by Debi Matlack
“Tony Fentriss.” I took a deep breath, letting some of the anxiety I’d accumulated out with the breath. “If only there were a way we could do something about it now. I mean, she’s been dead for decades, but for there to be some kind of official record… but there’s no way we could prove anything.” Frustrated, I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my face wearily. I realized Scott was staring at me, mouth not quite agape, but his expression was slack with incredulity.
“Tony Fentriss? You’re sure about the name?” His voice held a note of caution as well as involuntary disbelief.
“Yes?” I answered carefully. “As sure as I can be. Cora made sure I heard his name and saw his face, multiple times, why?”
Shaking his head with a bemused expression, he fixed me with a steady gaze. “I already have some information for you on that front.”
“That was fast.”
“That’s how I roll. I don’t know if it helps at all, but it seems everything is centered on your family’s farm.”
My mind shot straight to the sinkhole. I knew it! Something about that place harbored evil. Did it go all the way through to Hell? “But what does that have to do with—”
He held up his hands. “Hold your questions until the end of the lecture, please.” I rolled my eyes at him and he shrugged it off. “Your grandfather’s accident that killed his brother back in ’52, the driver of the other vehicle was a tenant farmer on the property named Emmit Graham.”
“Okay. So he worked for Poppy’s father. That’s one incident. This stuff goes back decades. Graham and Fentriss are not the same name.”
Scott continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “Emmit Graham was the son of Jack Graham. His wife’s name was Antonia Fentriss.”
The hair on the back of my neck stood at attention. “Okay, now I see where you’re going with this.”
“But wait, there’s more.” He sounded like an infomercial hawker. “She had an uncle she was named for.”
“Get out, his name was Anthony Fentriss?”
“Yes it was. And he would have been of an age with Cora Tanner.”
“Holy shit.” The threads of information started to weave into a pattern in my brain and I wasn’t sure I liked the picture it created. “So, instead of the boogieman, it’s a family?” I shook my head. “That doesn’t make a bit of sense. Why would generation after generation suddenly develop a desire to kill random members of the community?”
“Not just the community, your family.”
Now every single hair on my body quivered and I rubbed my arms to suppress the gooseflesh. “So this is like Hatfields and McCoys on steroids?”
“Maybe, I don’t know. I’ll see if I can dig out anything else.”
“That’s insane. You’d think for some kind of grudge to be held this long, there’d have to be old family tales and reasons to want to kill each other. Except we aren’t killing each other, they’re just killing us. Why?”
Scott shook his head. “I wish I knew.”
Even though I’d learned some pretty earth shaking shit the past few minutes, it still left a lot unexplained. I wanted real, concrete answers, about who Tony Fentriss was, what had happened to him, so I could relay that information to Cora. I didn’t know if it would help her or not but I wanted somehow to give her peace enough that she could leave her plot under the live oaks and go wherever people are supposed to, be it Heaven, Hell, or some giant waiting room, I had no idea. No one had ever come back to tell me. If anyone deserved peace, it was poor Cora.
I huffed out a deep breath and patted my hand on the table, dismissing the subject for now. “Well, now on to more frivolous topics. I gather your friend has run screaming to the hills after our disastrous first meeting. Unless of course he’s married, or gay.” My worst suspicions were about to realized, I just knew it. “Or both.” Changing subjects to my not-so-dramatic love life tinged our conversation with humor. At my expense, sure, but it lightened my mood considerably.
Scott snorted and called his wife. “Try d., None of the above. Barrett’s been divorced for several years, and is definitely not gay. Lil, tell Maeve what Barrett told you.”
She smiled, a book tucked under her arm, and took a seat at the table with us. “He said he was afraid to call you because he thought you’d be embarrassed to see him again.”
I shrugged. “Well, yeah, but that’s no excuse.”
“Getting his classes wrapped up for the summer is though.” Scott checked his watch, then fumbled his phone out of his pocket when it rang. While he was occupied, I posed my questions to Lillian.
“Barrett’s a student?” It was a legitimate theory. The area crawled with students of all ages thanks to the University and state college in the next county.
“No, an instructor. He was a paramedic, then a military medic, now he teaches at Santa Fe and the U, biology, nursing, and imaging sciences, First Responder stuff sometimes.” No wonder his assessment of my condition at the cemetery was so efficient and thorough.
I sighed. “So he’s a brainiac.”
Scott ended his call in time to hear my lament. “So are you. And he likes you.”
“How could he possibly know he likes me after seeing me in that horrible state?” After I’d nearly vomited on him, my most endearing quality must have been my falling asleep in his company. I had awakened briefly at the changing of the guard, when Mike and Karen arrived and I stayed conscious long enough to say goodbye and thank them both again.
“Because Barrett is a man of excellent taste. Look, give him a chance, okay? He’s a good guy.”
“I’ll keep it in mind if he ever shows up.”
Scott and Lillian rose and he steered his wife to the register with the book she’d chosen and I rang it up. Scott chuckled. “He will.”
As I sanded a wardrobe one afternoon, it occurred to me that I had more evidence that I could hand over to Scott to assist in his unofficial investigation into Cora’s murder and the Pinehaven Curse. The only problem was the stuff was in that damned trunk. I glanced in that direction and could swear I felt it staring back at me with malicious intent.
I had no idea if the whole package, trunk, shoes, clothing, papers were equally infused with concentrated evil or if just one or a few of the items were responsible for triggering one of my first migraines. Another concern was, if I did manage to get the papers out of the trunk, would Scott be safe in handling them? He didn’t have my psychic circus going on, lucky bastard, but I didn’t want to put him in any kind of danger. He’d been kind to me and my family and he was a friend. I didn’t want to say anything to him about the material until I knew I could get it out. On impulse, I put down the sander and stared at the trunk some more, gathering my courage. If I didn’t try, I’d never know if they could have been of some help. And I’d be goddamned before I let an inanimate object buffalo me into submission. With a decisive nod, I cast about until I found a pair of thick rubber gauntlets I usually wore for working with caustic chemicals. As I pulled them on, I approached the corner where the Louis Vuitton steamer lay shrouded. A wave of apprehension washed over me and I gritted my teeth.
“No. I will not let you run my life. You’re going to give up those papers without a fuss, you hear me?” Not ordinarily in the habit of addressing luggage as if it were sentient, I looked around, just to make sure I was still alone. The door was closed; Anna was up front, strains of Blackmore’s Night trickling into the back from the music system. The coast was clear.
Carefully, I rocked the large wooden cross back, balancing it on its base before shifting it to one side to lean against the wall again. The embroidered fabric, stiff with dried salt water came off next, and I swear I heard the trunk take a breath. “Oh no you don’t.” I reached down to lift the lid and found it locked. I didn’t have a key and it was unlocked the last time I’d touched it. “Fine,” I told it and turned around, retrieving a mallet and a prybar. “I’ve already decided I can’t sell you, so it doesn’t matter if there’s damage.” I set the pryba
r against the lock, raised the hammer and heard a soft ‘click’.
“Excellent choice.” It occurred to me that I was holding a conversation with a trunk and I checked again to make sure the door was shut tight. It was and I turned back to the task at hand. I made sure my gloves were still intact and covered my arms to the elbows then reached down and lifted the lid. “You belong to me now, so you might as well just suck it up and behave.”
The reek of putrefaction hit me for just a second, making me gag and turn my head. “Nice try,” I said, “but cut it out.” The stench dissipated rapidly. Such compliance made me suspicious, but there was no help for it now. Might as well finish what I’d started.
The contents were much as I remembered them, the dried out leather shoes, clothing. And the cigar box.
It was probably worth a lot of money too, an armor-clad maiden striding across the lid carrying a sword and shield, a putti flying overhead, bearing a palm branch under the legend ‘Free Cuba’. Frozen in indecision, I huffed and chided myself, “Thing’s not going to levitate itself.” And no, I did not want that as part of my stable of freak tricks and therefore squashed the notion immediately. I bent down, grasped the box and lifted it out.
It lifted free with an unearthly shriek, startling me into almost dropping the box. The storeroom door slid open a minute later and Anna darted in, her frantic gaze finding me. At seeing me unharmed, she visibly relaxed, putting her hand to her heart.
“Oh, thank God. I thought you’d hacked a finger off, or worse.” I was still frozen and staring at her and she cocked her head. “Are you okay?”
I started to answer, thought about it for a second and stole a glance down at the trunk. No teeth still. Good. Backing away from it, I still held the cigar box at arm’s length like a ticking bomb and nodded. “I’m fine.”
“What was that sound then?”
I indicated the trunk with a jerk of my head. “Metal cleat scraped on the floor.”
Anna gave me a steady look. “No it wasn’t. I taught elementary school for thirty years, I know a human scream when I hear it.”
Damn. “I’m really fine.” I cast about for someplace to put the box in my hands and she took a step forward, her hands held out. I snatched it out of her range with a shout of, “Don’t touch it!” The next part of the Time Bandit’s line begged to follow: ‘It’s concentrated evil!’
She pulled her hands away, blue eyes wide. I took a calming breath and sighed, “Sorry.” Shit, now I was going to have to tell her something or she’d think her boss was a serious wack-job. I put the small box in the folds of the chuppah cloth and kicked the mass under the shadow of the cross, then I used a broom handle to shove the lid of the trunk shut again. I pulled the gloves off and nodded toward the table and chairs. We sat, Anna’s expression less alarmed but expectant.
“So, that was weird.”
“Yes it was.”
“There’s a reason.” God, I felt like one of her first-graders, trying to explain something. Then she smiled and nodded.
“It’s okay, take your time.” Her gentle understanding went a long way toward relaxing me and letting me form the words.
“I don’t know why that thing screamed, but it did.” Well, that clears things right up. She cocked a brow at me and I offered a weak smile.
“You know about what happened here, me and my Poppy getting attacked?”
The rounded planes of her face softened and her eyes creased in sympathy. “I do.”
Why was it so hard to say? Just spit it out, Kavanaugh. “Since my injury, I’ve been able to see things. Ghosts, mostly.”
Her expression remained steady and she nodded, glancing at the trunk for a second.
“That wasn’t one. Or at least, I don’t think it was. You see,” I leaned forward and to her credit, she held her ground and kept eye contact with the crazy person confessing ridiculous things to her. “I think that trunk has clues about who killed Poppy and tried to kill me. Except I think the same… not person, but the same – something has been after our family for generations.”
“Why didn’t you want me to touch the smaller box?”
“Because the first time I touched it, it put me down with a migraine that make me want to claw my own eyes out. I’m worried the same thing might happen to someone else.”
“I see.” She leaned forward and patted my arm. “Thank you.” The door bells dinged out front and she got up. “I’ll go take care of that.” She got up and headed back through the door and closed it behind her.
Puzzled, I watched her go, then shook my head. “I’ll be damned.”
To my utter shock, I had no more trouble from the trunk or the papers. I still handled them like they were radioactive, just to be safe. The papers went in a large zippy bag and the trunk was back under its cloth-and-cross arrangement. It still seemed to glower at me from its corner, though. I went back to work on the wardrobe until closing.
Anna locked the door and pulled the blinds down. I stopped in front of her and tipped my head at her. “You don’t believe me.”
“Actually, I have no reason not to.” She redirected her route to go back to the counter, where the deposit bag lay. She reached for it, patted it and left it lie. Instead she boosted herself up to sit on the counter, her legs swinging under her brown calico skirt, red ballet flats marking time like a pendulum. I hopped up beside her.
“I see things, and a lot of it scares me.” She just listened, and her quiet demeanor smoothed the way for my words. “There’s so much stuff out there, so much more than other people see and I get the feeling that I’ve barely scratched the surface.” I chuckled softly and shook my head. “I sound like a nutjob.”
Her arm fell over my shoulders and patted my arm. “I don’t see things, but I’ve seen and heard enough to know that there are a lot of things out there that maybe we aren’t meant to understand. Just because I can’t see them doesn’t mean they don’t exist.” The arm over my shoulder pulled me a touch closer and I relaxed in the shelter of her camaraderie. “If you say you see things, I believe you. You’re not the first person I’ve had tell me they had seen and heard things.”
“I’m not?” I turned my head to look at her. Calm blue eyes met mine and she slid off the counter, landing lightly on the balls of her feet.
“No, you’re not,” and she picked up the deposit bag and smiled. “See you tomorrow?”
I nodded. Now she had me intrigued and I was dying to know more. It was clear it wasn’t going to happen tonight. “See you.”
I came downstairs to the aroma of fresh coffee and bagels. Anna smiled. “Good morning.” The woman could face anything with a smile. I envied her that ability. I was clean and dressed, but barely coherent. I think the contact with the trunk had a delayed effect and I’d dreamed all night, dark, disturbing things that twisted and gamboled through my mind like demonic baby goats. Breakfast that required no effort on my part helped dispel the images and I smiled my thanks as I poured approximately half the contents of the pot into my huge turquoise rooster mug.
“You just got promoted,” I told her after the first scalding swallow. She chuckled softly and set about the morning routine of counting the money out while I straightened the jewelry display and restacked a pile of books by a local author about Southern folklore. After watching me fuss for a few minutes, she laughed quietly.
“You don’t have to hover. I’m not going to run away because I think you’re crazy, which I don’t. I’m not going to tell anyone, and I don’t think anything different about you now than I did yesterday morning.”
I winked at her. “That’s good, right?”
“Of course it is!” She closed the cash register and paused in front of the computer. “What kind of music are you in the mood for today? Clannad, Lorrena McKennitt, Nightwish, Apocalyptica?”
“You don’t listen to heavy metal!” She quirked a brow at me and I faltered. “Do you?”
“I’ve seen AC/DC four times, Metallica twice.” She grinned.
“It was because of them that I started listening to Apocalyptica.”
“Well, I’ll be damned.” I gestured at the computer. “You madam, are in charge of the day’s entertainment. Play on.”
In a moment “Nothing Else Matters” started, plucked gently at the beginning, building to thunder before easing back to the plaintive melody again. I watched Anna at her morning routine with a sense of discovery. If a retired second-grade teacher could be a closet metalhead, then her easy acceptance of me as a closet medium made perfect sense.
Chapter 16
I arranged to pick the kids up after school that Friday. While my motives on the surface were to give Mike and Karen some time alone, since the debacle at the cemetery had cut short their grownups-only outing, my real motivation was less altruistic. What Deanna could or could not see was digging at me and I had to talk to her. Keeping Christopher out of the loop seemed unfair though I was pretty sure he knew something anyway. He and Dee were a carbon copy of Mike and I at that age; contentious with each other but fiercely loyal and protective of one another against all comers. I didn’t think that Mike and Karen suspected Dee was anything more than a little girl and I didn’t want to spoil that, for her or for them, until and unless it became necessary.
Anna took care of the store while we went upstairs. Chris switched on the TV and Dee and I went to the kitchen. “Aunt May, can we make cookies?”
“Sure.” For once, I actually had all the basic ingredients required to make cookies from scratch, rather than the refrigerated dough that’s so easy, it’s cheating. “Can you hand me that cookbook? The blue one.” God bless Donna the contractor for bringing out my inner organizer. Dee brought the requested volume from the bookcase built into the end of one set of cabinets. “Okay, we need flour, sugar, eggs, salt, brown sugar—”
“Are we making chocolate chip cookies?”