"The boy ended up in the ER that night, and it all came out. The kid stood up for Hudson, so he only got bumped down to assistant coach even though the parents wanted him fired. This is all closed-door information, so y’all please, promise me you’ll keep it quiet. Hudson’s gone now. There’s no need of draggin’ his name through the mud.”
She didn’t name names, but I wondered if Ernie considered the boy or his father a suspect. I added both to my list and contemplated again whether there was a way Hudson’s gambling debts might play into his death. At least the suspect pool was now bigger than a guppy bowl.
When Ernie left a half hour after he’d arrived, he had more information than he’d started with, but very little of it helpful.
Neena stood and smoothed her hands down the front of her cotton blouse, then adjusted the set of her shoulders. “What about those rooms we were going to explore?” There was a false note of cheer in her voice and a pleading look in her eyes that made me think she wasn’t in the mood for more questions. What she needed was a distraction, and we’d offered to provide her with one.
“I’ll get the keys.” Jacy sprang into action. How she still had any spring left in her was beyond me. I felt like I’d been tied to a car antenna and driven down the highway for an hour. She seemed bright and daisy-fresh when she laid the keys on the table.
“All the rooms downstairs use this one,” she pointed to a key with a solid shaft. “That one opens all the closet doors on this level.” Also a solid shaft, but a thinner one than the first. “That’s the basement key, the wide one with the pinhole in the end, and this one opens the tower door.”
Jacy looked up and caught me grinning at her. “What? I worked it out after you told me about the pins.” She picked up the three remaining keys. “By process of elimination, this one probably opens all the doors on the second floor, this one the closets, and,” she pointed to the most ornate, “that one probably goes to the attic—if there is one.”
Neena snatched up the closet key and headed toward the stairs with Jacy hard on her heels. “Let’s go find out if there are any skeletons in Mrs. Willowby’s closets. I’m itchin’ to see.”
I could have happily tumbled into bed, but if pawing around in dusty closets would give Neena some peace, I’d go along with it.
Oh, who was I kidding? I wanted to know what kind of pig was in my poke.
“This is excitin’. It’s like being on a game show and getting to pick between door number one or door number two.” Neena stood in the hallway and surveyed her options. There were a lot more than just the two doors to choose from, but it looked like she was taking her time.
Jacy pointed. “These old houses, some of the closets opened out into the hallway. See how this door is narrower? And that one over there, too.”
Waiting for them to choose was like watching someone pick away at the wrapping on a gift in order to save the paper. I’m of the tear it off and see what’s inside persuasion.
Finally, Neena fitted a key to the lock of her choice and, angling her body so she would have the best view, gave the key a twist. The door swung open, she leaned in for a peek, let out a yelp, and slammed it shut again.
My heart took the express route to my shoes and grabbed my stomach to go along for the ride.
“What? What is it? It better not be an actual skeleton.” Yet, I was in no rush to see.
Putting a hand to her cheek, Neena turned toward us—Jacy had stepped to my side and was now clutching my hand like it was a lifeline.
“Not exactly, but close.” Neena turned the handle and pulled the door wide.
In perfect unison, Jacy and I looked at the contents and then at each other. Horror gave way to the kind of giggles that come when you’re faced with the absurd on a day when you’re already feeling punchy from lack of sleep.
At first, Neena stared at us, then she cracked a smile. Pretty soon all three of us were howling, which was probably inappropriate since her husband hadn’t even been put in the ground. Stress comes out in funny ways sometimes.
“What on earth was she going to do with a closet full of mannequin heads?” I couldn’t hazard a guess at the answer, but there they were, all bald and staring with their creepy eyes—jammed in among sets of arms and legs.
“Where are the bodies?” Jacy wiped away tears of laughter.
Neena wrapped her arms around her middle and tried to catch her breath. “Probably in the other closet.”
"Looks like a squirrel putting away nuts for the winter, only it's heads." The laughter made me wheezy, but it also released another layer of the tension I'd been carrying for days.
Jacy held her hand out for the key, and when Neena passed it over, tried the second closet. “I’m sorry, but I have to know.”
"There ought to be a soundtrack playing in the background," Neena said. “Dun dun dun.”
With a flourish, Jacy drew open the door to reveal not torsos but coats. A lot of coats—all of them preserved in plastic covers. The closet held a few cobwebs and a history lesson in winter outerwear.
“Oh, this is better than a mannequin body any day of the week.” Jacy pulled out and unzipped the bag holding a sassy pink swing coat circa 1956. “It’s in perfect condition. I just love it.” She held it out for Neena to play fingers along the soft material.
Don’t get me wrong, I like fashion as much as the next woman, but my butt was dragging and my energy was just about gone. I didn’t have it in me to gush over a bit of pink wool at that moment. Not even if it was fine cashmere.
Trying not to seem like I was rushing them along, I gently persuaded my companions to put the coat away, and we went downstairs to settle in the living room. With their soft voices rising and falling around me, I tipped my head back and slid into a doze.
CHAPTER 21
Until Jacy gently shook me awake, I'd been indulging myself in a dream where Mrs. Willowby, the younger version from her photographs, welcomed me to her home and said she wanted me to make myself at home there.
Since I already planned to do just that, I figured the dream for a bout of anxiety relief.
“C’mon, Ev. You can’t spend the night sleeping on the sofa. It sets a bad precedent.”
I think I grunted something in response because my tongue felt thick, and so did my brain.
Jacy—who looked almost as tired as me by then—took the left-hand side of the bed, and if there was a race to unconsciousness, I couldn’t say who won.
I was the first one up in the morning, so I dragged myself to the kitchen to see if I could rustle up a pot of coffee. My bare toes tested the texture of the vinyl flooring, and I caught myself smiling in spite of the eye-watering wallpaper. I could see myself cooking meals in this room, slowly arranging things to my preferences, settling into a solitary, but fulfilling lifestyle.
If Catherine Willowby could be happy here alone, so could I.
Slowly, I took the tour of the cupboards. Since my mom and Jacy had done the bulk of the cleaning in this room, I wasn’t entirely certain where they’d stashed the coffeemaker. Or, for that matter, if there was one.
“You didn’t tell Neena I love her.” Hudson materialized next to me and scared me half out of my skin.
“What have I said about just showing up like that?” I hissed in case Jacy woke up.
He ignored the question. “Why didn’t you tell her?”
“Because, you idiot, I can’t tell her that without letting her know you’re haunting me, and she’s got enough on her plate right now without me freaking her out even more. It’s not like you went out peacefully in your sleep, you know.”
During the whispered conversation, I kept up the search for a coffeepot, and also maintained a listening ear in case Jacy stirred. I didn’t need her thinking I’d gone over to the woo-woo side, and if she caught me talking to Hudson, I’d have to tell her about him.
As if he read my mind, Hudson said, “You missed it.”
“Missed what?”
He pointed to the cabinet door I’d
just closed. “That tall pot with the glass bulb in the lid. That’s a percolator.”
I cocked an eyebrow at him.
“For coffee.” He carefully avoided touching me, but when I opened the cabinet in question, pointed to the item in question.
“This makes coffee?”
“Jeez, Ev. Not everyone uses drip makers. She’s got a French press in there, too, if you like a more full-bodied brew.”
What was he? Some kind of coffee expert?
“All I want is a cup of coffee sometime in the next fifteen minutes. Which one of these things can make that happen and how?”
Under his direction, I filled the percolator, added coffee to the basket, and fired up the stove.
“You weren’t fooling around on Neena.” I made it a statement, not a question, and put some warmth into my voice because that was information that made me more willing to help him. As if I had a choice.
“No. And she didn’t kill me, either. I might not know who did, but I know it wasn’t her.”
Just as I started to ask him about the gambling, I heard footsteps in the hall and ordered him to go. He grinned and faded just as Jacy walked into the kitchen.
“Is that coffee I smell?”
“It’s an attempt. Have you ever used one of these?” I gestured to the percolator.
"No, but it smells amazing in here. I'm starving."
We hadn't fully stocked the kitchen during our shopping trip the day before, but I'd had the forethought to grab eggs and sausage for the morning. Working together, we cooked breakfast and chatted about colors for the room.
“Yellow, I think. I like the sheer curtains because they let in the light. I want it to be bright and cheerful. Other than the wallpaper, it’s a great room already.”
Jacy expertly slid over-easy eggs on a plate, set it near my coffee, then added one for herself while I buttered toast for us both.
We ate in silence for the first few minutes, then Jacy said, “Did you see the light fixture over the sink?”
“How could I miss it? It looks like a flying saucer.”
"Check this out." Rising and going over to the sink, Jacy reached up and grasped a knob that looked like it held the glass in place. She pulled down and then pushed up, and the whole fixture turned out to be adjustable. "How cool is that? That's some space-age tech that was ahead of its time."
“Still looks like a flying saucer, though.”
When we’d finished and stashed our dishes in the dishwasher, I let her talk me into cleaning the hallway and checking at least one more room upstairs before she went home for the day and left me to finish unpacking.
With her wielding the vacuum and me following behind with rag and mop, we cleared up our dusty footprints from the day before. The closet full of mannequin heads, we left alone since the coat closet hadn’t turned out to need much cleaning.
I let Jacy choose which room to open, but I did the honors and turned the key in the lock. Would there be a bedroom on the other side of the door? Or a roomful of who knew what? The only way to find out was to look, and so I threw the door open wide.
“Oh, Jace.” My breath caught. Dustier than any room so far, it looked like the fully outfitted nursery had been closed up for far longer than the year or so since Mrs. Willowby’s death. “This is the saddest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Long abandoned webs now carried dust instead of spiders and looped in dark and lacy strands from the light fixture in the center to a crib that had only ever held a mother’s hope. Worse, knowing Jacy possibly faced the same state of childlessness, my heart broke for the feelings this sight must have evoked in her.
“That poor woman,” was all she said, but when I closed the door, Jacy didn’t ask to open another, and she hadn’t fully regained her bubbly spirit when she left an hour later.
Alone, finally, in my new home, I stood and listened to the quiet. There had been sorrow here, but I knew there had also been joy.
Somewhat sobered by the realization, I spent the next hour just wandering through the open rooms and out into the backyard I’d only seen from a distance so far. From the back side of the house, the addition looked much larger than I’d expected, hidden as parts of it were by the main house when standing out front.
Curious, I went back inside and tested a couple of the keys in the lock on the door to the addition. When none of them fit, I debated trying a few more, but decided to save some of the surprises for later and strolled around the downstairs making lists of what I needed to do to make myself comfortable in the house first.
It would have been nice if Hudson had shown up once I was alone, but of course, he did not. That would have been too convenient.
Finally, after a slice of leftover pizza, I raided Mrs. Willowby’s VCR tape collection and settled in with the rest of Jacy’s ice cream and a comedy movie marathon until it was time for bed. I was worried I wouldn’t sleep since it was my first night in the house alone, but once my head hit the pillow, I never heard a thing until my alarm went off.
CHAPTER 22
Ten minutes early for my first day at work, I stood outside the office and gave myself a little speech about how this was a great chance to learn new skills and that I could totally handle whatever Spencer threw at me. Then, armed with the confidence of my convictions, I went inside.
As it turned out, I was right. He stationed me in a smaller office I hadn't noticed before and showed me what he needed me to do for the day.
“We have seven mortgages in the works right now,” he said. “This is a typical week for us since we’re basically the last resort for folks with bad credit, and we service the tri-county area.”
Gesturing for me to take a seat, he leaned over me to pull up a folder of email. "I need you to go through the unread emails from the underwriters and compile a list for each case number of what documents are needed. Check to see if the applicants have already been asked to provide the information and if they've responded. If so, get the documents emailed to whoever asked for them. Otherwise, send out new requests and then stay on top of responses."
So far, it sounded easy enough.
“Keep your lists updated as the documents are sent and watch the email for incoming requests. If anything is kicked back for whatever reason by the underwriters, forward it along to me, and I’ll take it from there.”
“Okay, I’m sure I can handle that.”
Spencer shot me a smirk that said he might not share my opinion of my abilities. “You probably won’t get responses on everything today, but we’re a little behind. I’ll expect the backlog to be cleared by noon.”
Because I wasn't fond of that look, I vowed internally to have it done by eleven and scrolled back to find the earliest unopened email, which was dated nearly a week before. A little behind was a massive understatement.
The work, though, was not that difficult, and I took advantage of the email program’s canned responses feature to set up a few basic templates to send to applicants that halved the time it took for each request for information.
When I emerged at eleven fifteen, I'd not only cleared the backlog but also all the new requests for the morning. Most of the applicants had acknowledged the request or provided the needed documents. A great result considering some of the dates on the original requests were from more than a week prior.
Spencer, however, wasn’t given to praise for a job well done. Instead, he sent me back to my computer with instructions on where to find the rejected deals folder and asked me to draft emails to hopeful mortgage applicants and inform them they weren’t qualified for a loan at this time.
Knowing I was dashing someone’s dream of home ownership, I was happy to see there were only two of them. One for a young couple with no credit history, and the other for a man named Ray Watson who had been trying to arrange a second mortgage on a home without enough equity.
That one drew a full-on rant of a reply. It seemed Mr. Watson had already been notified of his denial and did not appreciate the follow-up o
n my part.
At noon, I took my lunch break, and then, when I went to ask what I should do next, realized Spencer had left the office without giving me any further instructions.
Robin, the cheerless woman who answered phones, confirmed he wouldn’t return and only shrugged when I asked what I was supposed to do for the rest of the day, and so I went back to my office and waited for more email to come in.
Not much later, she poked her head in the open door and said, “I’m out of here.”
Since that, filing her nails, and reading magazines seemed to be the only things she did, I figured it couldn’t be too difficult. “When do we close? Is there a key so I can lock up?”
I hadn't seen any official hours posted anywhere, which was a little odd, but Spencer had said he got almost all of his clients from the Internet, so maybe he wasn't keeping to a strict schedule. Still, it would have been nice to know what my hours would be. For that matter, I realized we hadn't discussed my salary beyond what he was offering me for a two-week trial. At the end of that time, he'd said, I'd either be hired or let go depending on my performance.
Given Robin's lack of such, I didn't see a huge problem.
She returned a moment later with a key and dropped it on my desk. “There’s a key. Knock yourself out.”
Was it some kind of test?
I shot Spencer an email asking what he wanted me to do, and since all office email went out with return notifications, knew he’d opened my message, but he didn’t bother to answer.
What a jerk. If there had been any other job offered, I'd have taken it instead of this one. Scrubbing toilets might have been preferable to being left in the office with no idea what to do. An hour passed, and I'd just about decided to go and take my lumps if I got fired when the phone rang.
I picked up the receiver and didn't even have a chance to say anything when I heard a gruff male voice. "Hey Bobbin Robin, tell him the heat's on, so I moved the Thursday night game to Tuesday, and we're gonna be at Bandy's. 9 pm. Back door."
“I’m not—”
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