Defending the Dead (Relatively Dead Mysteries Book 3)

by Sheila Connolly

Leslie’s eye flickered toward Abby’s. “And you do.”

  Abby nodded. “Look, Leslie—can we move this inside?”

  “I need to get home,” Leslie said, her voice dull.

  “I know you don’t want to talk about this, Leslie. You made that clear before. You can see how well that worked. It’s not going to get better unless we all sit down together and work this out.” Leslie’s expression was bleak, and Abby felt sorry for her, but she wasn’t about to back down.

  Leslie’s shoulders slumped. “All right. You live over there, right?”

  So Leslie had never seen Ned’s house? “Yes. This side of the cemetery.”

  “Figures. Let’s go, then, so we can get this over with.”

  Wordlessly Abby turned and led the way across the green toward the house. If Leslie thought this would be sorted out in one quick conversation, she was mistaken: this ability was something that was inside Ellie and it wasn’t going to go away. Maybe it could be suppressed, but that might damage the girl in the long run. Ellie should know what her choices were—but she was so young! Abby knew she didn’t have all the answers, but they had to start somewhere.

  Two minutes later they climbed the rickety front steps of the house and crossed the deep porch to the front door. Abby unlocked it, then stepped back to let Leslie and Ellie pass. Then she followed them, shutting the door behind her.

  “Love what you’ve done with the place,” Leslie said, her tone sarcastic as she took in the broad hall and the parlor to one side.

  Abby refused to take offense: she knew only too well how it looked. “It’s a work in progress.”

  Ellie had gone on ahead to the second parlor. “Look, Mom! There’s a window seat!”

  “That’s nice, sweetie,” Leslie said absently, watching Abby.

  “Why don’t we go back to the kitchen?” Abby said. “That’s where we spend most of our time, anyway.”

  “Whatever. Ellie? Can you give us a few minutes alone?”

  “Sure. I’ve got a book to read, and I’ll just sit here in the window seat. It’s cool.”

  “That’s great. We’ll be in the kitchen.”

  Ellie was already pulling a book out of her backpack, so Abby led the way to the kitchen. “You want tea? Coffee?”

  “You pretending this is a social event? Sure, tea would be fine.”

  Abby started a kettle boiling, then turned to Leslie. “You don’t have to be snide. Look, I never asked for this. When I started working for you, I had no idea what it was or what it meant. I certainly never thought about finding other people who shared it—I ran into Ned by accident, as you know. It never occurred to me that children might possess this, and I didn’t know anything about Ned’s connection to Ellie. But as soon as I met her, I knew there was something there.”

  “And you tried to recruit her to your coven?” Leslie’s eyes were cold.

  “Damn it, Leslie, this is not a joke! I am not a witch. I have no desire to do harm to anyone, or to convert anyone. I happen to possess an ability that most other people don’t. Some people are color-blind. What if there were people on the other end of the spectrum who could see colors that most people can’t? How do you even begin to explain what a color looks like? Well, that’s what this is like.”

  Leslie stared at her for a moment, then looked away. Abby busied herself with making tea, to give Leslie time to process what Abby had said. She was not going to keep apologizing.

  The tea was steeping in its pot when Leslie finally said, “Oh, God,” and scrubbed her hands through her short hair. “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t personal for you. You didn’t mean to walk into my life and blow it to pieces.”

  Abby carried the pot to the table, added cups and sugar and milk, then sat down across from Leslie. “Why do you describe it like that?”

  “Because I thought I had it all together. I love George, I love my kids, I love my job. My house isn’t as cool as yours, but it works for us. Everything was going so well—I should have known it couldn’t last.”

  “But you can’t claim it’s ruined, just because you’ve found out your child, or maybe both children, have this extra ability. Leslie, if I may be blunt, I think you’re over-reacting.”

  “Gee, thanks. That helps.”

  “I don’t mean to put you down, but I don’t see why you treat this as a disaster. Ellie’s a smart kid. All she needs is some help to manage this thing.”

  “Help that I’m not equipped to give her! Is this thing something you can teach me?”

  “I don’t think so, but I’m still new at it. I think it’s either there or it isn’t. If you have it, you can open yourself to it, but I don’t think you can learn it, especially as an adult.”

  “This comes from Ned.”

  “Yes. I think so. Which means there’s probably something genetic about it.”

  “So now what? We all move into a cozy commune and invite the ghosts to join us?”

  Leslie was not taking this well, Abby thought. She was angry and scared, and she was lashing out. That wouldn’t help Ellie. She had to keep focused on the child. “No, that’s ridiculous. Leslie, you’re still making fun of this. It is real. I don’t think it’s harmful. I don’t claim to know how to handle it—I’m kind of making it up as I go. I’m learning all the time. But you aren’t helping the situation.”

  Leslie shut her eyes for a long moment. “You’re right. And we keep having the same argument and it’s getting us nowhere. What do you propose we do about it?”

  “I hadn’t thought about it, until Ellie turned up here. Clearly, ignoring it isn’t working. Listen, what’s going on with your summer plans?”

  Leslie’s eyebrows went up. “I’m working, as usual. The kids are in camp or with a summer nanny I hire each year. Why?”

  “Maybe I could spend a day with Ellie now and then, and we could explore this together? I don’t want to shut you out of it, but I can see that it would be hard for you to fit it in.”

  Leslie gave Abby an almost-smile. “I’ve spent the last couple of months demonizing you—like you did something evil to my child. I know rationally that’s not true, but it’s been hard for me. Now you want me to turn her over to you regularly so you can spend more time with her. I’ll have to think about that.”

  “It was just a suggestion. You do have other options, you know. If it would make you feel better, you could take her to a therapist, reassure yourself that this isn’t just a bid for attention on Ellie’s part.” Abby knew better, since she and Ellie had seen the same ghost at the same time, but if it would help Leslie come to terms with what was happening, it could be a good move, if she could find a sympathetic therapist. If that was possible in this case. Was there such a thing as a psychic therapist?

  “I’ve thought about that. I’m not sure Ellie would speak freely with a stranger, no matter how nice that person was. I’ve thought about seeing a shrink myself, but I can’t see myself trying to explain that I was stressed out because my seven-year-old daughter is seeing ghosts. They’d lock me up, or medicate me.”

  “Hey, Mom, you about done?” Ellie came skipping into the room.

  “Almost, sweetie. Did you finish your book?” Leslie asked.

  “Yeah. It was easy. You going to let me visit Abby?”

  Leslie glanced briefly at Abby. “I think so. We’ll have to talk about it, with your father. But I promise we’ll work something out. Deal?”

  “Deal!” Ellie said eagerly. “Are we going home now?”

  “Yes, we are,” her mother told her. “I have to start dinner. Abby, we’ll talk, I promise. And thanks for watching out for Ellie.”

  “Happy to do it, Leslie.”

  Abby led them back to the front door. As they were leaving, Ellie grabbed Abby around the waist and gave her a hug. Abby hugged her back. That muted electric buzz was still there. Leslie didn’t feel it, when she and her child hugged?

  Ellie released her as quickly as she had grabbed her. “Let’s go, Mom—I’m hungry!”

/>   “Bye, you two.” Abby watched them as they went down the steps and turned toward the green, where Leslie had left her car.

  Once they were out of sight, Abby wandered back to the kitchen and cleaned up. She felt oddly pleased, and proud of Ellie for having jump-started the process, even though what she’d done—running off on her own and catching a bus—had been reckless. She must really have been desperate. Once she had gotten over her initial panic, Leslie was beginning to come around. She acknowledged that she needed help with Ellie. She was still reluctant to appeal to Abby, but what other choices did she have? It might take a little time, but surely they could work something out. And the idea she’d proposed, about spending time with Ellie over the summer, might have been spur-of-the-moment but it made sense. They could all learn something from that interaction.

  Ned came up behind her while she was still lost in thought. “Hey,” he said, kissing her neck. “You seem a million miles away.”

  She turned and returned his kiss. “Ellie showed up out of the blue today.”

  He stiffened. “What? How?”

  “She left school when the day ended and got on a school bus she knew went to Lexington. She has a cell phone, so she called me when she got here because she didn’t know where this house was—she was sitting over on the green.”

  “Good God! That poor kid—what was she thinking? What did you do?”

  “I called Leslie immediately, of course. She was understandably upset, but she came over, and we talked. I think things are getting better. Since Ellie seems so determined, I proposed that she and I could spend time together over the summer, when school is out. Maybe one day a week, or every other week.”

  “Leslie went along with that?” Ned said, looking for wineglasses.

  “Surprisingly, yes. I think she knows she’s in over her head. She’s still balking at letting me help, but I’m pretty sure she’ll come around. Ned, are we ever going to look for more people with this ability?”

  “How? Go to Wiccan gatherings? Put an ad in alternative papers? You’d spend a lot of time weeding out the whack-jobs.”

  “Don’t you start making jokes—it’s bad enough with Leslie. You know what I mean. I’m not sure it’s a good idea, but I want to think about it. What I’m asking is, are there code words for these abilities?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m sure there must be publications somewhere that can tell you. What are we doing about dinner?”

  “You’re taking me out. It’s been a busy day.”

  6

  Over the next couple days, the weekend, Abby fell into a regular pattern. Breakfast with Ned. In the mornings, when the light was best, she’d strip wallpaper. They’d eat a quick lunch together, then she would settle in with some books she’d taken out from the library or downloaded to her computer, and explore the many theories about what had happened at Salem and why. There was no shortage of hypotheses, and new ones kept popping up, as both technology and psychology evolved. When her eyes could no longer focus on the print or pixels, she’d dive back into her family history, which was kind of fun. Should she go back to Concord and ask the long-departed Reeds in the cemetery there for help? No, that was silly: so far she’d had little luck with initiating any kind of interaction with those from the past, much less asking them for the names of their grandparents.

  Well, no, that wasn’t exactly true. It seemed to be possible but inconsistent. Ned had seen and been seen by his “friend” Johnny, in the house where he’d grown up. Ellie had played some inter-century game of hide-and-seek with an ancestor she and Abby shared, whose family had lived in Littleton. And she herself had had direct conversation with a recently deceased descendant from the same Perry line, at the Littleton Historical Society. She was still somewhat incredulous about that, because she would have sworn that the person she was talking to was real—but she’d been firmly told otherwise by the director of the historical society, and Abby had visited the grave and found her there again. But none of that meant she could waltz into a cemetery, knock on a tombstone, call up an ancestor and ask politely, Did you have any ancestors at Salem? She’d have to find out the old-fashioned way, by doing the research. Maybe when Leslie had fired her, telling her not to come back, she’d done her a favor: now she had the time to pursue this. She could think about finding a job later, maybe in the fall. Still, she felt like a parasite, living off Ned. She’d always planned to be self-sufficient, something that former boyfriend Brad had conveniently ignored, expecting her to do all the unpacking and setting up of their new home while he went off to the city to do important financial things.

  Leslie had called on Sunday. “One day a week. That work for you?” she had said without preamble.

  “Fine. You want me to come pick Ellie up at your house, or meet you at the museum?”

  “We can work that out later. I’m going to have to trust you not to do anything too weird, or dangerous, or anything like that.”

  “Of course I wouldn’t. When do you want to start?”

  “Last day of school is May twentieth. How about the first week in June? I’ve got to tell the summer program which days Ellie will be there.”

  “Okay.” Abby wasn’t about to argue. She was glad Leslie had seen the logic of her suggestion, that she and Ellie explore their talent together. Now all she had to do was figure out what to do with Ellie for those days. She didn’t want Ellie to think Abby was using her as a guinea pig. And she was pretty sure that Leslie would be watching with an eagle eye to make sure she didn’t push Ellie too hard, not that she would. She liked Ellie, and was looking forward to spending time with a child, something she had missed since she’d lost her job.

  “I’ll give you a call next week,” Leslie said, then hung up. Obviously she was still conflicted about the whole thing, Abby thought, but at least it was a baby step forward.

  So: she had a couple of days to do her homework and think of a strategy.

  By Monday the front and back parlor and the dining room walls were denuded, which Abby thought was good progress even though they looked terrible at the moment. Luckily the kitchen had never been papered, only painted, and that was easy to clean, and repainting it could wait for a while. She wasn’t ready to tackle the upstairs, although at least up there the ceilings were lower so the walls were shorter. The grand hallway she wasn’t going to touch, now or in the future: the stretch from the ground floor to the top of the wall on the second floor had to be twenty feet and would require not only longer ladders but some kind of scaffolding to straddle the elegant staircase—miraculously never painted. That she would willingly pay for someone else with the equipment and the skills to handle.

  And her research into the history of the Salem witch trials had proved fascinating, although she wasn’t sure what to do with the information. She still didn’t believe in witches. She was more than ever convinced that other people had then and maybe still did believe in witches, although in the seventeenth century that was more likely to mean someone who channeled or worked for the Devil. People had reacted with fear and anger, and they had done real harm, not only to particular individuals, who had been imprisoned, and lost their homes and their families and sometimes even their lives. Why? The whole thing had been started by a small group of girls, all under the age of twenty. They had come from respectable families, pillars of the community. And they had gone crazy together and torn apart their community and even threatened the foundations of the colony. How could something like that happen? Why had sensible adults even believed the girls in the first place? It still made no sense to her.

  If it was ever going to, Abby thought her best chance was to track down one or more ancestral relatives and see if her connection through their eyes worked, going back over three hundred years. There was no guarantee: plenty of her more recent local ancestors remained stubbornly silent, so far. But Abby was hoping that the intensity of emotions in Salem at the time could make it work, with or without a personal connection. And if—if!—it did, she might ga
in a peculiar and unique insight into how people had seen and interpreted what was going on at the time. The odds were long, but wouldn’t it be interesting?

  Then there was Ellie, who shared some of her ancestral lineage but not necessarily any that connected to Salem or Andover—that meant more research. Had Ned ever looked? He seemed to have followed the Reed line back to the beginning, but oddly enough there were no Reeds in Salem or Andover at the right time, even though she’d found the name almost everywhere else she had looked since she began her research. So next she would have to start checking out the other lines she hadn’t looked at yet. It would be easiest to start with the Reeds and see if she could push that line back in the right direction. If not, she’d have to come at the hunt in a different way.

  She hadn’t looked at her family’s genealogy information for a while, since her life had been shaken up: finding out about Ellie, losing her job, moving in with Ned. That meant she had to reacquaint herself with her own family. It wasn’t like she knew them well—she’d only “met” them a few months before, when her mother had appeared with her grandmother’s rocking chair. Then when she’d gotten the job at the museum, she’d thrown most of her energy into that, without giving much thought to all those lurking ancestors—until one had shown up at the green in Littleton just before Patriots’ Day: Henry Perry, one that Ned couldn’t see, so he was her relative but not his. And his untimely appearance had started the whole cascade of events that led to Leslie driving her out of the museum and Abby moving into Ned’s house.

  So now it was time to dig in once again, starting with Olivia, her great-great-grandmother, née Flagg, who had married Samuel Pendleton in 1886. Olivia she had traced back along a couple of lines, but Samuel’s forebears were all blank. She was poised to start when her phone rang. When she checked caller ID she was surprised to see that it was Leslie.

  “Hey, Leslie, what’s up?” she said when she answered.

  “I’ve got a favor to ask. This is an early closing day at Ellie’s school, and my sitter can’t make it—we messed up with the dates. Could you pick Ellie up?”