Whats a Ghoul to Do

by Victoria Laurie

  Steven turned to me and gave me a confused look. "Really?"

  "Yes, oh, this is terrible! Mr. Bancroft, I'm so sorry, but I'm afraid we've got to run. Mom's going to be so disappointed if we don't show up. We'll be sure to come back soon, especially now that we know that land around here is going to appreciate so quickly." I got up and hurried toward the door. "Honey? Are you coming?"

  Steven hesitated in his chair, and I knew he was debating whether to follow me or continue pumping Bancroft for info. To my immense relief my cell phone went off at that exact moment and, hauling it out of my pocket, I saw that it was Gilley. "Hey, Mom!" I announced with a flourish as I answered the call.

  "M.J.?" Gilley asked.

  "Yeah, I know, we're totally late, but we are on our way, I promise. We should be there in half an hour. Come on, Peter, Mom's waiting!"

  Steven had little choice but to get up and follow me out of the office. I kept rambling nonsensically into Gilley's ear until we cleared the building and I could explain to him that we hadn't been in an area where we could talk freely. "I thought it might be something like that," Gilley said. "So, here's the scoop. I know why Steven Senior wants that property."

  "There's a highway coming through town and a major pharmaceutical company is looking for land to build a plant on," I said.

  There was a pause on the line before Gil said, "You always beat me to the punch!"

  I smiled. "Yeah, but it's nice to know we've both got the same story."

  "Well, I may have one eensy little tidbit more than you. Did you know who is on the board of directors for that pharmaceutical company?"

  "I'll take Dr. Steven Sable Senior for two hundred."

  "Bingo!"

  "What's that?" Steven asked me as we paused by the car.

  Quickly I explained to him that Gilley had come up with the same scoop we had, but with the added tidbit about the board of directors. Next I told Gilley to hold on, and I hit the speaker button so we could all talk with ease. "What I don't understand," I said, "is why your father thinks he can so easily get his hands on this property. I mean, if something happens to you, Steven, wouldn't people naturally assume he had a hand in it?"

  "Maybe something doesn't have to happen to me," Steven said.

  "What do you mean?" Gilley asked.

  Steven kicked at some dirt and seemed to struggle with something before spitting out, "He may not be my biological father."

  "What?" Gilley and I said together.

  Again Steven kicked at the dirt and avoided eye contact. Taking a big breath, he finally said, "When my mother was very sick with her cancer, she told me that before I was born she wanted to make Steven jealous and leave his wife. She said she took another man, a foreigner from Hungary, as her lover. When Steven found out the truth of this, he chased the other man out of town and my mother never saw him again.

  "Soon after that my mother said she became pregnant, but I have always wondered which was my real father. That is why I have researched the paternity case against my father. It is true that my grandfather supplied his own blood sample, but he put a… what is the word when one thing depends on another?"

  "Stipulation?" Gilley said.

  "Yes, that's the word. He put a stipulation on the settlement that the results were sealed for a hundred years. It's puzzling, do you not think?"

  "In other words," Gilley said, "your father—or who you think is your father—has always suspected your mother became pregnant by the other guy."

  "Yes. And this is why I think he continues to reject me. I think it is only a matter of time before he fights me on the rights of the estate."

  "He'd have to supply a DNA sample," I said. "But at least you'd all know for sure."

  "I believe he's made up his mind that I'm not his son," Steven said, looking at me for the first time since he began telling the story. His eyes seemed so vulnerable and sad that I reached out and squeezed his hand. "And I believe he's just waiting to get the other life estate holders out of the way before coming after me."

  "Which brings us back to Willis and Mirabelle," I said. "Gilley, you seem to know a lot about this life estate thing. We know that Senior is attempting to challenge Mirabelle's right to the property in court, but we've heard from Willis that Senior is taking a different tack. He's been checking in on him, and trying to offer some medical assistance. What's that angle?"

  "He could be trying to buy the land from him," Gilley said.

  "But I thought that if you held the property in life estate you couldn't sell it?" I asked.

  "You can't to anyone other than whom the life estate would revert back to upon your death. In other words, for a price, Willis could give up his life estate rights to the property only to Steven or Steven Senior."

  I turned to Steven. "Remember Willis said that he was thinking about moving back to Jamaica Plain to be closer to his daughter?"

  Steven was nodding his head. "Makes sense," he said as he dwelled on it. "He buys off Willis and puts pressure on Mirabelle in court because she won't sell."

  Thinking about that, I added, "You know, I really think we need to go have another chat with Roger. The fact that he's had her deed in his hot little hands and hasn't recorded it yet bothers me."

  Steven nodded. "Do you still have the original?"

  "Yes."

  "Good. We'll record it ourselves later, but I agree with you that we need to confront him. Then we will need to warn Mirabelle."

  "Anything you want me to research?" Gilley asked.

  I hit on a good idea. "Gil, Steven hasn't contacted the Cambridge police yet because he's too pissed off. Can you hack into their system and find out what the police report says? There's something really bothering me about this whole thing."

  "I'm on it, M.J. I'll call you when I find out something."

  We got into Steven's car and drove over to Roger's office. As we parked at the curb, I'll admit I was a bit nervous returning to the scene of the crime. I shook it off as we approached and walked through the office door, trying my best to adopt an air of total nonchalance. As we entered the office, however, I felt my heart skip a beat.

  The place was a shambles. There was paper everywhere, and manila folders littered the floor. Steven and I gave each other a look, and I whispered to him, "Did you do this?"

  He scowled at me and replied, "No. I left it like it was when we broke in." From the back of the office we heard someone swear loudly, followed by a small crash. "Hello?" Steven called as he put a hand on my shoulder, preparing me to bolt if necessary.

  The cursing paused as Steven called out. Then we heard Roger's voice ask, "Who's there?"

  "It's Dr. Sable," he said.

  "I have it!" Roger said. "It has to be here. Just give me a little more time!"

  Steven and I both looked at each other, and I shrugged my shoulders. "How much more time?" he asked, playing along.

  Roger appeared from the office and started to say, "I'll have it by the end—" when he noticed us, and that was when he seemed to catch himself from saying anything more. "Oh, it's you," he finally managed. "I thought it was your father."

  I narrowed my eyes. I had just realized what he must be looking for. "We know what you're up to," I said.

  Roger narrowed his own eyes back. "Up to?" he snarled. "What would I be up to?"

  I felt the familiar knocking I get when someone who's crossed over wants to send a message. I opened up and immediately felt an older female's energy with a name that began with an L. In my mind I invited her to speak her name slowly to me, and I got Lily. "Lily has a message for you," I said to him.

  Roger's face blanched, and his mouth dropped open a bit. "What did you say?"

  "Lily wants you to know she's very disappointed with how you're behaving. She says that she didn't raise a cheat or a liar, and that someone named Max would never approve."

  Roger staggered forward a few steps, his eyes big as saucers and his hand propped against the wall like he needed the support. "How could you know t
hat?"

  "Lily also says that she thinks the car you're driving is fine and there's no need to buy a new one." Roger stood with his mouth agape. "She also says that if you sell the family home, you'll live to regret it, because Miami Beach is not all it's cracked up to be."

  Roger's knees seemed to buckle as, without further ado, he sat down with a hard thump on the floor. "Mom?" he said. "Is that really you?"

  "Who's George?" I asked, getting the feeling of an older male figure now.

  Roger shook his head dumbly before he seemed to make the connection, and he offered, "My grandfather."

  "George says that even though he had more trophies than you, there's no need to continue killing these animals, especially when they're already endangered."

  Roger blinked at me a few times and moved his mouth up and down, but no words came out.

  "This is awesome," Steven whispered. "M.J., keep going."

  I didn't really need the encouragement, but gave him a quick smile all the same. "George also says that he's glad you still have one of his guns, the one with a pearl handle, right?"

  Roger nodded. "Yes, it's in my desk at home."

  "He's very proud of you, but he agrees with Lily about this paper that you're keeping secret. He doesn't want you to do that. He says show it to the public."

  Roger's lower lip trembled. "I can't find it," he whispered.

  "What?" Steven asked him.

  "I can't find it!" he said, and scrambled to his feet, then quickly headed over to the counter and dug around in a pile of folders. Pulling out one of them he announced, "The copies are here, but the original is gone!"

  I shot a quick glance at Steven and pulled my jacket a little tighter. The folder was the one I'd made copies of, and the originals that belonged in it were securely tucked into my jean jacket pocket. "What specifically are you looking for?"

  "It's a deed," Roger said as he set the folder down and buried his face in his hands. "Your father was going to pay me a bundle to deliver a deed to him, and I can't find it anywhere."

  "I see," Steven said. "How much is this bundle?"

  "Two hundred thousand dollars," Roger blubbered.

  "And when did you make this deal with him?" Steven probed.

  "A few days before your grandfather died. He'd done some research on the land around here and come up with the detail that Mirabelle wasn't of rightful age when the property her mother held in life estate was deeded over to her. Andrew knew it at the time, but figured no one would ever find out. Your father started nosing around, and word got back to Andrew. He called me to prepare another deed, which I did, and he signed it, but instead of recording it right away, I held on to it."

  "And how did Steven Senior find out about the second deed?" I asked.

  Roger glanced up at me, his face contorted in guilt. "I called him and told him about it. I offered to sell it to him, but we couldn't agree on a price. A few days went by and Andrew called me to ask if I'd recorded it yet. I panicked and called Steven Senior to tell him the deal was off—I had no choice but to record the deed—and the next thing I knew, Andrew was dead."

  Steven's hands curled into fists. "So, let us help you look for it," I offered quickly. "When … I mean, if we find it, we can make sure it gets recorded and make amends, okay?"

  Roger nodded dumbly. "It's got to be here somewhere," he said as he shuffled more papers around.

  "You go look in the back," I offered. "Maybe I can ask Lily and George for some help."

  Roger sighed heavily, then headed back down the hallway muttering, "I'm sorry, Mom and Granddad."

  "Is the deed on you?" Steven whispered.

  I patted my jean jacket and said, "Got it right here. Let's wait a minute or two, announce that we've found it, and get to the county clerk."

  "No," Steven said. "We have to warn Mirabelle first. The more I think about this, the more I am sure that my grandfather was killed by his own son. If my father learns we're on our way to record the deed, it could put Mirabelle in danger. Remember, she only holds the property in life estate. If she dies, it reverts back to me."

  "Good point," I said, and moved to the counter. I looked at the pile of paper and folders cluttering the area, wondering how I could pretend to locate the deed without Roger suspecting I'd had it all along. Thinking of something, I moved over to the copier and pushed on one end of it, moving it away from the wall. I pulled out the deed from my jacket and announced, "Found it!"

  Roger came running back down the hallway. "You did?" he said, his face now hopeful.

  "Yep. It was behind the copier. Must've slipped back there when you were making the copies."

  "Here," he said, holding out his hand. "Give it to me and I promise I'll record it right away."

  Steven stepped in front of him and stood tall and imposing as he said, "I don't think so."

  Roger seemed to shrink to an even smaller size. He looked so disappointed I couldn't help but offer, "Lily thinks it's best if Steven and I take care of this. You understand, don't you, Roger?"

  "Of course," he said as his cheeks grew flushed. "I'll need to clean up this mess now anyway."

  I smiled at him and tucked the deed back into my pocket. "Come on, Steven. Let's hit the road."

  Wasting no time, we drove back in the direction of the house. As we got close, Steven began to scan the terrain for the little dirt road that would lead us to Mirabelle's. We arrived at the driveway leading to the lodge and Steven grumbled, "Damn. How did we miss that?"

  We doubled back and tried again but couldn't find the entrance. "Guess we're just going to have to go through the woods," I said as we headed in the direction of the Manse.

  Steven nodded and we drove to the lodge, then walked around to the back and looked for the pathway that would lead us to Mirabelle's. The day had turned overcast and windy, and I glanced up right before the first droplets of rain began to fall. "Great," Steven said as he too looked up. "Looks like we're going to get wet again."

  I smiled at him as I pulled my jacket tighter around me. "At least we know who the better swimmer is."

  Steven chuckled and moved over to me. "Yeah, but we also know who's a better kisser," he said, and winked.

  I gave him a broad grin and replied, "Yep. I win again. Ah, well, at least you have a nice car."

  Steven let out a deep laugh and wrapped an arm around my shoulder. "Come on, funny lady, I think the path is over there."

  We found it and began walking in the rain through the woods, which offered a little bit of protection, though by the time we reached the tree that marked the opening to the tunnel I was definitely feeling damp. Steven turned to the left, toward Mirabelle's, when something caught the corner of my eye. "Hold on," I said, looking up. I could have sworn I had seen movement off to my right.

  "What's up?" he asked, coming back to stand next to me as I scanned the woods.

  "There," I said as I saw what had caused me to pause. "See that?"

  On the path leading to Willis's was a cluster of little orbs, bouncing and dancing and looking just like a horde of bees. "Hanging on to you is definitely strange," Steven said as I walked in the direction of the orbs.

  "If s hanging out with me," I corrected.

  "Yes, that is strange too," he said.

  "Come on," I said, swatting his shoulder. "I get the strong sense that we need to follow them." The swirling orbs waited until we got within a few feet of them before they moved on down the path, dancing and bouncing with frenetic energy. There seemed to be an urgency to their movements, and the little knot of dread in the pit of my stomach grew as we neared Willis's.

  When the small log cabin was in sight, the orbs stopped their jumbled dance and formed a straight line as they zoomed straight for the cabin and through the wall without pause. "Something's wrong," I said as I broke into a run.

  "I'm right on your behind," Steven said, and I could feel him at my heels.

  We got to the door of the cabin, and I paused only long enough to knock twice, then
without waiting, opened the door. "Willis?" I called as I pushed the door wide. "Willis, it's M.J. and Steve—" I stopped midsentence as my eyes caught Willis slouched in his wheelchair, his face ashen and a small bit of foam at his mouth.

  Steven rushed past me, crouching down by Willis as he lifted his wrist to check for a pulse. "Is he alive?" I asked, my voice hushed and shaky.

  "His pulse is thready," Steven said as he lifted one of Willis's lids to check his pupils. Next he wheeled Willis over to the couch and began to gently move him from the chair. I walked forward to help him, but Steven stopped me with, "M.J., go to my car. In the backseat is a black duffel bag. Bring it here as fast as you can!"

  I turned on my heel and bolted from the cabin, dashing through the woods as fast as my legs could carry me. I reached Steven's car, panting hard. I may be a runner, but I'm a long-distance girl, and I'd taken the trip back to the house in a sprint. I was so worried about Willis that I didn't stop to catch my breath, but just grabbed the bag and bolted back toward the woods. I was about to leap onto the path when I heard someone shout my name. I paused and turned my head. There I saw Willis standing in the woods waving at me. He looked completely well, not at all like the figure I'd left back at the cabin. "There's no need to rush," he said to me. "You don't want to fall again and hurt yourself, after all."

  My chest heaved as I realized why I was seeing him. "No," I panted as I stared at him. "Willis, no!" I shouted, and that was when he disappeared. "Goddamn it!" I screamed, and ran as fast as I'd ever run in my life through the trees, mindless of the branches that tore at my face and hands and the pounding of my heart as it begged me to slow down. I reached the cabin and bolted inside, wet and so deprived of oxygen that I felt dizzy. Steven had Willis on the floor and was performing CPR. He too was out of breath, and sweat poured off of him as he tried to pump Willis's heart.

  I dropped to the floor next to him, my lungs expanding and contracting at such a rapid pace that I didn't know how much more they could take. "M.J.," he puffed, his brow wet with exertion. "Call nine-one-one!"