House of Ashes

by Loretta Marion

  “You’re not being fair. Didn’t I come when Mama was sick? And I stayed for her memorial service and to help you sort through all her things. And I was there for Papa’s funeral.”

  I managed to hold back the sarcastic retort tickling my tongue. Mama was ill for years, yet Zoe didn’t come until the very end. She had abandoned our parents, and I hated it when she laid claim for any contribution to their care.

  “You didn’t even bother to come when Granny Fi died,” I said out of spite. I was determined to discover the reason behind Zoe’s desertion of our family and our home.

  “I know you adored her, but we had a very different relationship.”

  “Different how?”

  “She was around more for you.”

  Again I bit my tongue. Nobody could deny Fiona’s nurturing presence while we girls were growing up. Mama was constantly pregnant or recovering from her multiple miscarriages, and she’d been of a delicate bent, susceptible to various illnesses; Papa had clearly needed the help. I can remember watching fretfully from my bedroom window as my parents walked along the cliffs, worried that Mama’s wispy silhouette would be carried away by the wind if Papa didn’t hold tight.

  “What’s more,” Zoe added, “I could never forgive her.”

  Now this was laughable. “Why would you need to forgive Fiona?”

  “She was responsible for Mama dying so young.”

  “That’s absurd.” I couldn’t believe the audacity. “Fiona loved and cared for Mama as if she was her own daughter. Don’t forget, I was here. I was a witness to it all.”

  “Sometimes people stand right beside the truth and still don’t see it.”

  “I’ll tell you what I did see.” I tried to hold back but couldn’t. “Granny Fi was here every day, tending to the cleaning, the laundry, the marketing, the cooking. And when Mama could no longer take care of her personal needs, who do you think bathed her and got her dressed every day? Certainly not Papa. He was a wreck. All he could manage to do was hold her hand and maybe read to her when she wasn’t sleeping. Fiona would never harm Mama. That I know for certain.”

  “You don’t know everything, and I refuse to discuss this further. So find another question, or forget about it.”

  Leaving the subject of our grandmother was fine with me.

  “What I really need is for you to tell me why you won’t come home for me.”

  Quietly and patiently, I waited for the response to the issue that had plagued me for so long. Zoe sniffled and blew her nose, provoking feelings of self-reproach for pushing so hard.

  “There’s something evil residing within the walls of The Bluffs. I told you about that odor.” Her words were measured, with a slight quaver to her voice. “But it’s even more than that.”

  She left the thought floating across the miles between us, but I waited her out.

  “I lost so much there.” She sniffed again. “You could never understand, Cassie. And I don’t wish to speak of this again.”

  * * *

  The ringing of the landline startled me, but a state of inertia prevented me from rising and walking the few steps to the opposite side of the bed, where the phone sounded from my reading table.

  The answering machine played the greeting: You’ve reached Battersea Bluffs. Please leave a message.

  “It’s Daniel. I know you’re angry with me right now, but I’d really like to see you. I understand you might not be ready, but if that’s the case, could we at least talk? It’s important. Please call me back when you get this message.” He cleared his throat, and then, “I miss you.”

  Aggravation was the catalyst to rouse me, and I crawled across the bed to push “Delete” before sinking back onto the pillows. My nostrils began to fill with the familiar sweet aroma.

  “I don’t care what you think.” But to whom was I speaking? Percy? Celeste? Some wicked otherworldly being according to Zoe? But I couldn’t allow myself to believe there was an evil presence in my home. Bolstering that mindset was the returned burning sugar essence of Percy and Celeste. And yet I too had been tormented by what might have been the same insidious odor as Zoe remembered. There also remained the question of why that acrid pervasive odor appeared and disappeared. I didn’t recall being aware of it before Ashley and Vince arrived, nor had I smelled it since they went missing. Had it dissipated because they were gone? Had it arisen to drive them away?

  I moaned, flinging one arm across my head in despair, and searched out the comfort of my warm, furry companion with the other. But when all I felt was the still damp sheets, I jolted upright and alert. For the first time since I awoke from the dreadful dream, I was mindful of Whistler’s absence.

  21

  Later that day

  “After checking every closet and bathtub, I finally found him in the cellar.” I reached down to offer Whistler a reassuring chin scratch. “He has a fear of sirens.”

  Brooks raised his hands in question. “Where was the fire?”

  “No fire. My ringtone is a fire alarm.”

  He gave me an odd look. “Have you thought of changing it?”

  “I will.” Actually, I had changed it multiple times, but to no avail. The ringtone repeatedly changed back on its own. It seemed Percy was partial to the sound, or at least someone or something was. During the light of day, the notion of sharing The Bluffs with a strange and hostile spirit seemed an even more remote possibility.

  “How did he get down there?” Brooks had stopped by for a strategy session and was sitting at the kitchen table.

  “I must have left the door ajar. I’d been down there yesterday, gathering some painting rags. Anyhow, Whistler was buried under a pile of old towels. But look what I found down there mixed in with them.” I held up a baseball cap for him to see.

  “You think it belonged to Ashley or Vince?” he asked.

  “I don’t know, but it’s not mine.”

  “Ethan?”

  I fingered the cap. If it was Ethan’s, it would punch a huge hole in my theory that Whistler had searched out something familiar belonging to his owners.

  “Right. That’s a closed book.” Brooks misread my silence.

  “Ethan didn’t wear ball caps, but I guess we can’t rule it out completely.” I handed over the hat. “Do you recognize the team?”

  “Sure.” He thumped the hat to life with his fist. “It’s an old Minnesota Twins cap.”

  “How do guys do that?” It never ceased to amaze me, the male brain’s capacity to retain every minute detail involving professional sports. “I can recognize a total of three sports team logos. The Boston Red Sox, the Celtics, and the New England Patriots.”

  “It’s in our genetic makeup. Women remember recipes and men remember sports.”

  “That might be the most sexist comment to ever come from your mouth.”

  “Get over yourself. I think I’ve proven myself more evolved than the average Whale Rock cave dweller.”

  “I’ll give you that.” I pointed to the ball cap. “Can you have DNA testing done?”

  “I’d have to get the FBI involved again. They have most everything.”

  “Had,” I reminded him again.

  “DNA samples wouldn’t have been with the evidence file. They’d be able to pull up computer reports and do a comparison.”

  I made a face.

  “Look, it might work to our advantage.”

  “Why? Because they’ve done such brilliant work so far?”

  “How can it hurt having two teams working this investigation? We can continue with our plan and offer them select tidbits to keep the case alive. And if they think the WRPD is being helpful, we gain access to their information without them even knowing they’re assisting us.”

  I didn’t want any contact with Daniel, but I also had no desire to get into all the messy details with Brooks. For one, I’d have to hear about it from Zoe. Because I’d bet my last dollar (which could be found in my pocketbook) that he’d be calling her after our meeting today.
/>   “I don’t know what’s going on between you and Agent Benjamin—” Brooks began.

  I opened my mouth, but he cut me off, his next words providing me an out.

  “—and I’d like to keep it that way. It’s best if the FBI doesn’t know you and I are collaborating. Frankly, I’m less likely to let something slip. Especially after a few pops.”

  My face flashed hot at the reference to my inability to keep secrets when under the influence. But I chose to ignore his jibe in the interest of progress.

  “You’re in charge. Besides, Daniel and I haven’t been in touch recently.”

  Smugness flickered across Brooks’s face.

  I picked up my notebook. “Shall we get to work?”

  “Let’s do it.” He opened a file, from which he pulled a stack of artwork. “Here are all the colleges and universities with red birds for mascots.”

  I took the pages and began to study them.

  “Brandeis is the only one that might be considered a Jewish college,” he said.

  “Which makes no sense.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s right here in Massachusetts. They were enjoying a summer of exploration, checking out a place they’d never been before. Who goes to Brandeis and never sees the Cape? Besides, I don’t believe Vince ever lived anywhere close to the water.”

  “We can’t get stuck on the uncertainty of assumptions.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He held up his fingers for emphasis and began to tick off all we didn’t know about the T-shirt Cindy had turned in to the FBI.

  “The shirt might not have belonged to them. It might’ve come from a friend, a sibling.” He indicated the pages I was flipping through. “And frankly, Cindy isn’t exactly the most credible person.”

  Daniel had said the same thing, but still I found it to be an exasperating excuse.

  “I think we can rest assured she’d know a red bird when she sees it.”

  “True, but what made her think it was a Jewish college? Maybe it wasn’t even a college at all.”

  “Okay. Okay. I get your point.” I was drowning in a sea of missing pieces.

  “Don’t be discouraged. It’s still a clue and one worth pursuing. Why don’t you take those to show to Cindy? See if any of them stimulate a memory.”

  “I’ll do that today.” As I reached the end of the photos, my heart gave a flutter at the image of a strange bird rising from flames.

  “Do you recognize something?” he asked.

  “It’s a phoenix.” My hand automatically went to my lower tummy, as if to hide what was already covered by my jeans. The image of Skunk popped into my mind and along with it a spark of a memory from that fateful night. But I couldn’t hold onto it long enough for it to be helpful.

  Brooks plucked the page from my grasp and looked first at the image and then intently at me. “You’re remembering something, aren’t you?”

  I realized I could inform my friend of the connection to Vince and Ashley without revealing my own drunken folly.

  “They both had tattoos of a phoenix on their shoulders. It was a joint symbolic act.”

  “Can you elaborate?”

  “Ashley said they’d lost something important in a fire, got drunk, got tattooed. End of story.”

  He considered this thoughtfully for a moment before saying, “Maybe that wasn’t the end of the story. And then again, maybe it was a complete fabrication to conceal the real truth behind their tattoos.”

  I nodded, unable to come up with a rational argument other than my belief in them. Still, I felt a twinge of betrayal at the possibility they’d lied to me, and not just about the tattoos.

  “What about the rope and the letter?” I asked to change the subject.

  “We’re making progress. All the knots have been identified.”

  I took out my rope and notes and Brooks helped me fill in the blanks.

  “This is a rapala knot, used in fishing.” He pointed to one of the last knots then counted upward. “And this is a savoy knot, which has no practical use. It’s decorative.”

  Including an ornamental knot gave more weight to my code theory. I fingered the knots, trying to interpret them as a blind person would read Braille. Still nothing came to me.

  “Were you able to locate the guy from Albany?” I asked.

  “We’ve hit a dead end on the contact information I was able to wheedle out of Evelyn. This Henry Beamer guy isn’t answering the phone, and he doesn’t live at the address he used at check-in.”

  “So he lied?” I reflected on the potential threat he posed to Ashley and Vince.

  “Or maybe he’s just moved in the last four months. We’re still trying to track him down.” He closed his file and drummed the table. “Your turn.”

  “I did what you asked and tried to review what happened in the days before Ashley and Vince disappeared.” I opened up my notebook and began perusing my jottings. I flipped a page and uncovered the napkin I’d been doodling on when talking with Teddy at Wizards the other night. I must have shoved it into the notebook without thinking, but the sight of it stimulated a brainwave.

  “He said something about a silver money clip with the letter ‘T.’ ”

  “Who did?”

  “Teddy. The other night at Wizards, before you stopped in, I was talking with him, and he mentioned something about a money clip Vince carried. He said it was an unusual ‘T’ shape.” I picked up the ball cap that Brooks had set on the table between us and waved it at him excitedly. “Wouldn’t you say this is an unusual ‘T’ shape?”

  Brooks pushed out his lower lip and nodded.

  “This could be a big break. Before you send it off for DNA testing, can I show it to Teddy?”

  “I’ll handle it.” His voice was clipped, almost angry.

  The change was markedly abrupt, compelling me to ask, “What is with you and Teddy?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He busied himself organizing his notes.

  I didn’t buy it. The tops of his ears and his cheeks were tinged a rosy shade. There had been undeniable tension between the two men at the bar earlier.

  “Are you keeping tabs on him for some reason? Has he been in trouble?”

  “I’m not at liberty to discuss official business with you.”

  “So I’m right.” I slapped the table. “What did he do?”

  “Leave it alone,” he warned. “The subject is closed. I’ll handle the cap. Now let’s move on.”

  For the second time in a day, my desire for answers had been shut down. I wondered if Zoe and Brooks conspired to frustrate me.

  “Fine.” I raised my hands in surrender and returned my attention to my notes. “Let’s see. They mentioned knowing someone in Provincetown. Nobody specifically, just that they could crash there if they weren’t up for biking back to my house.”

  “You still have photos of them?” he asked.

  I slid a snapshot of the couple across the table.

  “I’ll have copies circulated in P-town to see if anyone recognizes them out there. What else?”

  “I’m relying on a fuzzy memory for this, but there was a place they mentioned, a bar I think, but maybe a restaurant. Anyhow this place had two first names, one male and one female. Something like Johnny Beth’s or Johnny Sue’s. It was in an area close to where they lived during graduate school. And it was in an area that also had a unique name. I can’t remember except that it had something to do with a fish. This bar served a brand of beer which Vince evidently thought was a local brew because he was surprised when he learned it could be purchased here on the Cape.”

  “Do you remember the name of the beer?”

  “Dog something. Dog Head, maybe?”

  “What a memory. Johnny something. Fish something. Dog something.” At least the dourness had faded. “When you drop by Hilliard House to show Cindy the bird pictures, why not make a stop at the package store and see if any of the beers look familiar?”

 
I added it to my list.

  “Is that all you’ve got?”

  I took another look at the bulleted questions I’d jotted. Vince and Ashley had reacted so passionately to the unknown boy’s grave, but what would compel two strangers to go to the trouble of leaving a memorial? And what was Ashley doing at the graveyard the day they disappeared? Vince had appeared agitated when he thought he’d misplaced the rope. Was Ashley hiding it so I wouldn’t see it? If only I could remember if there were already knots on the rope. They’d packed such a large quantity of food for just one day. Were they planning to meet someone? And why had they been so resistant to taking Fiona’s picnic basket? A wisp of a memory, something to do with Ashley and Whistler, but it flitted away.

  It all left me with a sick feeling. I looked up from my notes and forced myself to ask the unsettling question which had been nagging at me for the past two days.

  “Do you think Vince and Ashley knew they weren’t coming back?”

  22

  Five weeks following the disappearance

  “I have bad news.” I told Brooks on the phone.

  “So do I,” he said. “You go first.”

  “I was unable to show Cindy the photos.” I nervously paced the kitchen. “She’s gone.”

  “What do you mean? Did Evelyn finally fire her?”

  “No, apparently she quit. At the end of her shift on Monday, Evelyn said Cindy told them it was her last day. I checked with her landlady. Gone from there too. And no forwarding address.”

  “What about her phone?”

  “This is where it gets weird. Evelyn tried to reach her by cell to ask where she should send her last paycheck.”

  “And?”

  “The number is no longer in service.”

  Brooks said nothing.

  “You still with me?”

  “Uh-huh. And you’re right. That is weird. I’ll see if I can run a search.”

  “So what’s your bad news?”

  “Not as bad as yours. I showed the Twins cap to Ted. It’s not the same ‘T’ as the money clip.”

  “Crap. I really thought we had something.”

  “It was a long shot.”