Close to Home

by K. J. Emrick

  I watched Heeral closely the whole time. Jonas felt better for our talk, but I was left with yet another question I couldn’t answer.

  I can see ghosts. I can interact with them. I can not talk to them.

  So what made Heeral different?

  Chapter 9

  That was the most awkward conversation I’ve had in my life.

  Jonas had finally run out of questions to ask, and I’d run out of answers long before that. Even so, I was left with a question of my own.

  How was it possible for me to talk with the ghost of Heeral Stone?

  One more mystery to puzzle out, just as I finish solving another. Two, actually. Got Jonas’s dog back, and we arrested the man who killed Richard. I suppose I should count that as a good day.

  It was a long walk from the church, and my thoughts wandered the whole time. The closer I got to the police station the more I focused on just one thing. Making Mick Pullman talk.

  Water torture is illegal in Australia, right? Oh well.

  Officer Ben Isling met me at the service window again. There were bags under his brown eyes from lack of sleep. I guess everyone at the police department would have had a long night pulling together the case against Mick Pullman. “Heya, Dell,” he greeted me with a nod toward the door to the inner office. “All by yourself today?”

  “Thanks, Ben,” I said, catching the door as he buzzed it open. “Is James here?”

  “Come and gone, I’m afraid. Said to have ya ring him up later.”

  Makes sense. I had stayed with Pastor Albright longer than I expected, considering everything we had to talk about, and James had his story to file. It wouldn’t be too much longer before the other national papers sent people down to take interviews and snap lovely photos of my ruined fireplace.

  Anyway.

  “I was hoping Kevin had a few moments to spare for me,” I told Ben.

  “He’s kinda squeezed for time, Dell. We’re all eating lunch here today until we cross that final T, ya know? Ordering in from the Milkbar. But I’m sure he’s got a few minutes to spare.”

  “Oh? I didn’t know they delivered.”

  “Well,” he admitted, “they usually don’t, but the Senior Sergeant told Cathy this was a special circumstance, and she said she’d have her cousin run us over a few things.”

  I nodded, tucking that idea away into the back of my mind. Would the residents of Lakeshore pay a delivery charge to get some of Rosie’s cooking delivered to their doorstep from the Inn’s kitchen? Hmm. Have to ask her about that one when I was done here.

  Which was to say, when I was done with Mick Pullman.

  Knocking politely on the Senior Sergeant’s closed door, Ben waited for a muffled response from within before leaving me with a few words about how sorry he was for my loss. He left to go join the other two officers over at the dispatch area, shuffling papers and getting printouts from the computers to add to the piles.

  Kevin was on the phone when I came in. He motioned for me to shut the door and then went back to his conversation. I heard enough to know it was the Coroner’s office he was on with.

  The call ended just a minute or so later. Kevin didn’t so much slam the receiver down, as drop it firmly into the cradle.

  “Not the news you were looking for?” I asked him. Which, of course, would mean it wasn’t the news I was looking for either.

  He ran a hand back through the short auburn scruff on top of his head as he blew out a breath. “Sure you want to hear this?”

  No. Yes. Both, maybe. I sat up a little straighter in the chair. “It doesn’t matter if I want to hear it or not. I need to know what happened to my Richard.”

  “Yeah. Figured you’d say that. They can’t tell me much that we didn’t already know. Except two things. Dad died from blunt force trauma to his head. Back of the skull.” He indicated the spot with his fingers on his own skull. “They’re trying to match the wound to a weapon now but it doesn’t seem to fit any of the classic choices. Not a hammer. Not a baseball bat or lead bar. They’ll call when they have more on that. If they get more, that is.”

  That was painful news, to be sure, but I suffered through it. Poor Richard. “Okay. You said two things?”

  “Hmm? Oh, right. The other thing they were able to tell me is that the plastic wrapping Dad was your standard drop cloth. Used by painters and mechanics and—”

  “General contractors,” I finished for him. “So Richard was wrapped up in the plastic sheets Mick Pullman laid out to keep the foyer of the Inn from getting dirty while he replaced the brickwork in the fireplace.”

  “Exactly. Another nail in Mick’s coffin. We’ve got the paperwork just about ready and Judge Carmichael is going to meet us at two this afternoon to do the arraignment…” He stopped.

  “Kevin? Do I hear a ‘but’ at the end of that sentence?”

  “Yeah. ‘Fraid ya do.” He closed the folder in front of him. Then he leaned back in his chair with his hands palm down on the table. “I don’t know, Mom. Something about this just doesn’t feel right to me.”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. We had the man who killed my husband in a cell not twenty feet away from where we were sitting. He was trying to spread all sorts of hateful lies about my Richard with no remorse for what he’d done. This was not time to second guess things. “Kevin, just because Mick won’t say why he killed Richard doesn’t mean you can’t make the case.”

  “Oh, I know that. Believe me, the boys and I have looked at the charges from every angle and it’ll hold up in court. That’s not what’s bothering me.”

  “Then… what is it?”

  He began drumming his fingers, over and over, watching me as he searched for the words to explain what he was feeling. “You remember how Cutter ran things before me? How he was always arresting the wrong people and never apologizing for it?”

  “Of course I remember. He arrested you, for the love of God.”

  “Uh-huh. You, too. Both times it was for things we didn’t do. I don’t know. Maybe… maybe I’m just worried that I’m following too closely in his footsteps. I don’t want to make the same sorta mistakes he made.”

  Reaching across to put my hand on his, I tried to convey the confidence I felt in my son. “Kevin. You could never be the sort of man that Cutter is.”

  “What makes ya say that?”

  “Because,” I told him with a straight face, “you aren’t the Devil.”

  That got him to laugh, even if it was for just a moment. “It’s just… see, Mick’s in there, the perfect picture of a suspect, the man who no doubt killed my own father, and I can’t help thinking something’s off.”

  “No!” I insisted, my voice getting louder. “It has to be him. He did it. He did this to Richard. To your father, Kevin, to your own father! What, you having second thoughts now because of what he said? James told me. He told me the lies Mick is trying to pull!”

  Kevin snorted at that. “The line of dung he’s trying to throw about seeing Dad with other women? Give me a break, Mom. Nearly backhanded him again when he said that.”

  “You don’t believe it, right?”

  “Of course not. I’d never think about Dad that way. Ever.”

  I was starting to get angry. I tried to remember the five stages of grief, and remember where anger sat on that list. Was I grieving for Richard all over again? I’d been through all this when I thought he’d abandoned us, years back. Wasn’t once enough?

  “So what’s the problem, Kevin? Why aren’t we hanging this bugger up by his fingernails?”

  “Mom, it’s just…”

  “What?”

  “Well. When Dad went missing, I didn’t want to believe it, but that’s what we thought, wasn’t it? We’ve been living that truth for the last few years. Now that we know it’s a lie I feel terrible. I feel stupid that I ever thought that way about Dad. But I did. I was wrong. Now I know the truth… what if I’m doing the same thing with Mick Pullman?”

  “Oh, Kevin…”
What could I tell him? That I’d known his father was dead for weeks now? That his ghost had reached out to me and given me comfort that I couldn’t share with our two kids because it would mean telling Kevin and Carly that I could talk to spirits? “Kevin, it’s all right. You’re ten times the police officer that Cutter ever was. You got your man. You got to arrest the man who killed your father.”

  That sounded better than telling him I was a few steps away from being a human Ouija board. After telling Jonas all about it today, I knew one thing for sure. I wasn’t ready to tell my kids about it. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Because if they found out I’d known their father was dead before yesterday… no. That would just make things more complicated than they already were.

  “I suppose you’re right,” Kevin told me, with another long exhale. “I’m just second guessing myself, is all. There’s just so much going on right now. James told me about your run in with the Thorne family. How’d it turn out with the pastor’s dog?”

  “Oh. I found Arthur Phillip this morning. Jonas was very happy to have his pet back.”

  Kevin chuckled. “Arthur Phillip. That’s a lot of name for a dog.”

  It felt good to hear him laugh. Like everything really was going to be all right. Between us, and between Kevin and his father, too.

  I still needed to call Carly. I’d have to do that when I left here. And yes, I know I was putting it off. It was just a hard conversation to have with someone I had barely spoke to for months. Carly had chosen to separate herself from the rest of the family. That was her coping mechanism to help her deal with her father’s leaving. And, truth be told, she still blamed me for Richard disappearing, misguided as that had always been. Now all of that seemed pointless. There was a lot to clear up between us. A phone call wasn’t going to fix everything.

  But it would be a good start.

  Fine. No more procrastinating. After this, I would call my daughter.

  “So you’re good now?” I asked Kevin. “No more second guessing about Mick Pullman and whether you’re the same kind of evil maggot Cutter was?”

  “Ha! That one was never a question. Might still get fooled sometimes, but I sure as a Mallee bull never thought me and Cutter were twins.”

  “Good. Then let it go, Kevin. Lakeshore sleeps better at night knowing that you’re sitting here at this desk. Don’t let anyone make you think different.”

  “Right. Thanks, Mom. Guess I needed to hear that.” He reached into one of the drawers in his desk and pulled out a very familiar plastic bag. “I just wish I knew what this was all about. It’s the one clue that doesn’t fit anywhere. To tell the truth, it was what started me doubting myself in the first place.”

  The little crystal shard with its smooth sides and its pointed tip lay there for both of us to stare at. The base of the shard was broken just like I remembered it. Not uncommon for a bit of crystal to look like that, from what I knew.

  “Can a piece of quartz really mean that much in the long run?” I asked him. “I’m starting to see this as the biggest red herring ever.”

  “Heh. It’s an important clue. I still believe that.” He picked up the bag, and handed it to me. “Besides which, it’s not quartz.”

  I took it from Kevin’s hand. “That’s not quartz? Then what is it?”

  “Kunzite, according to the guys at the lab. I had one of my boys drive it up yesterday and get their opinion. This sort of transparent pink is a common color for the stuff. So’s lavender and a couple others. It’s very common stuff and it’s got no value to speak of. So why’d Dad have this in his hand?”

  That question was right up there with why Mick killed Richard in the first place. There was a lot about this mystery I might never know. I would not, however, let Mick confuse us about what kind of man Richard was. I wouldn’t let him talk his way out of his crime, either.

  “Well,” I said, “I’ve never heard of Kunzite, but I can’t imagine it changes anything. Mick killed Richard. He can rot under the prison for all I care. Can you call me after he sees the judge and let me know what happens?”

  “Sure, Mom.”

  He stood up with me, giving his mother a good hug. Then it was time for me to go. I still didn’t get to torture Mick Pullman, but Kevin had him dead to rights on everything he’d done. I could wait for the courts to punish him. I just wish I could have found the answer to the question of why Richard had to die.

  Well. I could always hope that Richard found me again tonight, in my dreams.

  For now, I had to find a quiet spot outside so I could call my daughter.

  By the time I made it back to the Inn I wasn’t sure if I was happy that my daughter’s phone went straight to voicemail, or disappointed.

  I left her a message. That was all I could do for now. Inside the Inn I had to keep from staring at the yellow police tape across the fireplace. The missing bricks. My husband’s grave.

  A little sob bubbled up in my throat even though I told myself I was prepared for this. Guess I wasn’t as prepared as I thought.

  “Dell.” As soon as he saw me, George came over from across the empty lobby, in his blue overalls and his tool belt. “Don’t pay no mind to that mess there. Already been told by the police that we can start fixing things up. I might not be the best bricklayer this side of Sydney, but I can sure enough fit it together to cover up that hole. Tired of folks sticking their faces in there for a look-see.”

  “Thank you, George. I appreciate that.”

  “No worries. Least wise, I can do a far sight better than Mick Pullman did.”

  He pulled up short when he said that, his face all twisted up, glancing at me from the corner of his eye.

  “It’s all right,” I promised him. “Mick will get what’s coming to him. In the meantime, we have an Inn to keep running. Is Rosie in the kitchen?”

  “She is. Woman needs to spend more time off her feet, Dell. Just a few months before she gives birth, after all.”

  “You’re right, George. I’ll be sure to mention it to her.”

  I was talking just to get my mind off Richard and all the rest of it, and I was grateful that George gave me that chance without pushing me or asking me a thousand questions. As I went to leave him there, I glanced at the framed painting of Lieutenant Governor David Collins, set off to the side for the moment until the mess with the fireplace could be taken care of. All these years George had tried to hang him on that wall there. All this time, my husband had been wrapped up tight in behind.

  But not anymore.

  “Um, George?” I looked from the painting, to the wall, and back again. “Why don’t you try putting old David Collins back up on the wall after you’re done fixing the fireplace? I have a feeling there won’t be a problem hanging him up there now.”

  George looked at the wall with me, and nodded. He seemed to be thinking the same thing I was, even if neither of us were going to say it. “Sure thing, Dell. I’ll get Collins a good spot up there. After I tend to the brickwork.”

  I wasn’t sure that was going to be as easy as George thought it was but, like he said, he couldn’t possibly do any worse than Mick had done in the first place. Of course, Mick had been in a hurry to close things up after killing my husband, so.

  If the entrance to the Inn was empty, the dining room certainly wasn’t. Every table had people at them, eating, drinking, and talking at a low hum. The noise level dropped as soon as I came in. Three different people jumped up and approached me the second I did, throwing several questions at me all at once. How long had I and Richard been married? How long had I owned the Inn? What were the arrangements for my husband’s burial?

  Did I forgive Mick Pullman?

  The reporters had arrived in Lakeshore.

  But they weren’t counting on Rosie Ryan.

  She came barreling out of the kitchen, and at this stage in her pregnancy ‘barreling’ was definitely the right word. She squeezed herself between two tables, knocking over an empty chair, bouncing a plate of pasta with her hip, wipin
g her hands on her apron and spearing everyone around her with the same stony glare.

  “The three of ya there! Go on with yourselves, now! Go on. Shoo! I’ll run ya through with a shish kebab, I swear I will!”

  It didn’t stop the questions, but all three of the reporters took a good few steps back from me, as everyone else having their late lunch looked on. I was too mortified to speak. The moment when Rosie pulled me out of the lion’s mouth and into the kitchen was a huge relief.

  “Thanks,” I said to her. “How long’ve they been out there?”

  “Those three’ve been here since breakfast. Didn’t know what they were about till just now. Oh,” she said abruptly, putting her hand to her belly. “That one likes to kick, he does.”

  “It’s a boy?” I said, excited for her in that way that all women get whenever a baby’s involved, boy or girl. “That’s great, Rosie! When did you find out?”

  With a little secret smile, Rosie pulled me to the far corner of the kitchen and made sure none of her busy staff was nearby as she leaned in and whispered into my ear. “Twins, the doctor says. One boy, one girl.”

  “Rosie!” I clamped a hand over my mouth, realizing I’d yelled that out. “Sorry, sorry, shh. Right. Rosie, that’s wonderful. How’s Josh taking it?”

  She was giggling. I realized I was, too, although we kept it quiet. Grown women our age, set to tittering over the miracle of birth. “My hubby’s set to faint. He loves the idea, don’t get me wrong, but he’s wondering how two people working in Lakeshore are gonna afford two kids.”

  “Me and Richard managed it,” I pointed out to her. “We raised Kevin and Carly right here in Lakeshore. They turned out pretty good, considering.”

  She looked at me, that one word hanging between us. Considering.

  Right.

  “So, um,” she said to me. “You need to go up to your room and rest, I think. I’ll send up some food. A sandwich? Maybe some cake? Everything’s better with cake.”