by Tim McGregor
She looked at him and then surveyed the room again. “It’s a big decision.”
“That’s why I wanted you to look at it. It’s nice, isn’t it? A good investment?”
She couldn’t think of any objections. “It is. It’s a big commitment though. Are you ready for it?”
“I think so. But there’s more to it. This was originally a single family dwelling, right? Before it was split into two apartments. Wouldn’t take much to switch it back to a single dwelling.” He was smiling again. “An option, for the future.”
Billie looked at his smile and read his mind. Oh boy. She sat down on the bare floor and leaned back against the wall. “Come sit.”
“I’m not saying anything.” His hand went up, as if to call for a time-out. “Just looking at options.”
She patted the cherrywood floor beside her. “Just come sit beside me. You can’t really feel a room until you sit on the floor.”
Mockler settled in beside her, stretching his long legs out before him. He crossed one ankle over the other, taking in the new angle on the room. “I like it even more,” he said.
She remained quiet, trying to suss out what to say. Her nose began to itch and she dug for some tissues but the sneeze erupted before she found it among the stuff crammed in her pockets.
“You okay?” he asked. “Is the dust in here getting to you?”
She shook her head, dabbing her nose. “No. I think I’m getting sick.”
“Again? You’re just recovering from the last time.”
“Job hazard,” she said. This was as good a way to break the ice as any.
He was onto her, one eyebrow arching in suspicion. “What have you been up to?”
“Someone asked for help,” she confessed. “I took a walk through their house.”
“Billie, come on. You’re supposed to be giving that a rest for now. You know how it makes you sick.”
She couldn’t argue with that. Encountering ghosts up close took its toll on her, the dead energy was like slipping into a freezing bath. It made her weak, left her immune system depleted, open to any bug in the air. “I know, but this woman needs help. She has something really nasty in her house and it won’t go away.”
“That’s not your responsibility.”
“She has a little girl. A seven-year-old named Maya. And a baby on the way.”
Mockler leaned his head back against the plaster wall and sighed. “Is that where you got the bump to your head?”
Busted. “It didn’t like being challenged, whatever it was.”
“But you’re done with it, right?” Tilting around to look at her. “You told it to get lost and that’s the end of it.”
“Not quite. Could you do something for me?”
“Depends,” he said with a pretence of being aloof but he was a terrible actor. He’d do anything and they both knew it.
“Can you look up the history of the house? I need to know if anyone died there.”
“It’s that bad?”
“Yeah. Where’s your trusty little notebook?”
He produced his notepad from his pocket, she located a pen among the tumble of mess in her own coat pockets.
“The thing inside the house won’t talk. And it disguises itself.” A momentary recall popped back from her memory; the thorny spider legs, the tumbling doll parts. “If I knew who died there, I can address them by name.”
“I’ll have a look but the police records will only show violent or suspicious deaths. If anyone died of natural causes there, it won’t show up in the files. Can you find the previous owners of the house?”
“I might. I can go to the library, too. See if there’s anything in the archives.” She handed the notepad back to him. “Here’s the address.”
He looked at it but it meant nothing to him and he tucked the pad away. “Is this thing dangerous?”
“It’s not friendly,” Billie said, whitewashing it a little, not wanting to worry him. “But I’ll be prepared for it next time.”
“Does there have to be a next time? Can’t someone else help them? Send Gantry in there.”
“I’ll be careful.” Dabbing her nose with the tissue again. “I promise.”
The detective appeared unconvinced but he let it go. “Shall we get out of here?”
“Can we stay for a bit? I love empty rooms.”
She reached for his hand and they sat together in the echoing vastness of the room, Billie savouring the emptiness of the space. The stillness of an uninhabited flat.
A thought occurred to her, sitting there on the floor of the vacant apartment. Probably foolish, so soon after the screw-up at Robin’s house, but she needed to be sure. She opened herself up.
Nothing pinged her radar, no unearthly void inside the house that signified the presence of the dead. Safe.
“I like this house,” she said. “I think you should take it.”
Chapter 9
MOCKLER HATED BEING late. Ducking out of work, he floored the pedal uptown to the James Street North office of his realtor, Cynthia Trucillo. Cynthia met him in the lobby, he all apologizes for his tardiness.
“Come on through,” Cynthia said as she escorted him past the reception desk. “Christina’s already here.”
Christina sat before a desk, still wearing her coat like she wasn’t planning to stay any longer than she had to. Stunning as always, even with an expressionless mask to her features. She nodded hello.
“Hey,” he said, taking the other chair. “You all right?”
“Never been better,” she replied. “Let’s wrap this up.”
Cynthia sat down behind her pristine desk and pushed a document across to them. “So, the details on the agreement have been ironed out. All we need now is to sign the deal. Do you want to look over it one more time.”
“No,” Christina said.
Mockler skimmed through the document, letting it ride.
There had been three serious offers for the house on Bristol Street. Cynthia had helped them choose the best one, which wasn’t necessarily the highest bid. Negotiation began, drafts of the contract swapped back and forth until all parties were satisfied. A closing date was determined, three weeks from now. He and Christina had bought the house almost four years ago and Hamilton’s real estate market had risen significantly in that time. Once the house was transferred and the mortgage settled, the fees and commissions paid out, the remaining sum was not insignificant. Split down the middle, each of them would walk away with a little over ten grand.
Cynthia sat patiently, watching them both staring down at the paperwork. A moment’s hesitation before finalizing. She’d seen this moment before, countless times.
He took up the pen, scrawled his signature in two different places and initialled another three places. Laid the pen down.
Her turn. She took the pen and looked over at him. “This is it. Once this is settled, we’re done.”
“I know.” What was she waiting for? Her hesitation didn’t make sense. She was the one pushing to sell the house since they’d split.
The real estate agent simply smiled, like she had all the time in the world and was prepared to sit here all day. Smiling and waiting.
Mockler calibrated his tone to neutral. There was no need to be an asshole in this situation. “We can go through it again,” he said, “if you’re unsure.”
She signed it. Quick and aggressively, almost tearing the paper. She dropped the pen and got to her feet. “Thank you, Cynthia.” Stepping around Mockler, she and hurried from the room.
He scratched his chin, like he always did when something didn’t sit right.
Cynthia gathered up the contract and held out her hand. “Congratulations,” she said.
~
Noah beamed as the guest stepped through the front door. “Honey,” he said to Robin. “This is Reverend Joy.”
“Thank you for coming, Reverend,” Robin said, straightening her posture as she looked up at the tall man. Formality was not her forte but she
was trying. It wasn’t easy to stand straight with her belly so topheavy with the baby. “We truly appreciate the visit.”
Reverend Joy brushed the snow from his buzz cut and slipped out of his overcoat. “I was happy to come. Noah speaks very highly of you.”
A darting exchange of glances, easing the tension of the earlier row about guests in their home. Robin was still smarting from the way Noah had berated for falling for a psychic, but at least he had said some kind things about her to the clergyman.
The Reverend made a reverential nod toward her belly. “And you are to be blessed with another child, I see.”
“She’s almost here,” Robin said, one hand forever on her stomach.
“Or he,” corrected Noah.
Joy smiled. “Congratulations. When are you due?”
“Soon,” Noah replied. “Early next month.”
Welcoming their guest, they moved into the living room. It was spotless now, Robin and Noah having spent the morning cleaning the whole house. There was a cheese tray on the coffee table.
“Would you like some coffee?”
The Reverend Joy didn’t reply, his gaze fixated on the bannistered stairs leading to the second floor.
“Reverend?” Noah prodded, after a sideways exchange with his wife.
He turned, snapping out of it. “Hmm? Oh, maybe after. I think we should get started right away.”
“Is everything okay?” Robin asked. She couldn’t help wonder what had caught his attention so quickly. “Did you, uh, sense something?”
Noah glowered at her. More psychic nonsense.
“It’s nothing,” he replied, smiling again.
They sat down, the homeowners on the sofa, the guest in the armchair. The Reverend leaned forward, all business. “Noah has told me what he has felt in the house, but I’d like to hear your thoughts, Robin. Do you truly believe there is something unearthly in your home?”
She nodded. “I do. And it scares me.”
“And you felt this presence since you moved in?”
“Yes, shortly afterwards. I thought it was just my imagination at first, not being used to the house yet. But then it got worse.”
Reverend Joy clasped his hands together. He was a presence himself, a big man. The starched collar, the military-style buzz cut. “When did it get worse? How long ago?”
“Six months?” she said. “Maybe seven. Do you want see where it’s bad? Which rooms and stuff?”
“We’ll get to that when I go through the house during the blessing.” The Reverend stood. “To start, I think we should offer up a simple prayer. The three of us.”
With the belly protruding so far, she needed to wind up to tilt off the deep sofa cushions. The Reverend took her hand to help her up and kept it until all three of them were joined in clasped hands and bowed heads.
“Lord, we ask that you give us the strength and the wisdom to undertake our task today with love and forbearance.”
Thunk.
The noise emanated from the second floor. Heavy and loud. Reverend Joy was the only one who opened his eyes, noting that his hosts hadn’t flinched the way he had. Clearly, the disturbance was not foreign to them.
“With your guidance,” he went on, “we will cleanse this home and keep safe the family that lives here. Amen.”
Hands unclasped, eyes opened. The Reverend reached for the bag left on the floor. “Let me get the stole on and then we’ll do each floor.”
“I feel better already,” Noah declared.
Reverend Joy draped the purple vestment around his neck, trying to ignore another thump sounding from overhead.
When it was over, Robin suggested they sit in the kitchen. The quietest room in the house. The Reverend dropped into the wooden chair visibly spent, a thin film of sweat on his brow. No one spoke while Noah poured the coffee.
“Is it always like this?” Reverend Joy asked, a little out of breath.
“Most of the time,” Robin said, unconsciously folding her palm over her belly.
The noise had played keep-away with them, staying one step ahead. A thud or the scrape of furniture on the floor as they went through the house. Always in the next room, always out of sight. The Reverend’s blessing had started in a soft, calming tone but had become loudly urgent as Robin and Noah followed him from room to room. He was angry by the time they reached the cellar. Before going down into the dusty basement, he had retrieved a vial of holy water and flung it vigorously into the four corners of the brick foundations.
“I’ve performed many blessings in my time,” Joy said, his voice a little hoarse, “but I have never felt something so oppressive as this.”
“It’s awful,” Robin agreed. She had thought, for whatever reason, that the atmosphere in the house would have altered the moment the blessing was complete, like a strong wind flushing a bad odour from the home. It hadn’t happened.
“It may actually have gotten worse,” suggested Noah. “Since the psychic.”
Robin fired a withering glance at her husband for tattle-telling on her.
“Psychic?” The Reverend set his cup down.
“Robin asked one to come see the house,” Noah continued to squeal on her. “I figured you should know.”
“I see.” The Reverend’s face drooped into a blank pan. Disappointed. He looked at the pregnant woman. “That may have complicated matters.”
Robin swallowed the ire bubbling its way up. Maybe it was just the rumble of indigestion, common with pregnancy, but she felt like a scolded child before the Reverend. “Complicated how?”
“It may have angered whatever is here. Which makes our task all the more difficult.”
Noah sunk in his chair. “You mean the blessing didn’t work?”
“On occasion, it takes more than one blessing to settle a house.” Joy looked at his watch, a heavy nickel-plated timepiece. “I’m afraid I have to go.”
Seeing the man to the door, the homeowners glanced at one another silently as their guest buttoned his overcoat.
“Are you willing to do a second blessing?” Noah’s voice was hesitant, reluctant to press their luck.
“Of course,” Reverend Joy replied, shaking both of their hands. His demeanour had altered, the self-assured man of the cloth returning with the proximity of the front door. “A second and a third and a fourth, if need be. We will make your home safe. I promise you that.”
He opened the door and the wind stole inside. He turned to the couple again. “But under no circumstances is this psychic to be allowed back into the house. It will simply undo all of the good work we have done here today. Fair enough?”
“It won’t happen again,” Noah vowed. “Thanks again, Reverend. We’ll see you on Sunday.”
Closing the door against the cold, Noah turned around to find his wife scowling at him.
“You just had to snitch on me, didn’t you?” she said.
“He needs to know the truth,” Noah said. “He can’t help if we hide stuff from him.”
~
Researching the history of the house proved to be more difficult than anticipated. The plan was simple enough; if she could trace the owners of the property back to the beginning, she might be able to narrow down a list of people who had died in the house. Hitting the fourth floor archive room at the public library, Billie discovered, was the wrong place to start. There was no way to accurately search via individual properties.
What she needed was a deed search at the Land Registry office over on King West. However, before the deed could be researched, she needed the plan and lot number for Robin’s house, and these could only be obtained through tax records at the City Clerk’s office. And there were fees, of course, for each step in the process. She could call Robin for help but was reluctant to do so. Her inspection of the house had been so unhelpful that, the next time she spoke to the distressed woman, she wanted to have some answers for her.
The clerk’s office was only a few blocks away in the city hall edifice. Packing her notebook and
pens back into her bag, she hoped Mockler would have better luck on his end with a search of the police records. When her phone went off, she wondered if it was her detective beau calling with good news but the number on the screen wasn’t his. She didn’t recognize the number.
“Is this Billie?” said a voice when she answered. She said it was.
“This is Judith Tremaine. I’m returning your call from yesterday. Your message said something about family?”
Judith. The relative that Maggie had told her about. After getting the number from her aunt, she had called Judith only to leave a vague message on the woman’s answering service. She must have sounded a little nutty.
“Hi Judith. Thanks for calling back. I’m sorry if I left a weird message for you. It is about family.”
“I see.” The woman’s tone hardened a little. Suspicious, perhaps. “My family or yours?”
“Both. My aunt Maggie gave me your number. Your cousin.”
“Maggie? Good Lord, I haven’t seen Maggie in ages.” The woman’s voice lilted to an odd angle, like someone attempting to be pleasant. “How is cousin Mags?”
“She’s well. A bit lonely, since Uncle Larry passed but she marches on.”
“Right. Yes, that was a pity.”
There was a pause. The woman was either stone, Billie thought, or she simply didn’t remember her uncle. She tried to recall what Maggie had said about Judith. ‘Bitch’ was a term that her aunt rarely employed.
“Hang on,” Judith said. “Cousin Mags is your aunt? So that would mean your mum is…?”
“Was,” Billie corrected her. “Mary Agnes. She passed back in ninety-four.”
Another pause, the woman clearly caught off guard. Old skeletons tumbling from the closet. Billie hadn’t meant to ambush the woman like this.
“Oh dear. That was an awful time.” Judith paused again, as if scrambling for something to say. “Yes, awful.”
“Sorry,” Billie said. “I didn’t mean to bring all that up.”
“That’s all right, dear.” Judith’s tone shifted again, sliding from polite pleasantry to a cool wariness, as if suddenly suspecting that her caller was secretly trying to sell her something over the phone. “Is there something I can help you with?”