A Key, An Egg, An Unfortunate Remark

by Harry Connolly

  “It’s a grand design,” Marley said doubtfully. “But who would live there?”

  “Not many, at first,” Evelyn said. “The early residents would be people who dream of the future, of living cleanly and productively in a more comfortable environment. Early adopters. But once others saw how pleasant, effective, and efficient it was—much better than the haphazard way people live now—I believe there would be a waiting list as long as the city census report to move in.”

  Marley bent low to peer through the dome of the nearest hexagon. “It all seems very... designed.”

  “That’s what we need more of in this world: design. Conscious choices. Sensible order. Not a system where a few grab as much as they can, then parcel it out bit by bit to the only newcomers with the resources to buy in. The homes we live in today are designed to accommodate building materials of three hundred years ago simply because it’s traditional and expected. Look at this.”

  Evelyn removed the top of one of the buildings and set it on a small table. “See inside here? These would be the living areas.”

  Albert and Marley peered inside. It looked like one of those tilt maze games, where the player rolled a ball bearing along a path while avoiding a number of holes. “The most expensive units would be along the outer rim, of course, where the views are. But notice the floors: they’re angled slightly toward the hub of the building.”

  “The floors aren’t even?” Albert asked.

  “The world isn’t even,” Evelyn countered. “It isn’t natural to live on a flat, level surface. Our bodies weren’t built for it. A home built on a gentle incline is comforting to the human psyche on a deep, deep level, and most people wouldn’t even be aware of it unless they had tacky wheeled furniture, God forbid.”

  “It’s certainly a visionary idea,” Marley said, keeping her tone as neutral as possible. She’d nearly called it interesting, but even Evelyn could have seen through that. “This is what Aloysius was working on?”

  “Yes. What you see here is the most ambitious version of the plan. We showed a smaller version to city leaders when the Sculpture Park was being planned.”

  “Sculpture Park? But that was years ago!”

  “Sometimes a dream takes years.” Evelyn stared down at the model city as though it was a delicious birthday cake and she couldn’t wait to blow out the candles. “I pitched the project to the city council and mayor’s office when the Sculpture Park was being planned. This is art people can live in. Of course it couldn’t have been built on this scale, covering so many blocks—I couldn’t expect that sort of imagination from politicians.—but I thought a two-three-two grid would have been enough to demonstrate the soundness of the plan. Unfortunately...”

  “That required more land than had been set aside for the park.”

  Evelyn bared her teeth. “Exactly, Marley. It would have required more land—land currently dedicated to ugly condos and rat-trap waterfront restaurants. Eyesores. Boils on the most public face of the city. But they were privately owned, and the politicians didn’t have the balls to lead the way to a new and better world by invoking eminent domain. Doesn’t fit within the parameters of the current project, they said.”

  She spoke with a raw intensity that showed her disappointment and resentment was still fresh. “But you never gave up,” Marley prodded.

  “And I never will, Marley. Not on this. Not on human beings. I love people, and I want them to live in a way that will make their lives satisfying. That’s why the vast majority of the profit this firm brings in goes to this dream. So... what do you think?” Evelyn asked the question the way a cult leader might check a new recruit for sudden enlightenment.

  For once, Marley was at a loss for words. “The novelty of it is overwhelming,” she finally said. “I’m afraid this old brain isn’t used to being exposed to such radical ideas.”

  Evelyn laid a hand on Marley’s. “Think about it. Please do think about it. I could use a partner like you, someone with influence.”

  “Is that what Aloysius was doing for you? Looking for partners?”

  Evelyn replaced the top of the display. “Indeed he was, unofficially. He was quite the salesman, in his way. He drew up contracts, negotiated sales, and tried to find leverage for me. Really, he went above and beyond.” As she said this last sentence, she gently caressed the upper edge of the nearest hexagon. “He was a believer.”

  “Did you hear about any troubles he might have had? Any negotiations that turned contentious? Something like that?”

  “If there were, he didn’t tell me about them,” Evelyn said. “And he would have. He was a bit of a talker.”

  “He was, wasn’t he? Thank you for your time, Evelyn. I have to admit I’m not a believer myself, but it’s certainly an interesting idea.” Marley smiled to cover her slip up: she’d called the project interesting after all.

  But Evelyn had entered a serene state where she was either oblivious or impervious to such remarks. “It’s new, I know,” she said, “but if you think about it, it makes an awful lot of sense. You’ll think about it?”

  “How could I not?”

  Evelyn was pleased. “Oh, good. So many people have closed minds, it seems.”

  “Did Aloysius keep an office here? Are there any personal possessions in a desk or something?”

  Evelyn laid her hand on Marley’s elbow in a gesture that she intended to be comforting. The change she’d undergone while describing her life’s work, from brisk, chilly businesswoman to dreamy-eyed believer, was quite startling. “I’m sorry, but no. He brought everything with him when he came and took it all when he went. Marley, I should have said this before, but I truly am sorry for your loss.”

  That was the cue for them to leave. “Thank you,” Marley said. Evelyn escorted them to the elevator and bid goodbye to them warmly.

  After the elevator doors closed, they were silent for a few seconds. Finally, Albert said: “That was, er...”

  “Odd. Very odd. Somehow, Aloysius was paying his bills by working on that woman’s dead project.”

  “Undead project,” Albert offered. “She doesn’t know when to put a stake in it.” Albert realized this was a careless turn of phrase and hurried the conversation along before his aunt could scold him again. “When did the Sculpture Park open?”

  “It was 2007,” Marley answered, politely ignoring Albert’s faux pas. “I attended, of course. The planning for it took years before that. It was always meant to be an art park, not an apartment complex.”

  “I’m guessing she wants to force it into whatever she wants it to be. Anyway, what’s next? Ghost?”

  “It’s so hard to know which item on the to-do list will be fruitful, isn’t it? That’s the problem with so many endeavors. Well, we do need to speak with Elaine and her activist friends. I know you’ve been anxious to meet a werewolf—“

  Albert’s blood ran cold. “Actually—“

  “And in this city, a group of environmental advocates is a good place to stumble on one. But the sun will be down soon, so we should visit the ghost first,” The doors opened and they went out into the street. The sun was sinking low over the mountains across the Puget Sound. “Let’s go down to the waterfront. Ubeh should have a new car for us.”

  Ubeh, looking as beautiful as ever, was waiting for them in a Starbucks on the ground floor of a waterfront hotel. The place was otherwise empty, but the baristas stood behind the counter, unselfconsciously staring at her. “Ms. Jacobs! I came as soon as I got your email.”

  “I hope you weren’t waiting too long, dear.”

  “Not at all. In fact, it was a delight to just sit for a while with a book and a cup of coffee. My children rarely leave me with any time of my own. But Ms. Jacobs, I must ask: was there something wrong with the Volvo?”

  “Not at all, dear. It’s just that I sometimes have a bad feeling about things.”

  Ubeh shrugged. “If you have a bad feeling about one of our cars, of course we will be happy to replace it.” She placed
the keys in Albert’s outstretched hand and he wisely decided not to make a joke of it, not that he could think of one at the moment. “I’m afraid I don’t have any more European cars available. This one will be Japanese.”

  Marley and Albert thanked her, then let themselves be led outside to a black Lexus. Albert opened the door for Marley and she climbed in. She reached up and took Ubeh’s hand. “Keep in mind, dear, that my bad feelings often turn out to have a basis in fact.”

  “Of course.”

  “Albert, West Seattle, please.”

  Marley sent the address to the car GPS, and Albert followed the directions, driving across the West Seattle bridge to a condo building on an east-facing slope above Salty’s Restaurant. He pulled into a visitor space in the parking lot and let his aunt out of the car.

  New condos, which littered Seattle from one end to the other, were almost always built from the same boring palette: burgundy, charcoal, and light grey. However, this building was at least two decades old and was ugly in a less fashionable way, being as flat and square as a gigantic children’s block. The exterior was a dingy brown and the windows, strangely, were recessed somewhat, giving the structure a swollen look. Worst of all, the panes had been tinted, apparently in the belief that Seattle wasn’t dim and gloomy enough. Still, it was no one’s idea of a setting for a proper haunting.

  So Marley nearly laughed aloud when her nephew turned to her with a puzzled expression and said, “A haunted condo?”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Yep, a Haunted Condo

  “Yes, exactly.”

  Albert didn’t try to hide his disappointment. “That just doesn’t seem right. Ghosts are supposed to be in an old mansion, you know? Or an asylum somewhere. Someplace old and secluded with cracked plaster and overgrown weeds. Somewhere something terrible happened.”

  “Albert! I had no idea you were such a romantic! There are many types of ghosts, you know. Some ride the bus every day and go to work in offices. Some sit in cars on the highways, stopping and starting endlessly. Some linger in institutions, whiling away the hours in familiar places, thinking the same thoughts over and over.”

  “You make it sound like the city’s full of them.”

  “There are more than you think, but most of them are harmlessly taking up space.” Marley glanced at a Geo Metro parked at the far end of the lot. “Albert, dear, open the trunk of the Lexus. Quickly, please.”

  He did. There was a case of bottled water in the back, along with a bundle of tools and a duffel bag that was padlocked shut.

  Marley rummaged in her purse. “Just a water bottle, please.”

  Albert broke the plastic covering and retrieved one. “Do they stock all your cars this way?”

  Marley didn’t look up from her purse. “Ubeh is more than a pretty face. Ah!” She retrieved a little billfold and took out an American Express gift card and an envelope perfectly sized for it. The card went into the envelope. Marley wrote FOR YOU on the outside. “Dear, put this under the windshield wiper of that Geo Metro. The water bottle goes on the hood beside it.”

  Flummoxed, Albert stood with the bottle and envelope. “Does giving gifts help with the ghost?”

  “Albert! Quickly! The sun is setting.”

  Marley turned and started toward the door. The Metro was in the other direction, and Albert had a bad feeling about leaving his aunt alone for long. He sprinted across the lot, left the things his aunt had given him in the way she’d instructed, and ran back.

  He thought back to the moment when he’d accepted Marley’s offer of employment and she’d immediately smashed that taillight. Was she paying back the owner of that truck? Paying forward to someone else?

  That reminded him to glance around again, in case the gunmen were nearby. They weren’t. Maybe, if they were really lucky, the gunmen were done with them.

  She didn’t glance up when he caught up with her, and he found himself back on their original topic of conversation.

  “I’m guessing ghosts aren’t shimmering see-through wraiths, then.”

  “Life just isn’t that easy.”

  They had reached the pitted concrete steps that lead up to the front door. What Albert could see through the smeary glass panels was nothing more than a cramped, bland, boring entry hall. Nothing spooky about it. “So what do they look like? I mean, how can I tell if I’m talking to a ghost?”

  “Ghosts are trapped in the past, Albert. They’ll do the same thing over and over, think the same thoughts, return to all the same places. Nothing enrages a ghost like a change in their environment, even a change for the better. So if you meet someone who only listens to decades-old music, who says the same things all the time, or who gives directions by referring to landmarks that have been long since torn down, you’re probably dealing with a ghost.”

  “But... living people do that, too, not just dead people.”

  After scrutinizing the aluminum panel beside the door, Marley pressed the buzzer for the marketing office. “Oh, you don’t have to be dead to be a ghost. But the one we’ll be talking to today certainly is.”

  On the other side of the glass door, an inner door swung open and a woman lunged toward them, turned the deadbolt lock and yanked the front door open. She was just under forty, dressed in a wrinkled lavender suit with scuffed black shoes. Her hair was as pale as sand and the fluorescent lights of the entry hall highlighted the flyaway strands that had escaped her ponytail. She looked like she needed a solid month of good sleep. “Hello! How can I help you?” she asked in a desperate, breathy voice.

  “I’m in the market, dear, and I’m hopeful about the view.” Marley gestured into the building as though they could all see the office buildings and looming harbor cranes of Seattle through the faded wallpaper.

  “Of course! Of course. Please come in. I have some excellent opportunities for you.”

  Marley breezed past her toward the elevators. “Wonderful. I’d like to look at the penthouse, please.”

  “Er, I’m afraid that unit isn’t available. The owner currently lives there.”

  “I seem to have been mistaken about your openings. How about the floor below? That would be the...”

  The saleswoman finished that sentence reluctantly. “Eleventh. Actually, I have a very interesting unit on the fourth floor—“

  “Not the eleventh? I’d heard that whole floor was open. Was I misinformed again?”

  “Well, no.”

  “Why don’t you want to show the eleventh? Does the owner upstairs walk around in lead boots or something?”

  The eager look in the salewoman’s eye faded as she answered. “No. I’ll be happy to show you those units.”

  “Thank you, dear. Albert?” He pressed the button for the elevator.

  The woman took a nametag with magnetic backing from her pocket and attached it to her lapel. “I’m Natalie. Pleased to meet you.”

  Marley didn’t want to risk being recognized—which didn’t happen often, but still—so she pretended to miss the opportunity to introduce herself. “It must be a difficult job, selling condos in this economy,” she said politely.

  Natalie didn’t answer. She stared up at the display above the elevator door, counting the numbers. Her expression was slack and her complexion pasty.

  Once inside, Natalie tried to rally her mood. She started her sales spiel, working hard to put an upbeat lilt in her voice. Despite her efforts, she lacked sincerity and Marley cut her off.

  “Do you get a lot of prospective buyers? A lot of visitors?”

  “Why yes. The last person to come here was some sort of TV producer.”

  Marley and Albert exchanged a look. “Really? What did he look like? Slender? Sandy hair?”

  “It was a she,” Natalie answered. “Dark hair. She looked like she was just out of high school, to be honest. She ran off midway through my tour.”

  “Oh, how unusual.”

  “I wish,” Natalie said, not quite low enough to pass unheard. The doors opened and she
remembered herself. “The eleventh floor is completely vacant at the moment. The rooms are quiet—“ A sudden wave of cold made them all shiver. “Well. Ha ha. I’ll have to ask Ludmilla to adjust the thermostat. You said you wanted a view of Elliott Bay? Come this way—“

  “Natalie,” Marley said, as though about to break some bad news. “Dear. You know we aren’t going to be buying a unit, don’t you?”

  Natalie glanced from Marley to Albert and back again. “I— I—“

  Marley laid a gentle arm on her shoulder. “This building is haunted, isn’t it?”

  Natalie burst into tears.

  “Here now, let’s go this way.” Marley led her to the nearest unit. Natalie’s hand trembled too much to fit the key in the lock; Albert took it from her and opened the door for them both. Marley walked Natalie inside.

  It was a nice space, and if Albert had ever had an interest in a condo, he would have considered it—if not for the sense of foreboding that seemed to come from everywhere at once. He switched on the lamps. The gave off a dim, unhealthy light.

  There was a couch in the living room that faced the bay windows and beyond that, downtown Seattle. Marley eased Natalie onto it. “Each unit comes with a mocha cotton couch and matching loveseat,” Natalie said, her voice sounding strained. Then she laughed. Then she started crying again.

  “Take it easy, dear. We’ll get you back downstairs in a few minutes. Have you seen the ghost yourself?”

  “No.” Talking about it seemed to make her feel better, and she got control of herself as she went on. “No, I’ve never seen a wispy human figure or heard voices. Just... him, upstairs, and whatever he has with him. God, sometimes it seems like half the people who live in this building are nearly dead themselves, me included. And the other half make me check the locks on my windows and doors every night before I go to sleep.” She clutched Marley’s arm suddenly. “You seem like nice people; you should get out of here! You shouldn’t be in a place like this!”