by Kane, Zoey
In consideration of the storm, Jack was invited to spend the night. Jack grabbed a couple suitcases out of his Audi, and they headed into the house, the wind blowing rain after them. Zo threw a towel to her daughter and her daughter’s ex, so they could dry their hair.
Before hitting the hay, Jack asked Claire to sit with him at the kitchen table.
“Claire, what is it that you really want? Your heart’s desire? Go ahead, whisper it in my ear. Do it. It’s okay.”
Claire thought, Oh my gosh! Is he referring to marriage? I hope not.
He continued, “I’m changing jobs. The last one didn’t work out the way I expected; and, well, I have got to move on. I’m also going to need a place to stay.”
“I don’t want any renters.” Claire played dumb.
“No, that is not what I’m talking about.”
“Are you by any chance talking about marriage? Because that is a big discussion.” She was thinking about giving him all the reasons she would never go back to him.
“There is nothing to discuss. I have already moved on with you.” He pulled out a paper from his back pocket. “I just made a little list for us to agree on.”
“Just for the heck of it, Jack—what guarantee would I have that you wouldn’t find fault and leave me like last time?”
“That is why I made this list, so I won’t want to leave.” He handed her the paper.
1. Wean yourself from your mother. You have me.
2. No prenup.
3. No Quit Claim for me to sign.
4. Have respect for my decisions.
“There are a couple more to talk about, but we can work that out later. Uh, what would you want on your list?”
“Love, nurturing, equality. I tell you what… I will think this over and answer you tomorrow.” Claire was too tired to deal with Jack and his list tonight.
Claire watched Jack slip into his bedroom down the hall, before entering her own. A soft light was left on. If her mother was awake, she didn’t stir, so that left Claire trying to figure out how she was going to handle her predicament.
The wind sounded like a train passing a cheap hotel at seventy miles per hour, until she fell asleep. Still, wheels continued to clack over rails throughout the night, like a locomotive barreling around corners; but it was a screech and whistle that finally jarred Claire awake.
Claire turned over on the mattress for her fiftieth time, but saw something at the edge of her bed that startled her. It was like a bizarre scene from a scary movie—her mom sitting up, unmoving like a statue, eyes focused on the door.
The train whistle sounded again. As Claire’s sleep-fog lifted from her mind, she realized it was actually the long screech of a high-pitched scream.
“Well?” Claire was waiting to find out what her mother thought about it. “Are we going to take a flashlight to a slash fight?”
“Honey, you have turned into a rather talented poet.” Zo got up and reached under a pillow. “No, I think we should take this cute little .22 automatic with hollow point long rifle bullets, ’cause you still don’t believe in ghosts, right?”
“I didn’t say that…”
The two slipped on robes and slippers in a couple of seconds. Zo led the way with her little tempered steel cutie and Claire followed along with her flashlight in hand. Another high scream whistled through the rafters.
“Crappers!” exclaimed Zo. “That was in the attic. I am sure of it.”
“Shouldn’t we be running the other way, Mother?”
“What if it is somebody injured? There are thirteen other women who have access to this house. We need to find out what is going on… or go home.”
“I knew that,” said Claire, obtaining resolve. “Where the heck is Jack in all this screaming?!”
“Let him sleep in the sounds of the storm,” her mother advised.
Claire took off the silver skeleton key held around her neck by a sturdy silver chain. She turned it in the attic door’s lock. It didn’t open, so she turned it the other way and, yes, the door cracked open. Zo led the way as Claire lit the stairs ahead. Finally, they exited onto the attic floor. Zo reached over and flicked up the attic’s light-switch, but nothing happened. Claire flashed her light around.
“What’s the first thing that you notice here, Claire?”
“A pair of drag marks on the floor. What could have been moved to look like that?” The glow of the flashlight dimmed to a faint yellow. “We aren’t needing that to happen!” she whispered.
“Why are you whispering? Afraid that you will wake the dead, sweetie?”
“Frankly, YES! And what’s that?”
“What! Where?” Zo was trying to see into the dark.
“Straight ahead. It’s moving.”
“I see it. …Coming our way. Raise up your flashlight.”
Something was coming at them. The flashlight’s beam was fading out. All they knew was, it made a strange, creaking sound. As the figure got closer, they determined it was a headless woman. It suddenly rushed the two, before slowing down to stop. Shots rang out three times!
“Bull’s eye, Mom—three shots to the chest! But, you didn’t kill it ’cause it’s still standing.” The flashlight’s dark yellow glow revealed a seamstress form with metal capping off its neck.
Zo strode over, pushed the form to the side, toppling it over, wheels up. “Those kinds of things creep me out. If there is anyone in here,” she called louder, “you will end up like this mannequin!” There wasn’t any sound in response other than the steady drumming of the rain.
“Let’s go back to bed,” Claire said. They made their way down the winding staircase and to their room, where if it was possible to sleep with one eye open, they did it.
FIVE
The next morning they slept in to 9 a.m. After getting dressed in jeans, designer boots and sweaters, the two headed downstairs to the kitchen. Zo fixed scrambled eggs and country fried potatoes in olive oil, seasoned to taste. Wedged tomatoes sat on a plate next to toast spread with frozen blueberry jam. Neither one said, but both knew, that they would be going back up to the attic after breakfast.
“Jack proposed marriage last night. …It was more like a business proposal.”
“No kidding. Did you say yes?”
“I’m telling him no this morning. I think he is mental.”
“Thatta girl. You better go get him. We will be ready to eat within minutes. All I’m waiting for is the herb tea to steep a moment more.”
Claire headed up to his room and knocked on the door. “Jack. Waaake up. Breakfast!” After a moment of no response, she called again, “JACK! Okay, ready or not…” She pushed the door open.
The bed was turned down. A lamp sat on at a table with a tablet, pen and some papers. “Where are you?”
Not a sound was heard.
Claire left the room and went back to the kitchen. “We are to start breakfast without him.”
The two buttered their toast, their knives scraping along the bread louder than ever before, followed by the clink-clinking of forks across their plates.
“Okay, what is it?” asked Zo, not looking up, taking a bite of potato.
“Jack is missing.” Claire stabbed a tomato wedge and stuck the piece into her mouth, then reached for some pepper. “Bed not slept in… A light on.”
Zo raised her eyes enough to take a moment’s notice of all the pepper her daughter hammered onto her potatoes. “Um hmm,” she acknowledged with a sip of tea.
The two continued eating rather silently until both felt well-satisfied. They hurried through filling a sink of hot water to soak the dishes, and wiping down the stovetop and table, quietly working around each other.
When satisfactorily finished, Zo said, wiping her hands on a towel, “Well then, to Jack’s room?”
“’Fraid so.”
*
Nothing had changed since the first time Claire entered. While her mother went into the bathroom, she went over to the table that had his paperwork. “
Mom, his cell phone is here. Jack never goes anywhere without his cell phone.”
“That only verifies what we both knew already—that something has happened. Now we just need to find out what it is that happened.” Zo entered back into the bedroom, holding a piece of paper. “Here is the first clue.” She read, “Let the game begin.” It had a drawing of the attic. “Let the finder beware!” It was written on antique paper with an ink-well pen.
“Finder beware?” Claire repeated.
“How’d Jack get this?”
Claire dialed. “Hello? I want to report a missing man.”
*
Deputy Riley Jones came to take a report. “We have to wait forty-eight hours before we start a search, ma’am,” he said, standing on the porch. “He might just come back with a sack of doughnuts. Know what I mean?”
“I get it,” Claire said. “But just so you know, Jack would not be leaving his cell phone—and here’s his wallet—behind.”
“I will be back the day after tomorrow to investigate and take pictures. Don’t move anything.” He then bent down and looked directly into Claire’s eyes. “Don’t worry. Who around here would want to kidnap or kill your fellow? He is a total stranger. Can you think of anyone?”
Despite the deputy’s depth of turquoise blue eyes, and beautiful eyebrows, a flash of Slobber’s aggressiveness against Jack came to mind. Claire said nothing.
“What is your name, ma’am?” he asked Zo with a smile that invited arms flung around his neck and a huge kiss.
“Zoey Kane. You’ve been talking to my daughter. How tall are you?” she inquired. “Six-foot-five?”
“I’m six-foot-six, ma’am. So I have a nickname of Too-Tall Jones. I got it in high school when I shot up all at once and was rather skinny. It stuck.” His smile had an amazing line of beautiful teeth.
“Oh, uh, Jack is not my fellow,” Claire said. “He is an acquaintance who heard I was in town.”
The deputy continued smiling. “I’ll write that on the report,” he kidded. He excused himself and left in his black and white steed with red flashing eyes.
“I, uh, was just thinking à la Sam Spade style,” Zo confessed. “The guy was confident in his deputy uniform. It made an older gum-shoe like myself growl, low and deep. It was appreciation only a Cougar could have for his well-formed arm muscles and pecs. But, if I wanted to find the missing X, I needed to get control—to keep focus on a kidnapping or murder.”
“Yup, Mom, I couldn’t have said it any better. Is he mine or yours?”
“As if… This will be hard on Slobber, having to compete for your love with Too-Tall Jones.”
*
Moments later, the two were snapping on tight vinyl gloves. Claire got to work punching around buttons on Jack’s cell phone, while Zo zipped open his luggage.
“Aha!”
“What?!” asked Claire.
“A Pez dispenser.” Zo pressed the trigger on a clown head, where the candy exited like a purple tongue. “Want one?”
“I don’t think so.” Claire continued her own search. “Looky here, Mom. A photo of a semi-attractive blonde cheek-to-cheek with Jack.” She showed the image that was on the phone’s screen. “Marsha Dinker?! I worked with her at the magazine.”
“Just what is he trying to pull?” Zo huffed.
“I don’t know.” Claire pushed around some more buttons. “Let’s see here. Oh, oh, oh. Yep. I think I might have an answer. E-mail—eight days ago.” Claire read in a high-pitched tone, mimicking Marsha, “Dad says I must not give you any more money, even if we are engaged. Plus, Dad says he won’t help me financially anymore. He’s cut me off. No matter… We have each other. That is all that counts, booboo.”
“You are quite a hacker, Claire.”
“No need. I know all of booboo’s passwords. He hasn’t changed anything.” Claire kept on moving images and pressing around. “Oops! He is broke—four-hundred-thirty-seven dollars in the bank.”
“He is guessing you have a little money of your own now, since we went into the hotel business.” Since the mansion they found in a valley of trees and overgrowth was way too large and expensive, the two decided to turn it into a private hotel, a money-making venture. The hotel business didn’t bring their wealth, but what they found in it did. “I bet that’s why he popped up there at Hillgate Manor. That has got to be it, my dear—real estate.”
“That does make sense. One of his conditions for marriage was that he wouldn’t sign any prenup or quit claim.”
“Reeeeally. Well that was very entertaining.”
“I’m going to take Jack’s cell phone with me. Just in case whatever.”
There was a sudden rapping at the front door, startling them. “Jack?” Claire wondered. But then there was a jingle of keys and it opened before they had a chance to get it themselves.
“Hellooo!” Matilda beamed, carrying two big bags of groceries. The ladies rushed to help her.
“There’s more in the car. The backseat,” she said.
The rain had taken a break. Everything was wet and water ran down the eaves and fell off in big splatters onto the porch. A large oak tree’s branches also dripped with old rain. Zo and Claire zipped their coats up as they headed to the Chevy pickup. Claire offered to hold three bags to let her mother carry just one.
Back inside, they placed the goods on a counter. “What is all of this for?!” Claire asked.
“It’s for the day of the hearing. I figured this place needs stocked up with some teepee and snacks for the visitors.”
“You mean you’re going to treat the very men and women who are threatening to takeover this house?” Zo chuckled. “You are more gracious than me.”
“Oh, nonsense, Zo.” She giggled. “A good attitude about this whole situation could only help. When visitors see that I am taking care of the place, which I am rightful heir to, it can only create sympathy. Plus, I love me some good food and teepee myself.” She snickered and pulled out a couple boxes of Cracker Jacks. “Want one?”
“We’re good,” Claire said.
“No, I want one.” Zo eyed her daughter and Matilda happily obliged.
“Matilda, Jack isn’t around,” said Claire.
“Who is Jack, hon?” The hostess assembled some fresh fruit in a bowl. “Does that other car out there belong to him?”
“Oh, uh, I guess you wouldn’t know. Last night—”
“Her ex-boyfriend stalked her.”
“He what?! Really?” Concerned eyes looked up from the fruit.
“Stalk is such a strong word, and yet there is truth in it.” Claire looked off to the side and breathed out. “He proposed—of sorts.”
“He proposed?!” Matilda again was surprised. “This is the same Jack you were telling me about yesterday?”
“Yes, yes. But… what is important right now is he is missing.”
“Oh, do you think he might have gone to Bebe’s diner to have breakfast?”
“No, no. I think something is wrong!”
“We found his cell phone and wallet,” Zo explained.
“What are you thinking could have happened to him?” Matilda looked extra serious now, leaning forward.
Claire wiped at some bangs, dumbfounded. “I just don’t know.”
“Well, Slobber and he had a fight last night,” Zo brought up, dumping a handful of caramel popcorn into her mouth.
“Slobber?” Matilda said. “He wouldn’t harm a fly. Jack must have really ticked him off.”
“He thought Jack was an intruder. They had a tumble outside. I agree, he wouldn’t harm a fly,” Claire said.
“Well, let’s not be too hasty. Jack is probably okay,” Matilda reasoned. “Did you call the police?”
“Yes,” they said.
“What did they say?”
Claire sighed. “Call them back after forty-eight hours.”
“I’m sorry, hon. I’ll let the coven sisters know. We can be on the lookout for him and perform a protection spell. Oops, sorr
y. I talk that way out of habit.” Matilda added, “There’s nothing wrong with hope. Mind over matter.”
“Thank you,” Claire conceded.
There was the sound of the front door knob wiggling and then footsteps entering.
“Jack?” Claire called, walking out of the kitchen. “Oh, I thought you were someone else…”
A woman in a long red rain slicker removed her hood, revealing curly brown hair, picked out and hair-sprayed. She looked to be in her forties and wore lots of mascara. “My name is Judy.” Her boots squeaked as she approached Claire. “I’m one of the coven sisters. Who are you?” She eyed her suspiciously, snapping off a glove.
“My name is Claire. I am here with my mother Zoey. We are guests of Matilda.”
“Oh, yeah? What business do you have with her?”
“We are… friends, I guess you would say. We met on a cruise.”
“Well, that sounded certain,” she said sarcastically. “Friends, huh? Who just happen to come up the same week of the big hearing.”
Claire was confused. Why would a coven sister act so nasty to a friend of Matilda? She decided to be straight forward. “What do you have against Matilda?”
The woman chuckled, snapping off her other glove. “I have nothing against Matilda. I just don’t like busybodies from out of town, being more involved with the case than they need to be. Matilda already has a lawyer.” She circled Claire, eyeing her. “I don’t know why you are needed. You are obviously hiding something from me. You don’t look like you would be one of Matilda’s friends.”
“What does that mean?” Claire felt hot and like she was back in high school, standing up to a snob.
“I mean,” she circled around her more, like a vulture, “you are much younger and even in the early morning you are dressed like you could attend a press conference.”
Claire looked down to her designer jeans and high-heel boots. What would Judy think if she did dress up for a press conference?
Judy continued, “Matilda’s friends are usually more… eccentric.”
Just then Zo burst through the swinging double doors of the kitchen. “Claire, dear, I got a prize!” She waved it, rushing over.