Close to Home

by K. J. Emrick

  I certainly couldn’t argue that. The bit about the cake, or the need to have some privacy for a while. It would mean running the gauntlet of people out there again, but I was a big girl. I could handle that. “Make sure it’s something chocolate, okay Rosie?”

  She helped me back through the dining room, although as it turned out she didn’t need to. The three reporters had taken the hint and left to find other sources for their articles. Which reminded me that I had to call James. I had to at least send a text message to Carly, because I hadn’t heard back from her yet. I had meant to talk to Rosie about starting a delivery service, too, but that was going to have to wait for now. I was already back in my room, and I had no plans to leave.

  Kicking off my shoes and then pulling off my socks I threw myself down on the bed, barefoot, staring up at the canopy. Unfortunately the answers to the mysteries of the universe weren’t written up there. Couldn’t even find a few simple answers to the mysteries of this life.

  Why did Mick kill Richard?

  What was the importance of the Kunzite crystal?

  And on a slightly different topic altogether, why could I talk to Heeral Stone, ghost of the Lakeshore community church, when I couldn’t even talk to the ghost of my own husband?

  The knock on the door brought my focus back to the present, leaving mysteries I couldn’t solve for someone else to puzzle over for a while. Paul, my youngest server from our kitchen staff—also, arguably, our cutest—was there to give me a tray of food from Rosie. It was more than I could eat by myself, but that was Rosie for you. I thanked Paul and took the tray and sent him back to work.

  The pasta smelled great, and the bread was fresh and steaming, but the only thing I really cared about was the cake. A big slice of Guinness chocolate cake layered with berries and whipped cream. That was something I definitely wanted to dig into.

  Putting the tray on the bed I picked up the fork and the plate with the cake on it and blessed Rosie’s culinary expertise. If we did start that delivery service, we were definitely going to have to put desserts on the menu.

  I ate as I paced the length of the room. The first mouthful was heavenly.

  Before I could take a second bite, my mobile buzzed in my pocket.

  Carly. She must be calling me back. Balancing the plate and the cake and the fork in my left hand, I slid out the phone with my right and answered it without looking. If I could settle it against my shoulder with my cheek then I could free my hand to eat more cake and talk at the same time…

  “…Dell…”

  There was static all around the word—my name—making it fuzzy and indistinct, but I knew that wasn’t Carly. This was a man’s voice.

  “…I’m here… Dell…”

  The plate slipped from my shaking hand, clattering against the floor and spilling chocolate confection across the rug. The fork spun away under the bed.

  This was Richard’s voice in my ear. My husband.

  “Richard…”

  “Love ya… Dell… always will…”

  I found the edge of the bed and sat down carefully. I didn’t need to spill the rest of my lunch tray down there with my cake. So many things were flooding through my mind. Questions. Things that had been left unsaid between us.

  Apologies.

  “I’m sorry,” was the first thing that came out. “I gave up on you, Richard. I’m so sorry.”

  Silence. Static. Did he hear me? Could he hear me?

  “Richard?”

  “…still here…”

  I sighed in relief. If Richard’s ghost was standing with me, right here in this room, I know I wouldn’t be able to talk to him. But across the phone line we could at least reach through to each other this little bit. I’d never understand it.

  Oh. Wait. Yes I would. If Richard could talk to me like this, and Heeral could talk to me in the church… I think I understood now.

  It just didn’t matter. I had questions I needed to ask Richard. Things only he would know. I needed to ask before he disappeared from the call.

  “Richard, please. Why did Mick kill you? What happened that day?”

  And in the static, I found the same answer that I had in my dreams.

  “…can’t answer… that question…”

  “Richard!” This time I shouted, frustrated beyond all reason. “Why can’t you tell me? Why can’t you just tell me?”

  A horrible thought occurred to me, that maybe Mick wasn’t lying after all. Maybe Richard had… had…

  No. I refused to even think about that, let alone give it any credence. It was a dumb lie. That’s all it was. Just Mick’s attempt to get himself out of trouble and shift the blame onto someone else. I would never believe it.

  So what wasn’t Richard saying?

  “Why can’t you just tell me?”

  This time there was a long pause before an answer floated to me through the static. I waited, staring down at the mess I’d made on the rug, remembering what Rosie had told me. Everything was fine as long as there was cake.

  My cake was ruined.

  What did that mean for me?

  “Dell,” Richard’s ghostly voice finally said to me.

  “Yes? Richard, yes, I’m listening.”

  “…can’t answer…”

  I squeezed my eyes tightly shut, and concentrated on breathing. I needed him to tell me. Mick was going to the judge soon, and then to jail, and then to prison forever. Richard’s answer might not matter to anyone else, but it mattered to me. I didn’t even care how bad it was anymore, or what terrible secrets Richard might have been hiding. I just wanted to know.

  No. I needed to know.

  “Richard. Please.”

  More silence.

  Then, a whisper-pop-hiss of static that turned into my husband’s voice. “You have the clue.”

  With that, the call ended with a beep. I looked at my screen, knowing it was stupid to hope that the number Richard was calling from in the afterlife would be displayed there, but I looked for it just the same. “One missed call,” were the words on the screen.

  “Oh, Richard…”

  I kept myself from throwing the phone across the room, but only just barely, and I think that was because I didn’t want to risk breaking it. My husband had only just recently learned how to reach out to me from beyond the grave. I didn’t want to ruin anything that might let him do that again.

  Even if the conversations left me drained and discouraged.

  Standing up from the bed, ignoring both the food on my plate and the food on my floor, I fisted my hands into my auburn locks and pulled them back, pacing up and down the short distance of my floor. I had a friend who knew how to contact spirits. Reach right out to them and make them spill their ethereal guts. Darcy Sweet had been the one to show me that I had this ability to talk to ghosts in the first place. Maybe if I contacted her and asked for her help in contacting Richard…

  I shook my head, releasing my hair so that I could beat my fists against my hips. No. That wasn’t how I was going to solve this. For one thing Darcy was all the way on the other side of the world, in the States. For another…

  For another, Richard had told me I had the clue.

  I stopped in my pacing, staring off through the window at the afternoon sunlight painting the tops of the pine trees outside. Could it be true? Did I already have what I needed to answer my own question even if Richard was unwilling to answer it from the grave?

  You have the clue. That’s what Richard said to me. Jess had said something similar but she had said clues, plural, and I was convinced she meant something else. Apparently the ghosts in my life were taking great pleasure in me figuring things out for myself. Even Heeral had tricked me into finding the clues that brought me to Pastor Albright’s dog. Here, with this mystery about Richard’s death, the only clue we had was…

  The crystal.

  Kunzite.

  I still had no idea what that was. The shard in my husband’s hands had looked just like pink quartz to me. Did
kunzite have some special purpose? Was it used for something in particular?

  Richard had made it clear that it was up to me to figure out what the clue meant. I suppose this was a good time to get started.

  My laptop was on the media console, next to the television, folded up and waiting for the next time I wanted to play Candy Crush or check the Inn’s Facebook page for feedback. Although I liked to keep the Inn as colloquial as I could by using real keys for the room doors and other quaint touches, I’d had to make a few concessions to modern times for my guests. One of those was free WiFi service.

  After the computer booted up I logged on through the Inn’s router and brought up a search engine. My fingers typed out “kunzite crystal,” and then I waited.

  Several sites came up, from geological to spiritual to mystical, and a few that were just downright hokey. Apparently, the stuff had only been discovered in 1902, and even then it wasn’t very popular until President John F. Kennedy bought a ring made of Kunzite for his wife to be given to her in 1963… the same year he was assassinated. The ring sold for an ungodly amount of money at auction some years later. Interesting, but completely useless.

  One of the spiritual sites noted that it was a stone associated with Scorpio, Taurus, and Leo. Good to know, but I doubt Richard was killed because of the Zodiac.

  I clicked from there to a site that promised to explain what crystals meant from a new age perspective. Believed to help one unlock the heart chakra. Whatever that meant. I never had understood what a “chakra” was. I think most people don’t. They just throw the word around to sound smarter than they are.

  Anyway. Kunzite, the site said, relieved stress and anger, removed obstacles from one’s life, strengthened the circulatory system and…

  …brought love to the user.

  I blinked back the traitorous thought that reminded me of Mick’s rumor. My husband, with another woman. A crystal meant to bring love.

  No. I refused to believe it.

  There had to be something else that kunzite was used for. Some commercial application.

  Encourages love, the website said as if it were laughing at me. Encourages love in the object of your desire.

  “No,” I said out loud, arguing with myself or the website or the universe itself. “There has to be something else—”

  As I went back to the search engine to start all over again, the lights in my room went out.

  Taking hold of my unicorn necklace I waited for something wicked to come my way.

  Chapter 10

  Power failure.

  It took me five minutes to figure it out, but that’s all it was. No power in the Inn at all. No lights. No phones. And, although my laptop was still working off its battery, I had no WiFi. I wasn’t going to be researching anything online from here in the comfort of my room.

  Which was a problem because I wasn’t done looking up what kunzite was used for. There had to be some reason Richard had that little piece of stone with him. It was the only clue I had to follow. It had to mean something.

  Downstairs, I found Rosie lighting candles in the dining room. “Can’t cook anything at all,” she announced to everyone still sitting at the tables. “Got lots of desserts for ya, and I can make up some sammies if anyone wants.”

  That’s my Rosie. Pregnant with twins, in the middle of a blackout, and still eager to serve hungry people.

  I made my way over to her side of the room, telling the servers I passed to open up the curtains on the windows and let in whatever light they could. Jack Reese was already going door to door to the rooms to let everyone know we were working on the problem and we’d have things ship shape as soon as we could.

  Except, I had no idea what was going on.

  “Rosie?” I said as I caught her elbow. “Is it just us? Why’s the power out?”

  “It’s the whole town,” a woman at the table next to us said. “Just got a call from my daughter on her mobile. She’s at home. Everywhere in Lakeshore is out.”

  I scowled at the wall. The universe hates me. That’s what it was.

  “Something wrong?” Rosie asked. “We’ve had power outs before. Whole town’s on just the one grid. It’s like a Christmas tree. One light goes out, the whole place goes out. It’ll be back on soon.”

  “I know, I know. It’s just bad timing. I was in the middle of looking something up. Online, I mean.”

  Rosie rolled her eyes. “Computers. Hate the things. Remember back when we were kids and we had to go down to the library whenever we wanted to do research?”

  “I do… yes. Actually I do.” That gave me a great idea. “Rosie, I have to go. I’ll be right back, okay? Give everyone a take away bag and, uh, cut their checks in half. Send them on their way if this lasts too long, all right?”

  “Will do, Dell, will do.” She’d already turned away from me, nearly walking into the wall, catching herself on the edge of a table and grabbing hold of the tall candle in the middle just before it fell flat. The wax dripped onto her hand and she yelped, somehow managing to douse the candle in the water glass of a woman who had been peacefully eating her meal just seconds before.

  Making a mental note to order more fire extinguishers, I left things in Rosie’s capable hands.

  On the way out of the Inn I had to walk by the fireplace. In spite of a promise not to look, my eyes wandered over to that side of the room. With the lights out it was just a dark hole in the wall… but my attention was drawn to it. I couldn’t look away. The yawning gap tugged at my conscience, pulling me like gravity pulls things into a black hole, until they disappear, gone forever…

  I sucked in a sudden breath as I found myself right at the edge of the fireplace. Right at the yellow barrier tape. I pushed back, tripping over my own feet to get away from that horrible, terrible, gaping…

  Grave.

  “Dell?”

  George was at my elbow, holding me up while I found my center again. The dizziness passed after a moment.

  I stared at the fireplace. It was just a thing. Just one more item in this incredibly amazing Inn of mine. It had been used for a terrible purpose, one that would always spike at my heart, but it was just a thing. It had no power over me. I wouldn’t let it.

  Swallowing against a dry throat, I nodded my thanks to our handyman. “You’re going to get started on the fireplace today?”

  “Er, yes. I’m on it. Got the bricks on order. Be here tomorrow.”

  “Make sure you fill in the space between the walls, George. I want that filled in tight. Insulation, cement... kangaroo dung, if you have to.”

  “Will do, Dell. Count on me.”

  “I always do, George.”

  “Dell?” he asked. “Everything aces?”

  “Yes.” Another good breath, and it was true. “I’m good now. I’ve got to head out for a bit.”

  “Oh? Where ya going?”

  “To the bookstore, George. I need to look something up.”

  Thank God there was still enough light outside in the late afternoon sunshine. The power really was out everywhere. Nothing on in the stores. No lights on in the houses. Not even our one and only stoplight was working. Like Rosie said, the whole town was on one single grid. Part of it goes haywire, all of it goes dark.

  It was a pretty quiet walk from the Inn to Mabel Quinn’s bookstore. Funny, how people hole up in their homes when the power goes out. We’re not like those big cities elsewhere in the world. No riots here during a blackout. No wild and crazy nights of destroying everything we own.

  The bookstore was just up ahead. I had a little flash of déjà vu from yesterday morning, coming here to buy a book, waving to Mabel Quinn, getting tangled up in Pastor Albright’s missing dog mystery, and then the body in my Inn that had turned out to be my husband and then Heeral the ghost at the church and all the rest of it. Now here I was back again.

  The place next door to the Eye of the Beholder bookstore was dark, like everywhere else, but other than that it looked just like it had yesterday. T
hrough the window I could just make out stepladders and tools and lumber stacked and ready to be used. Made me wonder if Mick Pullman really was their contractor. If so, then they’d be waiting a long time for him to come and finish.

  Mabel hadn’t closed her shop yet. Most places on Main Street were still open but I knew that wouldn’t last for long. Tourists aren’t going to wander around the shops during a blackout. If anything, they’ll go hiking on the trails outside of town and hope the lights were on again before they came back. As it was, the bookstore was empty when I went in.

  For now, Mabel was making do with oil lamps hanging from irregularly spaced hooks in the ceiling. They gave off a pale glow that definitely wouldn’t be conducive to reading. It was enough for me to find my way, though.

  Romance, thrillers, reference… spiritualism. Here it was.

  “Why, Dell! G’day to ya!” Mabel called out to me, appearing from the back room with a couple of boxes balanced in her hands. “Didn’t expect to see ya here during a blackout.”

  There are people in Lakeshore who have accents so thick you have to use Crocodile Dundee’s knife to cut them. There’s others, like me, who don’t even come close to that sort of drawl. My son Kevin’s somewhere in between, taking after both me and his father, God rest his soul. Then there’s a few like Mabel Quinn here. For as long as I’ve known her she’s had an accent straight out of a B-roll movie. I always thought it wasn’t quite real. Made up for the tourists.

  Yet here she was, laying it on just as thick for me.

  “What can I dig outta me stacks for ya?” she asked me. Her frizzy brown hair bobbed around her face as she adjusted the rainbow colored frames of her glasses.

  “I’m looking for a book,” I told her, as if that was somehow an odd thing to do in a bookstore.

  She laughed and looked around, her ankle-length dress swirling as she gestured around at the rows of shelves. “Got plenty of those, fair dinkum! What is it ya need?”

  I laughed with her. Mabel was a truly unique person. Her earrings were crystal bits wrapped in metal wire, the same aquamarine as her dress. Those looked new. The upside down pentagram necklace she always wore was the same old, same old. She didn’t care what people thought of her. She was an odd bird, and proud of it, with her devotion to things like séances and healing auras and the like.