of what Terri Foxworth believed, she wasn’t insane (but she was uncomfortably aware that crazy people didn’t think they were crazy), and she had no desire to hurt the restorer or her daughter. Getting revenge on Terri for destroying her séance had been amusing for a time, but look how it had backfired. She’d been pushed out of the house again, and now her mother was worried she’d been fired. This time, she couldn’t make any mistakes.
She’d shown Dallas a few of her secrets, enough to keep the girl interested, but she hadn’t shown her the way in through the cellar. Niles had hinted that the proof she was searching for was in the basement, so all she needed to do was slip in without either of the Foxworths hearing her, and slip back out again. No one needed to be the wiser, especially if Henrietta paid for Gertrude’s silence. If not, the Vandermere name would be splashed all over the evening news, their reputation would be permanently destroyed, and Niles would have finally found his justice.
All because of her. It was a heady thought.
By the time Maria showed up, Gertrude was in her raincoat. (Her mother had been right, as always.)
The nurse was visibly startled. “Going out, Ms. Phillips? But it’s so late.”
“I’ve been cooped up all day. I need some air. I also thought I might visit a friend.”
Maria looked pointedly at her watch. She was one of the few people who still wore one, which might be the reason she was also one of the few people who were always on time. “A friend? At midnight?”
“A very good friend,” Gertrude said with a wink, and the nurse smiled.
“Ah, I see. Well, have a good time, Ms. Phillips. You deserve it. I’ll look after things here.”
“Thank you. You’ll call me if anything happens?”
“Of course.” The nurse crossed herself, as she often did when making a promise. Maria was also a fan of pinky swears. “Please, try not to worry. Your mother is in good hands.”
Was she? Gertrude considered this as she left the house. Maria Martìnez was a decent woman and a capable nurse who genuinely cared about her mother. Gertrude believed this, or she never would have left Esther alone with her. But how quickly would that change if Maria discovered Gertrude didn’t have the money to pay her? That soon she wouldn’t have the money to pay the electrical or water bill, let alone hundreds of dollars for a homecare nurse? Medicaid helped a bit, but didn’t come close to covering all of her mother’s expenses. Gertrude couldn’t bear to find out what would happen when she ran out of money, but she couldn’t tell Maria the same lie she’d told Esther. Unlike Esther, the nurse wasn’t bedridden. She interacted with many people during the course of her day, and was bound to say something. If Maria believed Henrietta Vandermere required her employees to work through the night, that would be much too tempting to keep to herself. She’d tell people, and those people would tell other people, until it finally reached the source, who wouldn’t hesitate to call the police once she discovered her ex-employee was still lurking around Glenvale.
Not that Gertrude liked to think of herself as lurking. Lurking had evil connotations, and she was hardly the villain of this piece. That would be Henrietta. Gertrude was the hero. Truth be told, she liked to think of herself as an avenging angel. Once she solved this mystery, everyone would be able to see her halo.
Assuming Henrietta wasn’t willing to pay.
If the elderly woman did the right thing, no one would ever have to know. Gertrude was willing to give up any glory, as long as her mother was able to live out her remaining days in comfort.
Flipping the hood of her black raincoat over her head, Gertrude set off toward Glenvale at a brisk pace, blending into the night.
* * *
Her feet, smaller than she’d seen them since childhood, were encased in narrow boots with pointed toes. Though they looked painful, they felt as natural as if they’d been painted on, as did the stirrups beneath them.
Instinctively, she lifted her weight from the saddle and her horse began to move faster and faster, breaking into a canter and then into a run. Her hair flew out behind her, and she loved the freedom of it. These early mornings were for her and Midnight; there was no one around to judge her for not being feminine enough, or to tell her she needed to stop giving the mare her head. During these moments, these precious minutes together, she was tempted to let the horse keep going, to leave Glenvale far behind and never return.
She never got the chance.
As they neared the edge of the property, her brother stepped out from behind the trees, startling her. He held something in his hand, something she couldn’t see. “Niles!” The horse stopped short, and she narrowly avoided being catapulted over Midnight’s head.
“What are you doing out here?” she asked, but Niles said nothing. He slowly raised his arm, and she saw what his hand contained and understood his purpose. It was too late for her to avoid his trap, but she attempted to anyway, struggling to turn the horse around. Midnight fought her – the mare didn’t want to present her back to Niles, and for good reason.
Her brother threw the snake at Midnight’s hooves. The reptile hissed, and her horse reared. She did her best to stay on, but she hadn’t had the chance to regain a stable position. She tumbled to the ground, falling in such a way that she wouldn’t be badly hurt. Squealing, her mare galloped back to Glenvale.
With the wind knocked out of her, she was temporarily helpless. She hoped she’d have the chance to regain her footing and run back to the house before her brother did anything further. Though in her heart she knew that Niles had much bigger plans for her than simply knocking her off a horse.
The only thing to do was retain her composure. She’d learned long ago never to show fear around her brother. Fear just encouraged his cruelty.
“I suppose you think that was amusing,” she said as he approached. “Very funny, but I have a feeling Mother and Father will not be nearly as amused.”
“You are not going to tell our parents about this. Or anyone else, for that matter.”
“Niles, please consider your actions,” she said, as she realized what was about to happen. She fought to stand, but he kicked her legs out from underneath her. The pointed boots had no grip, and she went down hard. The resulting pain told her she’d been more injured from the initial fall than she had thought. She would never make it back to Glenvale on her own; she’d have to be carried.
“Oh, I have considered them, dear Emma. I have dreamed of this moment for longer than you could imagine.”
The stone was large. Large enough to blot out the sun, and the features of her attacker.
When it hurtled toward her, crushing her neck and silencing her forever, there was a brief flash of pain before oblivion claimed her. In that fleeting second, the perspective shifted, and Terri woke up, gasping for breath.
She’d seen the killer’s face.
Chapter Fifteen
For a second, Gertrude feared the cellar doors were locked, and relief flooded through her as she ran her hands over the slick wood and found no obstruction. The rain pounded against her head and back, giving her a headache. As damp and dark as the cellar was, the shelter would be a welcome respite.
The doors creaked as she opened them to reveal the stairs, and she paused, waiting for lights to flare below and for the voice of Terri Foxworth to demand an explanation. Or maybe to tell her she was crazy again – that was always nice. If Dallas had been the one who was dying, Gertrude wondered how crazy Terri would find this. But it didn’t matter. She didn’t care what Terri thought of her, and the cellar remained silent and pitch black.
She turned on her phone’s flashlight and carefully made her way down the stairs, moving slowly so her sneakers didn’t squeak. The one light was a bare bulb with a chain, and she took the risk of using it. She couldn’t let her battery run out, lest something happen with her mother and Maria needed to reach her. The cell was her connection to the outside world.
She crept along the dirt floor, trying to be as quiet as possible. She had no idea where the Foxworths had chosen to sleep that night, but it had never been consistent. Dallas had told her she’d wanted Niles’s room, but then Niles had lashed out at her mother, and that was the end of that.
Someone appeared in front of her and she almost screamed before she saw the face of her friend. He had never appeared ghostly to her, but as real as any flesh-and-blood person. At times, it was difficult to believe he was dead. Only his old-fashioned clothes served as a constant reminder of what he had lost. He beckoned at her, urging her forward.
Over here.
Gertrude hesitated when she saw the size of the crawl space under the stairs. It was the perfect spot for a child, but adults would find it a challenge to squeeze through. Niles went in first, ducking low to show her the way through, reaching for her hand. She imagined she felt the pressure of his fingers closing on hers, but couldn’t tell if the sensation was real or in her mind. The scratches on Terri Foxworth’s face had been real enough. Her friend was capable of incredible things, but she had never doubted that.
The ceiling was higher than she’d thought. She was able to stand, the top of her head brushing the planks of wood above. The space was claustrophobic, crammed with crudely made shelves, shelves that were full of all manner of jars and containers. This was what he had been leading her toward; this was where she’d finally find her evidence.
It was darker in here, and Niles’s spirit felt oppressively close. Gertrude imagined she could feel his breath on the back of her neck, but that was ridiculous. Ghosts didn’t breathe. Taking her phone from her raincoat pocket, she turned on the flashlight again. Light reflected back from dozens upon dozens of jars. She leaned closer, sweeping a thick layer of dust from one in order to see its contents. The liquid inside was murky, and she gasped in revulsion when she finally glimpsed the pink, hairless creature inside.
Smoky, read the label. Though the contents looked more like a rat, Smoky was a cat’s name. Someone had skinned a small cat or kitten and put him in this jar – but why? And why had Niles led her here? Why had he wanted her to see this?
Each jar was worse than the last. They’d clearly been family pets at one time, but now they were preserved in this macabre laboratory. Poor Smoky had fared better than most, as she was able to see evidence of dissections or mutilation on the others. Aside from his skin, Smoky had been intact.
Gertrude’s stomach churned, and she felt dizzy. After taking care of her mother for months, she’d witnessed all manner of gruesome things. She was not squeamish. This, however, was something else. She had a soft heart when it came to animals and couldn’t understand why anyone would have done these things. Though she desperately wanted to believe the pets had died of natural causes, and that some curious child had taken the opportunity to experiment, this wasn’t the case. It was obvious how some of the poor creatures had died, and there was nothing natural about it.
She choked back the bile that rose in her throat and kept looking. As horrific as this was, somewhere among this revolting display was the evidence she’d been searching for. The evidence that would prove Henrietta was a vicious murderer who’d taken the life of her own brother. She’d just have to push through.
A small jar at the very back had a reddish tinge to the liquid inside. With shaking hands, she lifted it from its shelf. Emma was written on the label in ornate script. Someone had taken more care with this one.
Emma? No, it couldn’t be….
Praying to see nothing more than a lock of hair or some other ghoulish but standard memento, she peered into the jar. At first, the contents appeared to be a blob of grayish jelly, but as her focus sharpened, she saw the familiar segmentations. Her gorge rose when she realized she held part of a human brain.
Emma’s brain.
She couldn’t throw up, had to control herself. Gertrude managed to set the jar down, and clung to the shelf, closing her eyes and taking deep breaths until the dizziness and nausea subsided. Maybe it wasn’t Emma’s brain, but some kind of macabre joke, keeping a grisly tribute to her with the other dead.
But it wasn’t a joke. Gertrude didn’t know which was worse – one of Emma’s siblings discovering her body after the accident, and having the composure to scoop up part of her brain and preserve it, or the possibility that Emma’s death hadn’t been an accident at all.
She swooned, and struggled to think of something else, something that would make her less likely to vomit. As she clung to the shelf, eyes still closed, rough hands seized her breasts and squeezed them. Gertrude gasped, whirling around, but saw only the ghost staring back at her.
“Niles!”
Had that really just happened? He wouldn’t touch her that way, would he? She was his friend, the one who’d been trying so hard to find justice for him. Folding her arms protectively across her chest, she waited for him to speak, tears stinging her eyes.
“I see you have found it,” he said, as casually as if they were sitting down for tea and he’d invited her to select one of his favorite books to read.
“F-found what?” she stammered, not quite trusting her voice.
He rolled his eyes, looking so alive and solid, nothing ghostly about him at all. She wished he had been transparent. Then maybe he wouldn’t seem quite so dangerous. “Emma, of course. You’ve found what is left of my dear sister.”
“Niles, did you…touch me?” If he admitted it, she would leave, never to return again. She would find another way to pay for her mother’s medical bills and keep the power on. There were other jobs, and if worse came to worst, she could always fundraise. She wasn’t above begging online if it meant her mother could die at home, in relative comfort.
>
The denial she’d been hoping for never came.
Instead, he grinned. “It’s what you’ve been wanting, isn’t it? The reason you keep coming back here to see me?”
She was appalled. How could he have misread her so badly? “You’re a boy!”
“I’m sixteen years old,” he said, moving closer. She backed away, and the wooden shelves pressed into her, their contents jingling ominously. If any one of those jars broke…. “That is hardly a child.”
“Niles, I’m – I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong idea, but my interest lies in helping you find justice. I wanted to solve the mystery of what happened to you. That’s all.” You’re dead, she wanted to scream, much like Terri Foxworth had done at the séance, but she didn’t dare. He’d always been touchy about that.
He made an odd snorting sound.
Every cell in her body screamed at her to run, but he blocked her exit. Still, as solid as he appeared, he was a ghost. She could run through him. “Who did this, Niles?” she asked, indicating the horrors behind her. As frightened as she was, she couldn’t leave without learning the answer at last. “Was it Henrietta?”
“Pardon? No, of course not. This is all mine. Isn’t it beautiful?” He opened his arms wide to encompass his grisly collection. “Henrietta has never been interested in science.”
She’d known. Deep down, she’d known the truth. Henrietta had not done this. This was not the work of a woman, and certainly not the prim and proper woman who was her former employer. I’m sorry. She sent her thoughts to Henrietta, hoping the woman would hear them in her dreams, as Gertrude doubted she would get the chance to tell her face to face. I was wrong. So terribly, terribly wrong.
“My dear, whatever is the matter? Why do you look so sad?” Niles’s expression belied his words. He was clearly delighting in what she was going through. He’d never cared about her, had never been her friend. It had all been a game. A sick, twisted game.
“But why? Why would you do something like this?”
The Restoration Page 14