“Well, I know I'm probably a little biased, seeing as how Asher is my cousin and all, but I think you guys were great together. I hope you work things out.”
“I'm not sure there's anything to work out,” I said as he leaned into the refrigerator. “What about you?”
“What about me?” he pulled out a pitcher of iced tea and began pouring it into the glasses.
“Are you moving on?”
“I don't follow.”
“From Aidan, are you ready to move on? Bryan seems like a great guy.”
“Don't start that again, Killian. I told you, he's just being nice. It's part of his job. You know, visit the less fortunate and all that.”
“What if it's more than that? You can't hold onto this forever. Aidan gone, he would have wanted you to keep living your life.”
“Can we drop this please?” he said. He handed me two of the glasses and gave me a gentle shove towards the living room. He followed with the third glass.
I talked Asher into letting me have a turn holding the baby as Will brought us up to date on Darin's progress. It seemed he was starting to smile when he heard Will's or his mom's voice and he loved Veggie Tales. I'd never been around babies so this didn't sound like much of an achievement to me, but Will seemed convinced he was raising the next Einstein so I tried to look suitably impressed. He was certainly a beautiful baby. He had inherited his parents' fair hair and blue eyes. I couldn't help but think as I looked into his tiny face that I hoped that was all he inherited from his biological parents.
Soon it was time to go, so I handed Darin back to Will, we said our goodbyes, and we made our exit. We didn't talk much on the way home; I drifted in and out of that semi-hypnotic state that's so easy to fall into on a warm day in the car-not quite sleep but close to it. I arrived home to find an empty house. I called everyone's name a few times and, getting no answer, went up to my room with a shrug.
I decided to write down as many details as I could remember from my interview with Caleb while it was still relatively fresh on my mind. I took out the notes I'd scribbled while there and used them when my memory stuck. I tried to accurately record his answers to my fumbled questions, including his expressions and tone (or lack thereof). I also included my impressions, whatever they were worth.
I had just finished writing when I heard the front door open. “Hello?” Steve called out, “Anyone home?”
“I'm up here,” I yelled. “I'll be right down.”
“Hey, Kill,” he said as I trotted down the stairs, “Feel up to driving to Chicone with me?”
“What for?” I asked.
“I just came from seeing Victoria. Since we have so much work that needs to be done to convert the house to a bed and breakfast she's given me the go ahead to start seeing what needs to be done. To do that I need to get in there with someone who knows what they're doing. I'm supposed to meet a contractor there this afternoon. Since Adam won't be back from taking Kane to his mother's until late and I didn't know if you'd want to come along; assuming you don't already have plans.”
I didn't. I'd forgotten that Adam was driving Kane up to his mother's today. Adam was coming right back but Kane would be staying for a few weeks. That meant my options were staying home alone or going with Steve to the haunted house-tough choice. It was times like this that I realized how much it sucked to be single.
“I guess I'll go with you.”
“Don't sound so excited, sport.”
“I'll try to contain myself,” I said dryly. “I mean, who wouldn't be thrilled to spend some time in the Addams' family mansion? Scooby Doo where are you?”
Steve laughed and gave me a playful shove towards the door. “Let's get going, Shaggy.”
“If I'm Shaggy, does that make you Fred?”
The drive up to Chicone was filled with a constant stream of chatter about color swaths, fabric samples, paint combinations, security concerns, licenses, promotional plans, and landscaping. Needless to say, Steve did most of the talking.
By the time we arrived in Chicone, the morning mugginess had become oppressive as heavy dark clouds descended in a gathering darkness. The wind picked up, and as we climbed out of the car I thought I heard a distant rumble of thunder. Perfect weather for visiting a haunted house.
“It was a dark and stormy night,” I mumbled under my breath.
“What did you say?” Steve asked.
“Nothing,” I said as I followed him to the front door. Steve pulled a red plastic key ring out of his pocket and unlocked the heavy, wood-paneled door. We stepped into the foyer and I made sure I carefully closed the door. Might as well spare Amalie the trouble, I thought darkly.
“It's incredible, isn't it?” Steve said sounding like a kid on Christmas morning.
I had to admit, the entrance was quite spectacular. All paneled walls and hardwood floors, dusty now, but it was easy to picture what it would look like polished and sparkling, with soft rainbow colors cast across the floor from the stained-glass transom above the door. This room alone was almost as big as our entire living room where we lived now. I leaned back against the door and allowed my mind's eye to take me back to what it must have looked like when Amalie first stepped through this very door. What did she think when she saw the splendor and elegance? Was she used to such extravagance or was she as impressed as I felt?
My ruminations were interrupted by a sudden rapping on the door that sent vibrations through my whole body. I leaped away with a yelp, thoughts of Amalie filling my fertile imagination. Steve gave me a funny look. “That's probably the contractor,” he said. I got the impression that he was trying to suppress a smile.
He opened the door to reveal a very ordinary, and very alive, middle-aged man wearing paint stained jeans and a denim work shirt. A tape-measure was clipped to his belt and he wore heavy work boots. He held out a rough hand with a friendly smile.
“I'm Reid Schubel, you must be Mr. Redden.”
“Please, call me Steve. It's nice to meet you, Reid. This is Killian Kendall.”
Introductions out of the way, Steve took Reid on a quick tour of the house. The whole time they kept up a steady stream of technical talk that wafted somewhere slightly above my head, or at least beyond my interest level. No matter how hard I tried I couldn't dredge up any concern over lead-paint tests, wiring checks, plumbing checks and structural integrity. I was beginning to think that staying home alone would have been a better choice. When they went off to inspect the roof I decided to poke around Amalie's old room, the one that had been used for storage.
The electricity hadn't been turned on for the old house, and Reid had recommended rewiring anyway, so the room was dark and musty. The only light I had was what managed to filter in through the streaked windows; which wasn't much considering their dirty state and the premature darkness outside.
With my limited knowledge of antiques, mostly gleaned from watching Antiques Roadshow on PBS, I didn't see any great treasures right away. It seemed most of the items were detritus of the various generations spanning the century and a half the house had stood here. I guessed that each occupant had left their own contribution. There was a broken phonograph from the early 20th Century, a couple mismatched chairs, an old wicker basinet that had begun to deteriorate, several ugly lamps from the 60's, and that was just what was in the front. As I pushed farther back things got older and looked to me to be much better antiques. There was a beautiful wooden bed with a carved headboard and next to it a dusty armchair whose seat some rodent had used to make a nest. I wondered who had left them there and why. I was pretty sure the chair could be reupholstered and it would be quite nice.
Then I noticed an ornate gilt picture frame sticking up above the mattress on the far side of the bed. I pulled and tugged on an old dresser that was missing handles on the top two drawers and slid past it. I had to crawl across the bed to reach the frame and a moldy, unpleasant odor rose up with a cloud of dust. I pulled the frame out and retreated in a fit of coughing and sneezing. I
t was surprisingly heavy. I realized why when my eyes stopped streaming and I finally got a good look at my find. It held a portrait of a young woman.
It was dark with age, but beneath the grime was a beautiful oil painting. The woman on the canvas had dark hair which had been pulled back and hung in curls at the nape of her neck. She wore a scoop necked dark blue dress with white lace collar and a beautiful and intricate gold pin on her bosom. She had been posed carefully in front of a beautiful fireplace that I thought might one of the ones in the ballroom downstairs, her hand rested lightly on the mantle. The woman herself looked barely more than a girl, her eyes large and framed by dark lashes. She wore a somber expression but there was a sparkle of humor about her eyes, as if at any second her lips would twitch up into a smile. She looked like someone it would have been nice to have known. I thought the artist must have caught her very accurately. I wondered who she was, if she could be the mysterious Amalie or some other former resident of the big house.
While I was examining the painting, I heard what I thought sounded like soft footsteps from behind me. I set the portrait down and turned around expecting to find Steve or Reid, but no one was there. I felt the hair on the back of my neck rise and a strange chill crept down my spine.
“Hello?” I called, or tried to call; it came out in a hoarse croak. I cleared my throat and tried again, “Is someone there?” There was, of course, no answer, just an eerie echo of silence. I wanted to leave the room and go find Steve but I was afraid to step out into the hallway, afraid of what I might find. Hearing noises that may or may not be footsteps was bad enough; I didn't want to come face to face with a ghost.
“I see dead people,” I whispered, quoting one of my favorite movies, and then I had to giggle. I was being silly. I would be turning 18 in one week and here I was acting like a little kid scared of the boogieman. I took a deep breath and stepped into the hall. I exhaled in whoosh of relief when I saw it was empty.
I hadn't taken two steps before I heard another strange noise. I froze in mid-step to listen. If I had been a dog my ears would have perked, I was concentrating so hard. Somewhere in the distance I heard what sounded like the faint cries of a distressed infant. The crying continued for what must have been a full minute before my fear released me enough to move. I took the stairs two at a time on my way down and bowled into Steve at the bottom.
“Whoa, slow down! Where's the fire?” Then he grew serious, “There isn't a fire is there?”
“Did you hear that?” I gasped.
“Hear what?”
“That sound, did you hear it?”
Reid walked into the foyer from the ballroom. “Only thing I heard was the sound of a herd of water buffalo stampeding down the stairs,” he said with a grin.
Steve's face had taken on an intense expression, “What did you hear, Killian? What did it sound like?”
“It sounded like a baby crying somewhere.”
“In the house?”
“I couldn't tell.”
“It was probably just a cat,” Reid offered, “Or a mockingbird; those things can make some strange noises.”
I tried to make myself accept his explanation. It was infinitely more acceptable than what I had been thinking, but somehow I couldn't convince myself that what I had heard had such a simple rationalization.
“You didn't hear it?” I asked again, just to be sure. Maybe the creepy old house was getting to me, playing tricks on me.
Steve shrugged. “I didn't hear anything,” he said. He looked somewhat disappointed.
“I didn't hear anything either,” Reid repeated.
I nodded my head and looked over my shoulder back up the stairs. Just my imagination, I decided. I would accept the easiest explanation for now, but I didn't think I would be wondering around the halls by myself anytime soon.
Chapter 10
All thoughts of haunted houses and murder cases took a back seat the following day - it was Independence Day! Adam and Steve had planned a cookout at our house and then we were supposed to head down to the inlet beach for fireworks at dusk. Our guests started arriving a little after noon. We weren't having a big crowd, just Ilana and Lysander with their little girl Melody and Bryant and Calvin had said they might stop by.
Lysander and Ilana were old friends of the family. Ilana was Adam's lawyer when he fought for custody of Kane. She was a tall, elegant woman with bronze skin, golden brown eyes and straight glossy brown hair that she wore cut just below her shoulders. She must get it cut once a week because I had never seen it an inch longer or an inch shorter. Lysander was a very handsome and distinguished looking black man. His hair was close cropped and he wore a pencil mustache. His hair had just begun to gray at the temples. They had different last names, Ilana's was Constantino and Lysander's Watts, I assume for professional reasons. Their daughter, Melody, was just a little over a year old. She had a halo of dark curls and sparkling brown eyes and was, in short, absolutely beautiful.
We set up a net on the beach and played volleyball while Melody happily built sandcastles in the sand. When we tired of that, Steve started the barbecue grill and Adam mixed the adults drinks. We had just settled down when Bryant and Calvin arrived. They were a young couple, both in their mid-twenties, who had been together for several years now. They hadn't been together too long before Calvin got sick. It was almost a year later before he was diagnosed with HIV. The last time I had seen him he had looked like he was slowly fading away, his already pale complexion had become pasty, his white-blonde hair thin, even his eyes had looked dull. It had been especially striking in contrast with Bryant's dark good looks and healthy glow. Having been over six months since I had seen him last I was expecting the worst. To my surprise, he looked the best I had ever seen him. He'd gained some weight so he was no longer waif-thin and his cheeks had a rosy glow. And if he looked happy, Bryant was positively beaming.
“Wow, you look great!” I blurted out as they followed Adam onto the back patio.
Calvin grinned, “Thanks, Killian. You don't look so bad yourself.”
I laughed and blushed. “I just meant…”
“I knew what you meant, and thanks. The last time you saw me I looked like death warmed over, right?”
“Well, I don't know if I would have put it that way... So I guess you're doing well?”
“Yeah, you could say that,” he settled into the chair next to me as Bryant went over and started talking to Ilana and Lysander. “My biggest problem wasn't the HIV; it was my state-of-mind. I took it as an immediate death sentence, as if my life were over the moment they said those magic words. I went to some counseling with Bryant and I realized that I have a lot of life left to live. It's not over yet and I'm going to fight it till the end, whenever that is. I'm on a real aggressive treatment program, diet and the famous cocktail. So far it's working well for me.”
“Bryant, Calvin, can I get you guys a drink?” Adam asked.
“I'll take a beer if you've got one,” Bryant said.
“I'll have what Killian's having,” Calvin said, pointing to my soda, “I'm staying away from alcohol.”
“Coming right up,” Adam called as he disappeared back into the house.
“So what have you been up to since Thanksgiving? Didn't you graduate this year?”
“Yeah, last month.”
“What are you doing now, just chillin' or do you have a job?”
“I'm working for a private investigator; full time for now, part time when I start college this fall.”
“Whoa, that's off the wall, dude. A private investigator?”
“It's not like you see on TV,” I said. I was glad to be on the other end of that disclaimer for a change.
“Still, that's got to be better than working at McDonald's. That's what I did between high school and college.”
I shrugged, “So far I'm pretty much just the secretary.”
“And let's keep it that way, shall we?” Adam said jokingly as he handed Calvin his soda. I hadn't even seen hi
m coming. It was a good thing I had decided not to mention the case I was unofficially looking into with Novak's help.
By the time we finished eating - steaks, corn on the cob and baked potatoes, all cooked on the grill - it was time to head down to the inlet for the fireworks. We decided to walk there to avoid the horrendous traffic. Even so, the sun was still hovering low in the sky when we arrived. We weren't the first by far, the fireworks wouldn't begin until after dark, but it was already packed beyond belief. You could barely move on the boardwalk. We pushed and shoved our way through, leaving a wake of apologies and dirty looks, until we reached the sand. We managed to find a patch of beach to claim for our own and spread blankets to sit on.
The fireworks would be shot off from the beach, so it didn't much matter where you sat, the seats would be great. A local orchestra was playing classical music off to one side. I knew from experience that they would burst into Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture when the fireworks began.
“Killian,” a voice called from behind me. I turned and searched the sea of faces until I spotted a pair of arms waving above the crowd. It was Laura and Gabe. It didn't take long to realize that they were there with the entire Davis clan. They were all present and seated on blankets: Alex and Deb, Asher's parents, Bethany, Marcus, Jamie, Judy, Jake, even Will, and of course, Asher.
Laura was waving us over and it would have been awkward to say the least to refuse. So we picked up our blankets, trouped over, and spread them back out next to theirs. While introductions were being made for those who didn't know each other and old acquaintances caught up, I tried to unobtrusively situate myself as far away from Asher as I could. It wasn't so much that I was trying to avoid him-or maybe I was. Things had become so complicated between us that it seemed easier to just stay away from him, at least for tonight.
I was sitting lost in my thoughts when Will plopped down next to me in a shower of sand.
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