They were silent until he pulled his Cadillac into the graveyard, the wheels crunching on the driveway. "Old Findley still take care of this place?" Spence asked.
"Yeah. I don't see his truck, though."
The graveyard was a mile off the main road, nestled between two small hills. Findley, an aging local, took particular pride in keeping the weeds away, tending the gardening, and trying to make shade trees grow. Many graves sported recently placed bright flowers, while others just had sparse grass.
Because of the location, the desert wind blew constantly in a futile effort to wear away the headstones. It blew now; hot, dry, and merciless.
After they walked for a while Spence looked down at his parent's plots. A vast longing overtook him. If only he could talk to them just once more, one more time, to get some kind of clue. Something that would lead him to the killer. Was it one killer, or more? And why? They had no money, no valuables to speak of. There was no burglary, no sexual assault, no deviance. Nothing. A dead end.
There were so many times over the years, so many times Spence needed his parents; his dad's insight and his mother's sympathy. All the lonely holidays reverberated in his mind, cloyed at him, pulled at him, and he shoved his hands in his pockets angrily. Thinking back to Meg's dreams, he asked, "What makes you think I was there?"
"I didn't say you were, Spence. It's just what your parents tell me in the dreams."
"I was at the movies with you," he said sharply.
Meg felt his anger. She thought he'd have to deal with the death of his parents sooner or later. His mouth was set in an angry line now, and he seemed lost in thought, and she wished she hadn't suggested a visit to the cemetery. In spite of the sun, it was gloomy here.
A fly buzzed in her ear, and she waved it away. She moved into the shade of a small tree to escape the sun's glare. "Do you believe in spirits, Spence?"
"No," he said shortly, as he continued staring at the headstones.
"My mom...Lila does. Lila thinks you're either reincarnated, or you're a spirit waiting to pass on. Maria just thinks there are spirits wandering around."
"A catholic believing in reincarnation? That's a hot one." He smiled sardonically.
A warm breeze blew, but as his eyes came up and met hers, a chill went down her spine. She shivered, in spite of the heat. "How else can we explain it? It just wouldn't make sense, other than that." She knew she'd never seen such agony in anyone's eyes before, and she knew it was a bad decision she made mentioning the dreams to Spence.
*****
Two men talked in a large office. One sat behind a massive desk, and one sat in front, hunched down in a wing-chair.
The man in the wing chair spoke first. "He's back?"
"Yeah. Got here yesterday."
"What should we do?"
"Can't do anything, I expect. Just keep him entertained, and hope he doesn't get too nosey. He's no youngster anymore. He might trip over something accidentally." Then he sighed. "Been wearing on me all these years. Sometimes, I feel like confessing and just--"
"None of that. If he gets too close, I'll off him, make it look like suicide from grief over the parents."
"Don't worry about that just yet. Don't need another murder. She'll keep him occupied in the meantime."
The man in front of the desk ran a hand through his hair. "Whatever. By the way, I need some money."
The other man snorted. "What else is new? How much?"
"Twenty thousand should do it."
"Jesus Christ! I'm sick of you draining me dry. For God Sakes, if you weren't...well, I'd off you!"
The man smirked. "I got a safe-deposit box in Rushburg. It's mentioned in my will. All the details are right there for all to see, just in case you decide to get cute or greedy or both."
The man behind the desk sighed and pulled out his checkbook.
*****
It seemed almost natural to Spence when they pulled up in front of the house where he used to live: visit the graves then backtrack to where his parents were butchered. All in a day's business.
Old man Simmons came out on the porch to greet them. Spence noticed he walked with a cane now, but he really looked almost the same as when Spence left town. "The wife," he said, "she's not feeling well. But, I guess you know where you're going then. You don't need our help."
Meg trailed after Spence.
His boots thumped loudly on the hardwood floor. Visions of police swarming the house and reams of yellow crime scene tape hit him as he walked towards the basement. He wasn't sure why he expected blood-stains in the living room, where his father had struggled with his attacker through the hall then into the kitchen, where he had bled out.
But now, there were no blood-stains, and something was simmering on the stove. A familiar scent of beef stew made him nauseous. How many beef stews had his mother made before someone slit her throat?
Spence realized he'd been holding his breath when they reached the cellar stairs. It came out in a long sigh.
"Sorry, son," Simmons murmured, as he stepped to one side, "down there to your left. All in the original boxes. Be careful lifting them."
Once at the bottom of the stairs, making their way through the gloom caused by a single hanging bulb, Spence and Meg looked at the boxes and the list of records they'd brought.
"I think we need to take them back to my place. Don't you think?" she said finally. "There are five boxes and the light down here isn't---"
Her voice trailed off and he looked at her. "What?"
"Jesus Christ," she whispered, "they're here..." Her eyes were glassy as she stared at a spot in the corner next to the boxes.
"No, they're not," Spence replied patiently, grabbing her by the shoulders.
"What?" She seemed lost in her own world. "They're telling me something."
He shook her once, then again. "Knock it off," he said sharply, as a chill went down his spine. Her hair moved, billowed around her face, as if a breeze blew.
"They're saying something about a black box," she said softly.
The box. His dad's black box. How did she know about the box? he thought. A chill went down his spine, and he wondered whether he knew her at all anymore.
He let her go, and whirled around. There was a brick. A loose brick in the wall. He went to it, next to the washing machine, and pulled it out.
Nothing. No black box. It was gone.
Taking a deep breath, he turned back to her. She still stood facing the corner by the boxes of records. "Go upstairs," he said loudly. "Now!"
She obliged, but still seemed in a trance, so he called to Simmons to help her out.
He ran a hand through his hair, hesitated for a minute then started hauling the boxes upstairs. When he was done he asked Simmons about the black box, but the man knew nothing. And, as Meg seemed more alert and casually shook off her earlier basement visions, they decided to visit Pap.
Spence and Meg pulled up to Pap Miller's rickety trailer about ten minutes later. Space three in Happy Trails Mobile Home Park. How could Spence forget the egg-smashing on windows and the ring-the-doorbell and run away pranks from his youth? Poor Pap, he thought, no wonder he has a bad heart.
Davey's patrol car was parked in the gravel driveway along with Pap's dilapidated Ford SUV.
A white faced, emaciated Pap met them at the door and ushered them in.
Meg could tell there was no affection between the two men. She knew why, and she smiled.
"Pap," Spence said, shaking the man's hand.
"Spence."
Pap ignored Meg, as was his way with women. Even when she took the time to visit him, she could tell he gave her very little credence. But, underneath it all, she thought he was worth it. He was a good man, and he was lonely.
They all sat in the cluttered living room, after shifting magazines and newspapers. Pap was a terminal pack rat and his house showed it.
Pap put on his oxygen tube and asked, "What do you need, boy?" He sat back in the recliner and his rheumy old e
yes fixed on Spence.
"I need some answers, Pap. About my parents."
The old man's mouth quirked up at one corner. "That was twenty years ago. The memory's not what it used to be," he replied, pointing to his head with a shaking finger.
Spence got right to the point. "Did you find a black box that night? In the basement?"
"Don't rightly recall any black box. An' we tore that place apart, too."
"I remember seeing your handiwork," Spence said dryly.
Pap was outright smiling now. "Can't say we didn't try." Then he grew serious. "Why you want to go back there boy? It's a long while ago. Thought you'd moved on by now."
The oxygen tank clicked rhythmically and it was the only sound in the room.
Meg wondered where Davey was. Home for lunch maybe? She didn't see him and didn't especially want to, after he'd drunkenly hit on her one night at Red's Bar. But, she thought, he was dedicated to his father, Pap, and trying to keep him alive since the heart attack. For that, she had to respect him.
Spence sighed. "Just wanted to ask the question."
"What was in the box?" Meg asked.
"Nothing really. Nothing that would mean anything to anyone else but me."
"Nope," Pap said firmly. "No black box. Sure of it now I think back. You can have Davey pull the reports on computer if you want. Should be on a disk or something. Davey!" he called.
His son came in from the kitchen. He grinned at Meg and shook Spence's hand.
Pap said, "You got the Moorehouse report still?"
Davey's face fell. "I don't know Pap. I can check."
After discussing the approximate dimensions of the box, as Davey took notes, Pap and Spence agreed to meet Sunday at the wake.
CHAPTER THREE
When Meg and Spence arrived back at Big Jake's house, a black Lexus was parked in the driveway and Jake's older son Karl walked out to meet them.
Meg squealed a greeting and ran to him "Karl! You're finally here!" She jumped up and hugged him around the neck.
Spence remembered Karl as brazen, but now he looked doubly so. The Lexus was undoubtedly his, and Spence recognized the tailored, Hong Kong made look of the shirt he wore, and the black pants as well. His dark hair was slicked back, his body well honed, and his face held a tanned-in-a-tanning-parlor look. He was the picture of Big Jake in his early years, without the cowboy hat.
After Meg finished hugging him, he walked towards Spence hand held out, and Spence felt heavy, diamond encrusted rings as he shook Karl's hand.
He never liked Karl, the feeling was mutual, and the fact that now the man wasn't sweating a drop in triple digit temperatures made Spence wonder if he was even human.
"Spence," he said, draping an arm around Meg's shoulders.
"Karl," Spence nodded back.
"Noticed a new sub-division going up. Maybe it's people from Rushburg?"
Spence hadn't seen this, as he'd come through town the back way. But it didn't surprise him, as sometimes the Rushburg sprawl seemed to be taking over everything.
Karl continued, "I'll have to check into that, and see if they need help with the financing."
Meg smiled and looked up at him. "Karl's into real estate now."
A perfect job for him, Spence thought. He remembered Karl always had an angle. Even as a kid, trying to talk Spence and Chad out of their Halloween candy, he'd had a pitch. And, many times, Spence was the unwitting victim of one of Karl's schemes.
Karl cast a dubious look at Spence's old Cadillac, and raised an eyebrow.
"It gets me where I'm going," Spence said in a tense voice.
Smiling condescendingly, Karl replied, "Might be worth something, if you got it cleaned up. Some of those older cars are worth a fortune."
The silence grew strained then Meg said, "Looks like monsoons are coming."
The three looked towards the sky, where black and gray clouds billowed, and scudded along overhead. The humidity was stifling, and Spence's shirt was plastered to his chest. His hair hung wetly on his neck, and he longed for a California ocean breeze.
But thoughts nagged at him, and his mind kept returning to the box. His father wouldn't have moved it, that much he knew. Once in a while, Spence would look in the box, just to see what new treasures his father added, and he always placed it back in the same spot. It was like a game to both of them. Somehow, someone moved it. But who? And, more importantly, when?
Suddenly, a light rain began to fall, and they all unloaded the records from Spence's car while he put up the convertible top.
Lila sat in the kitchen, coffee cup in hand. "Well hello stranger," she said to Spence as he dropped a box of records in the hallway. They hugged, and Spence sat down next to her.
"Lila, you're looking good," he said, more out of habit than anything. He knew Meg's mother took pride in her looks. Now, still in her bathrobe, her short copper colored hair was disheveled, her face devoid of the make up she usually wore. But, aside from that, he thought she looked good for her age. She was once a beautiful woman, with her aquiline nose and near perfect lips. Her heart shaped face resembled Megs, but her blue eyes were sad. Spence knew the depth of the sadness there was not just Chad's passing, and he wondered what else had happened to the woman to cause such pain.
A corner of her mouth went up in an attempted smile. "You always were a liar."
He grinned.
Meg and Karl came and sat at the table. Meg said, "I'm singing tonight at Red's. Are you coming, Mom?"
Lila cast her a warm look. "Wouldn't miss it, baby-cakes. What are you going to sing?"
"It's a secret."
Lila watched Spence for a minute. "Have you heard her sing?"
"Not yet," he said.
"You're in for a treat. By the way, what have you two been up to all day?"
Meg said, "We went to Simmons for the records. Then we saw Pap."
"Your father's told you not to go over there."
Spence noticed her words were slow, almost questioning.
Sighing, Meg replied, "Mother, look how old I am. Just because those two are feuding, doesn't mean I never can see Pap. He needs visitors from time to time."
Changing the subject, Lila peered at Meg and said, "How is old man Simmons anyway?"
Meg was nervous, shredding a napkin, as her son had done earlier that morning. "He's all right, I guess."
"Anything you want to tell me?" Lila said, frowning and watching Meg carefully.
Looking up, Meg said, "They came to me. I was down in the basement."
With lips pursed, Lila replied firmly, "You know it's in your imagination. Did you take your medication this morning?"
"It's not my imagination, Mother."
Spence felt sorry for Meg then. It seemed as if she was a teenager again, under the thumb of her mother. "Is it possible," he began, "that she's clairvoyant? We were talking about that earlier."
Karl stood up and laughed derisively. "You don't really believe all that stuff, do you Spence?"
Spence frowned, and continued watching Meg. She looked close to tears, now. "Yeah, actually I do, Karl. I believe it exists. We can't explain everything in life."
Again, Karl laughed. "Pretty soon you'll be telling us that Chad's ghost is in the house."
The four stayed in an awkward silence for a few minutes, until Meg said softly, "Maybe it is. He died in his own bed."
"Bullshit!" Karl said loudly. Then, looking at Lila, he said, "What kind of crap is this I'm coming back to, Ma? Jesus, my brother's dead, and my sister's hearing and seeing things, and Chad's ghost might be walking the halls, what the hell is going on?"
Lila fixed him with a piercing stare. "Enough. You and I will talk about this later."
Meg sniffed. "Leave it to our family to push everything under the rug. What do you want to know that you don't already know, Karl?"
Spence wanted to intrude, but he knew better. It had been a constant thing within this family. Bickering, name-calling, especially Lila and Big Jake. The t
wo acted like they hated each other. He'd seen it before, and heard arguing come from behind closed doors long ago when he'd stayed overnight with Chad. But, he'd heard other noises coming from behind the same doors, so it left him wondering about the two of them.
Karl ran a hand through his hair. "Sis, are you seeing a shrink? Maybe they need to change your medication or something."
It almost sounded as if Karl cared, but Spence knew better. He was worried about image, the looks of the family from the outside in. Karl was like that. Image was everything.
Meg didn't answer, but continued her shredding, until Lila's hand came down on hers and stopped it. Then Meg's voice sounded weary as she said, "I go to see a shrink in Rushburg once a month. We talk about things, my family and Willie. I tell him about the dreams, and he writes everything down."
Karl looked at Lila. "Have you thought of switching doctors?"
Shaking her head, Lila replied, "No. We've switched three times. Enough is enough."
Meg looked at the clock. "Oh gosh, I have to get dressed. I have to be at Red's by six, and it's five-thirty right now. See you all over there."
After she'd left the room, Spence said, "It seems on the level. Like she is really experiencing the voices."
Lila nodded. "We thought she might be schizophrenic, but doctor says no. It's the aftermath of the suicide attempt. He says the voices might go away, but they might not. He's got her on a powerful anti-psychotic medication, but she's still really bad."
"So, what happens from here?" Spence asked.
"You should probably commit her," Karl said angrily, "she's an embarrassment to the family. We'll be a joke around here."
Lila fixed him with a level stare. "You live in Long Beach. What the fuck do you care what this town thinks of us?"
Lacene Lords Page 3