Eighteen

by Jan Burke

  William, the color gone from his face, pointed a shaking hand toward Lucien.

  “What?” Fanny said. “Speak up, now!”

  “The Headless Abbot.”

  “Headless Abbot! I don’t see any Headless Abbot! It’s just a light coming from one of those passages I told you about.”

  “Don’t you see him?” William cried. “In riding clothes!”

  “Are you back to giving me trouble over that? What’s it to you if I find men’s clothes more sensible for riding?”

  Lucien tried moving closer to her. But while William swayed on his feet, Fanny was oblivious to him.

  “William?” she said. “Are you feeling quite the thing?”

  In frustration, Lucien materialized completely.

  “Lucien!” William said, and fainted. Unfortunately, he was still on the stairs when this happened. Lucien tried to make a grab for him, but William fell right through him, tumbling down to the ledge.

  Now Fanny screamed, but she obviously still could not see my brother.

  “Fibbens, please take his lordship to safety,” I said, over Charles protests. “Ask Bogsley to bring some men with a litter to me.” And picking up a lantern, I limped out as quickly as I could to the landing, where William lay in a heap.

  “Edward!” Fanny called, hurrying down the stairs and straight through Lucien without so much as a blink, “Oh, help him, Edward!”

  She stood nervously watching me. William made a groaning sound, and opened his eyes. “Edward?” he said dazedly. “Was it you all along?”

  He then caught sight of Lucien standing behind me, though, and fainted once again.

  I did my best to make him more comfortable. “Help will be here soon, Fanny,” I said.

  “He’s broken his arm,” Lucien said, “but I don’t think he has any more serious injuries. Why do you suppose he could see me, but she can’t?”

  “I don’t understand it,” I said.

  Fanny, thinking I spoke to her, said, “Well! I understand it! It’s all because of Lucien’s stupid story about the monk. He thought he saw the ghost. Just your lantern light, I daresay.”

  We heard a sound then, a faint cracking noise from below.

  Fanny’s face grew pale. “The abbot!” she said weakly.

  “Henry,” I called, “are you down there in the dark eating walnuts?”

  A long laugh echoed up the tower.

  “Henry!” Fanny exclaimed.

  “Get help,” I said to Lucien.

  “I’ll stay here, thank you,” Fanny replied. “Besides, you said help is already on the way.”

  “Oh it is, dear Fanny, it is!” Henry said, lighting a lantern. He started up the stone stairs. “Where’s Charles?”

  Lucien made a wild banshee sound, and swooped toward Henry. Nothing.

  “Never mind the brat,” Fanny said impatiently. “Here’s your brother broken to bits!”

  “I wouldn’t trouble yourself too much over William, Fanny.” Henry said. “He discovered my little plan, so I think it’s best if the next accident concerning an earl has something to do with trying to save my brother. Edward and Charles make a valiant, combined effort. Alas, it will be unsuccessful.”

  “Will no one talk sense to me?” Fanny asked.

  “Your brother Henry wants to be an earl,” I said. “So he murdered Lucien-right, Lucien?”

  “Right.”

  But Henry laughed and said, “Don’t tell me you think you can try that ghost business on me at this age, Edward! Now where’s that treasure? I warn you, I’m armed.”

  “You’ll never own the Abbey’s treasure,” I said. “The Abbey’s treasure then, as it is now, was in the good men who have lived here-Lucien, and his father, and Charles.”

  “Henry,” Fanny said, “tell me you didn’t harm Lucien!”

  “Lucien? Oh, not just Lucien. Don’t forget his father and his ninnyhammer of a stepmother-you didn’t think that carriage overturned by chance?” I heard the sound of rock falling, and Henry said, “When I am earl, I shall have these steps repaired.”

  “You’ll never be earl!” Lucien vowed.

  I heard a commotion in the passage way. Fibbens’s voice was calling desperately, “Your lordship, no!”

  Suddenly a white, headless figure with a bloodstained cassock came barreling onto the landing. Fanny, who did not see me grab hold of the small boy who carried it, let out the fourth scream to assault my ears in nearly as many minutes.

  Lucien grabbed the pillow ghost, and went flying off the landing. Literally. Previously unable to support it, this time-perhaps somehow strengthened by his need to protect Charles-he was able to make the Headless Abbot billow impressively, and to aim it directly at Henry Bane. Henry fired his pistol at it, but the stuffed costume came at him inexorably, and knocked him from the stone stairs. His fall was harder than William’s, and fatal.

  I called to Lucien, but he had disappeared.

  Two weeks later, William, recovered enough to be moved, left with his sister and the much quieter dowager for Bane House. They wanted to be home in time for Christmas, which was drawing near. William and his sister were getting along fairly well by then-as we all were-and none of us told the dowager about her daughter’s clothing preferences. Although a scandal of a far more serious nature had been avoided, both Henry’s duplicity and his death had left Lady Bane shaken.

  But even with the Banes gone and the immediate crisis over, I was feeling dismal, as was Charles. One night he came to the library at midnight, upset-not because he saw a ghost, but because it had been so long since he had seen one. I tried to explain his father’s traveling coach analogy, but Charles wanted that coach to return. “At least for visits,” he said tearfully.

  I took out the packet of letters again, and read to him-this time, the letter Lucien had written to me on the death of his wife.

  “I used to be able to picture her so clearly after she was gone,” a familiar voice said. “To feel her watching over Charles and me, sharing our joys. Do you know, I believe I now know why Fanny and Henry couldn’t see me, but you who’ve loved me can?”

  “Papa!” Charles cried out.

  “Yes, my boy, I’m back-for a visit.”

  Gradually, over the years, we saw less and less of him. By the time Charles had grown into a man, it was no longer necessary to trouble Lucien to be our ghost. By then, we knew how to recall his spirit in other ways-through fond remembrance, and the knowledge that we can never be truly parted from those we love.

  And that, I’ve come to believe, is the true spirit of Christmas.

  Edgar Award Nominee, Best Short Story

  Devotion

  “Jordy!” Ralph Kendall bellowed.

  When homicide detective Frank Harriman arrived, Kendall had been watching the Cartoon Network-a Bugs Bunny episode. Kendall had opened the door with a smile. The minute Frank explained why he was there, though, Kendall had grown serious, and turned the set off.

  The man was broad-shouldered and tall, only an inch or so shorter than Frank’s own six-four. He was wearing a white T-shirt and shorts that barely met over his middle. His face and arms were sunburned, and his blond hair was thinning. His eyes were blue and-before Frank had told him of his neighbor’s death-full of laughter.

  “Jordy!” he called again. “You get down here right now, you hear me?”

  An upstairs bedroom door opened-no more than a crack. “Coming!” a young man called down in an exasperated voice, then shut the door again.

  “Teenagers,” his father said on a sigh. “He was out all night, didn’t get home until God knows when-you have any children, Detective Harriman?”

  Frank Harriman shook his head. “No, Mr. Kendall, I don’t. About the Toller boy-”

  “Poor kid. I guess Lexie’s an orphan now, isn’t he?” Kendall said.

  Harriman thought he would feel relieved if that turned out to be the worst of eight-year-old Lexington Toller’s troubles.

  “Maybe for the best, though,�
� Kendall said, before Frank could reply. “I never did like Victor Toller,” he said now. “I can’t say I’ll miss him. Guy was a jerk. Still, murder…I mean, you think he was robbed or something?”

  “We’re not certain, but we don’t think so.”

  “So some maniac is running around in my neighborhood?”

  “That’s unlikely. There was no sign of forced entry.”

  “Well, Toller, he was a specialist at pissing people off, so who knows. I sure hope nothing has happened to Lexie, though. He’s a cute little kid. Real quiet. Shy. Can’t ever get two words out of him at a time. I guess the aunt will get Lexie after all-say, wait a minute! Did you check with her?”

  “He isn’t with Sarah Crane,” Frank said. “We’ve checked.”

  Kendall frowned, then turned toward the stairs. “Jordy!” he called again.

  “When you said Ms. Crane would ‘get Lexie after all,’” Frank asked, “what did you mean?”

  “Oh, she’s been trying to get custody of the kid for about a year now. Lexie’s mother has been dead for four years or so, and I guess she was on the outs with her folks-they didn’t like Toller. Sarah told us she didn’t even know her sister had died, and that it took her a while to track down Toller and the kid.”

  “It seems you know her fairly well?”

  “Sure, because Gabe-my youngest boy-and Lexie are friends. My wife is always trying to fatten that kid up, too. I keep telling her he’s stronger than he looks-you ought to see him play ball with Jordy and Gabe. Mary doesn’t listen to me though-Lex comes over to see Gabe, and she fixes him lunch or a snack.”

  “So you’ve met his aunt-”

  “Oh, gosh, I let myself get blown off course there, didn’t I? Yes, we know her. One day, Sarah comes over to pick him up, and we all get to talking. Nice woman. And I tell you, even though it took her a while to locate him, there isn’t anything she wouldn’t do for that boy.”

  “She sees a lot of him?”

  “Well, at first, yes. Toller liked the idea of someone taking the kid off his hands for a few hours. But then she started talking about having Lexie live with her, and the two of them have been-had been-at war ever since. And I can’t say I blame Toller for being mad at her. Jordan’s mother died when he was just two, and if my first wife’s sister ever tried to take him away from me-well, he’s an adult now, isn’t he?”

  “Yes. About Ms. Crane-”

  Kendall was not to be hurried, though. “Mary, my wife-she’s my second wife. Gabe is my son by this marriage, but long before he came along, Mary loved Jordy like he was her own. Even adopted him. And I think having a little brother like Gabe makes Jordan more patient with younger kids. But that wasn’t what you asked about, was it?”

  “Even though Toller was angry with her,” Frank asked, “did Ms. Crane still visit Lex?”

  “Oh, yes. I thought I saw her over there last night.”

  From interviews with other neighbors, Frank already knew that Sarah Crane had visited Toller the previous evening, and that she had argued loudly with her brother-in-law. But he asked, “About what time was that?”

  “Oh, I guess it was about six-thirty that she came by. It was getting dark, and I went out to call Gabe in. She was already there, helping Lex carry his bat and glove.” He frowned for a moment.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Oh-just trying to make sure I had that time right. But that’s right. About six-thirty.”

  “Gabe is Lex’s age?”

  “Yes, they’re in the same class at school. Not that you’d know it if they were standing side-by-side. Lex is kind of shrimpy, you know? Gabe’s taller. I wish he was here. Mary will be bringing him home from his Little League game in about an hour or so, if you can wait.”

  Wondering if he had been going house-to-house when a trip to the local ballpark would have done the trick, he asked, “Is Lex on the Little League team?”

  “Hell, no. Toller doesn’t let that poor kid do anything!” Kendall said in disgust. “And he loves baseball. Toller tends to-uh, take naps in the late afternoon. Works early in the morning, gets off about two, and-well, not to mince words, he drinks. There. I’ve said it. So if Toller tied one on, which was more often than not, Lex would sneak out and play street ball with the other kids. Wasn’t so hot at it at first, but Jordan talked them into letting the kid play, and he’s darned good at it now. Got a home run last night, Gabe said.”

  “I’ll probably still be in the area when your wife gets back, so if you don’t mind-”

  He heard the creak of stairs and looked up to see a tall young man coming toward them. Jordan Kendall had just turned eighteen, according to the neighbors, but Frank thought he looked older. He wore jeans and a tank top, and was barefoot. He was a younger, more handsome version of his father. He had dark circles under his blue eyes, but those eyes were watchful. He rubbed a hand over his short-cropped hair.

  “Welcome to the land of the living, Sleeping Beauty,” Kendall said to him, then turned to Frank. “Detective Harriman, this is Jordan.”

  “Detective?” Jordan’s eyes widened. “What’s going on?”

  “We’re trying to locate one of your neighbors, Lexington Toller. Can you tell me when you last saw him?”

  He shrugged. “Lex? Last night, I guess. Is he in trouble?”

  “His dad has been murdered, Jordy,” Mr. Kendall said.

  “Murdered?” He looked to Frank. “Someone murdered Mr. Toller?”

  “Yes. We’re investigating that, but at the moment our first concern is for Lexington. What time was it that you saw him?”

  “I don’t remember-evening, I think. Maybe six or seven o’clock, something like that. I waved to him when he was going into his house. His aunt was over there.”

  Frank asked him a few questions about what the younger boy had been wearing, if he had seen anyone else at the house, when he had last talked to Lex. His answers fit those he had heard from others: Lex Toller had been wearing jeans and a white T-shirt, his aunt had been at the house, and he had last spoken to him when they had been playing softball in the street. Jordan had been the umpire for a game played by the younger kids.

  “Do you have any idea where he might go if he was scared?” Frank asked.

  “No. I mean, you might ask my brother. He hangs out with him. To me, he’s just a little pest-you know, always tagging along.”

  “Jordan!” Mr. Kendall said, frowning. “Lexie-”

  “He’s okay, but he’s Gabe’s friend. You should ask Gabe.”

  “Thanks, I will. Can you name any of his other friends?”

  Jordan shrugged. “He’s kind of shy. Ask Gabe.” He looked to his father. “Can I go now? I have a bunch of stuff I gotta do.”

  Kendall looked to Frank. “Sure,” Frank said.

  Frank watched the teenager speculatively as he hurried out of the house. He turned back to Kendall. “Did you know Mr. Toller’s wife?”

  “Oh, gosh, that’s been what-three, four years ago now? Barely knew her then-just to nod to. Skinny blonde. Didn’t come out of the house much. Guess she was sick most the time.” Kendall shifted on his feet, then said, “I’m sorry about Jordy being so-abrupt, I guess you’d call it. Teenagers, you know, sometimes they’re scared and don’t want to show it. I know he didn’t seem upset, but-”

  “Oh, no need to apologize. People take that kind of news in different ways. I think Jordan was upset.” He wasn’t sure it was about Toller, but he kept that to himself.

  Kendall smiled. “Well, yes. I’m glad you understand.”

  Ben Sheridan heard a tapping sound on the driver’s side window of his pickup truck, just a few inches away from his head. His neighbor’s fake fingernails, drumming on the glass. For a moment he was tempted to pretend that he didn’t hear it. With luck, he’d kill her as he backed out, and get a reduced sentence based on the testimony of his other neighbors. He could claim the camper shell blocked his view, or that the dogs distracted him…

  Tap-tap-tap. What t
he hell were those fingernails made of-iron?

  He sighed and rolled down the window. She grinned and leaned in, folding her arms over the sill, thrusting her breasts toward him. Despite the fact that the mid-September weather was a little too cool for it, she was wearing her usual ensemble, a skimpy black swimsuit top and pair of tight faded denim shorts that barely covered her ass. It was probably an appealing outfit the first time she wore something like it forty or fifty years ago. She was still slender, but Ben figured she must have spent most of those decades in the sun, because as far as he was concerned, these days she just looked like beef jerky in a bikini.

  “I’m in a real hurry, Alice,” he said brusquely, leaning away from her. “Mind stepping back from the truck?”

  “Hello, Professor!” she said, as if he hadn’t spoken. She flipped her straight, shoulder-length hair-with a slight green tinge from the chlorine in her pool-away from her face and looked back at the bloodhound and the German Shepherd. “Hi, Bingle! Hi, Bool! Going on a search?” He knew where her own searching eyes would look next, and felt himself tense. Someone unaware of her particular proclivities might have mistaken the direction of her gaze. But Ben knew she wasn’t staring at his crotch. She was staring at his lower left leg.

  He was grateful that he had jeans on today, not because they hid the prosthesis he wore, but because he knew that Alice was hoping to catch a glimpse of the point where his left leg had been amputated below the knee.

  “Ben, why don’t you come over for a swim?” she said, still not looking at his face.

  “Alice!” he shouted.

  She blinked and shook her head, as if he had awakened her from a trance.

  “I have to leave right now,” he gritted out. “Immediately. I’m in a hurry.”

  “Okay. Well, come on by later.” She took one step back.

  He wasn’t going to waste this chance. He put the truck in reverse, glanced behind him and backed out. He drove off, not looking in the rearview mirror until he was sure he was too far away for her to run after him. She stood motionless in his driveway.