“Mike’s always worried about something. He exaggerates and panics and gets all freaked out at the slightest little thing!” Olive said.
“He told me you found your mother’s necklace in the bog over the summer.”
Shit! Shit, shit, shit. Should have known that chickenshit traitor would tell.
She hesitated, wondering what the chances were of Riley believing her if she lied.
“Is that true, Olive?”
“Yeah, I found it in the bog. That silver necklace she was wearing all the time before she left.”
Riley nodded. “I know the one you mean.”
“Mama called it her I see all necklace.”
Riley smiled, but it was a sad smile. “Yeah, she did. I remember.”
“The chain was broken,” Olive said.
They were both silent for a moment.
“Where’s the necklace now?” Riley asked.
Olive felt it there, resting against her chest, tucked safely underneath her T-shirt and hoodie. She thought of pulling it out and showing it to Riley, but she was embarrassed. She worried Riley would think it was silly, a little pathetic even, to be wearing her mother’s necklace.
“I hid it. Someplace safe.”
Riley looked at her and Olive had this idea then that her aunt had X-ray eyes, could see just where the necklace was. It seemed to give a warm pulse against her skin, a pulse that her aunt might be able to somehow detect. But that was impossible.
“Mike also says you went to see Dicky Barns because you heard your mom might have been going to his spirit circles?”
“Yeah, I went to the hotel and it was way creepy. I heard Mama might have gone there, but Dicky said she never came to any of his séances or whatever they are. That the only time he ever saw her was at the store when Mama was working.”
Riley looked at Olive across the table. “You believe him?”
Olive thought about what she’d heard Dicky say on the phone, her plans to go back there on Sunday. She couldn’t tell Riley. No way would Riley let her go.
“Yeah, I believe him,” Olive said, shrugging. “And being in there, talking to Dicky, I’ve gotta say I can’t imagine Mama ever being part of that place. She and Daddy always made fun of Dicky. I think she was looking for the treasure, and trying to find out about Hattie, but no way was she going to Dicky Barns and his ghost club for clues.”
Riley nodded. “Yeah, I agree. Your mom doesn’t think much of Dicky. I can’t really imagine her going there either.”
Olive picked up her fork and went back to her pancakes.
“Have you shown the necklace to anyone else?” Riley asked.
“No.”
“So your dad doesn’t know you found it?”
“Uh-uh,” Olive said around a mouthful of pancakes. She swallowed, had a glug of coffee. “Mike thought I should show him—Mike also thought maybe I should take it to the police. Like it might be a clue or something. But like I said, he tends to get all panicky and overexaggerate stuff.”
Riley was quiet a minute.
“Do you think I should bring it to the police?” Olive asked, setting her fork down again. “Just to see what they think? I mean, it’s not like my dad ever filed a missing person’s report or anything like that.”
“I think…” Riley paused a second. “I think that we should wait. See what we can figure out on our own first. Bringing the police in, having them asking questions, bringing up all the boyfriend stuff—think what that would do to your dad.”
“Riley, what if Mama didn’t run off with some guy? What if something else happened to her?”
“Sweetie,” Riley said, giving Olive that familiar look of pity she so hated. “I think there’s still a good chance that your mom really did run off with a boyfriend. Sometimes the simplest, most obvious explanation is the right one.”
Olive frowned. “I just have a bad feeling. And I keep having these stupid bad dreams.”
Riley nodded, reached across the table, and put her hand on top of Olive’s. “What are the dreams about, Ollie?”
“They’re about Hattie mostly. But sometimes they’re about Mama too. About something bad happening to her.”
“Tell me about them,” Riley said.
Olive got a chill, shook her head. “I don’t really remember,” she said. No way was she going to tell her the gory details. Riley would take Olive to the nearest shrink.
Riley was quiet again. She gave Olive’s hand a squeeze, then pulled her own hand away. “Do you remember the last time you saw your mom?” she said, her voice low.
“I’ve been driving myself nuts thinking about it, trying to remember every detail. I know she hadn’t been around a lot. She was working, or hanging out with friends or something. So I don’t remember exactly the last time I saw her. But I remember the last time I heard her.”
Riley looked at Olive, puzzled. “Heard her? Did she call you?”
“No. But I heard her and Daddy arguing. It was the middle of the night. Mama hadn’t been home when I’d gone to bed, so I think she was just coming in. I was up in bed, but I woke up because they were right here in the kitchen, right below my room. And they were yelling.”
“About what?”
“I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Daddy was really mad. I think he even threw something. There was a crash. Then the door banged open. Mama must have left. When I got up in the morning, Mama was gone. Daddy was sitting at the table drinking coffee like it was any other morning. Mama didn’t come home again after that.”
Olive looked right at Riley. And what she saw freaked her out completely.
Riley looked scared. But then she seemed to try to pull herself together, to look more normal. Olive could still see worry in her eyes.
“Ollie, how about you come back to my place after school today. Stay there with me a few days while we try to figure out what to do, okay?”
Olive thought about it. Thought about leaving her dad alone in the house.
“No,” she said. “Dad needs me.”
“But Ollie, if you—”
“No. Don’t you get it? Things are going good for us lately. Dad’s happy school’s starting out so well. And we’re nearly done with my room. If I leave and go stay with you, he’ll be all worried and weirded out. I’ve gotta stay.”
“Okay,” Riley said. “You stay. I’ll do a little poking around, see what I can turn up about what your mom might have been up to those last few days. See if I can find out anything about guys she was seeing.”
“So you think maybe she didn’t run off with some guy?”
“I don’t know what I think,” Riley admitted. “But I want you to promise me you’ll stop playing detective, okay? And don’t say anything to your dad. Leave it to me. If I can’t turn anything up in a couple of days, we’ll go talk to the police together, okay?”
“Deal,” Olive said.
Riley took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “Now run upstairs and get dressed. I don’t want you to be late for school.”
CHAPTER 33
Helen
SEPTEMBER 10, 2015
“What happened last night with the propane—that’s some serious shit,” Riley said, voice low so that none of the customers would hear. Helen had driven to the salvage yard after lunch to tell Riley the latest—that now she believed someone had tried to kill her and Nate.
“I know. That’s why I called the police.”
“You called the police?” This time Riley forgot to lower her voice, and a young couple looking at stained-glass windows turned their way.
“Yeah, but I see now that it was a mistake,” Helen whispered. “The cop thought I’d left the stove on, that I was too drunk or flaky or whatever to be remembering right. And I bet word’s getting around town that we called—the kid down at Ferguson’s probably heard it
on his scanner, and by now, I bet the whole town knows.”
“So what did the cop do?”
“He didn’t do shit, to be honest. Just wrote up a report. He said there was no evidence of a crime. It was just our word, my word really, and that doesn’t exactly carry a whole lot of weight around here. Shit, even Nate was looking at me like maybe I accidentally turned on the gas and closed all the windows and somehow forgot…”
Riley blew out an exasperated breath, pushed her blue bangs away from her eyes. “What if it was Hattie?”
“Hattie?”
“What if…what if it was her who turned that gas on last night?” Riley asked.
Helen shook her head. “No, I told you—she’s the one who woke me up, I’m sure of it. And I’ve been thinking. What if it’s not some asshole from town who wants me to go because I’m the new witch of the bog? What if it’s because of the research I’m doing? Maybe there’s something about Hattie’s family I’m not supposed to find out.”
“But what?” Riley said. “What would be worth killing you over?”
“I have no idea. But the one thing I know, the one thing I truly believe, is that I should listen to Hattie. I think she’s guiding me. She needs me to find someone. And I’ve got to hurry. The stunt last night with the gas really drove home that point.”
“I don’t know, Helen. I don’t like this. This is scary shit.”
“I have to keep looking. Try to find Ann’s children. I learned her daughter’s name: Gloria Gray. She was born in 1971, so she’d be forty-four now. I found her birth certificate but nothing else. She just kind of disappears. Fades into the thousands of possible Gloria Grays out there. The newspaper story covering the murder and the woman I met who runs the antique shop said that the children were sent to live with relatives. I need to figure out where they went, who took them in.”
Riley nodded, her face full of worry.
Helen looked at her watch. “I should get back to Nate. He doesn’t know I’m here. I was just supposed to make a quick run for finishing nails and more putty.”
“Just be careful,” Riley implored. “You and Nate both.”
* * *
. . .
Helen pulled into the driveway and saw a beat-up red pickup parked there. Then she spotted Nate sitting on the steps of the new house with Dicky Barns. They were each holding a can of beer.
“Oh shit,” Helen mumbled, hurrying out of the truck, carrying the bag from the building supply store.
What the hell was Dicky doing here?
Nate gave Helen a cold glance. “Helen,” he said. “Your friend Dicky brought back your phone.” Nate held it up to show her.
“My phone?”
Dicky nodded. “You must have dropped it last night.”
Helen held her breath.
“When you visited Dicky’s ghost-summoning circle,” Nate said, staring at her. His face was a blank slate.
She said nothing. Nate continued. “Dicky’s been telling me about his weekly gatherings. And about his father. About the white deer and Hattie.”
“I should go,” Dicky said, standing up, draining his beer, and carefully setting the empty on the step. “I just wanted to make sure you got your phone and that you were all right.”
“Thank you so much, Dicky. I’m fine. I’m…I’m sorry about last night.”
“No worries. Hope to see you again. We meet every Wednesday at eight,” he said.
“Thank you,” she said again.
“Thanks for the beer, Nate,” he called as he got into his pickup. They watched him drive off.
Nate reached for the six-pack, cracked open another beer. Pabst Blue Ribbon. It was what the new frugal Nate drank these days.
Helen braced herself for what might come next.
“I have never in my life felt like such a complete idiot,” he said finally, his voice low but furious, enunciating every word too clearly. “Holy fuck, Helen, how do you think it looked when this guy pulls up and introduces himself, tells me he met you at a fucking ghost-hunting circle?”
“I’m sorry. I—”
“You lied to me, told me you and Riley went out for dinner and drinks. Not to mention lying to the cop last night!”
“I didn’t lie. Not exactly,” Helen said, scrambling. “I just left some parts out because I thought you’d get mad.”
“I can’t imagine why,” he said, voice thick and harsh with sarcasm. “You said you were going for a girls’ night out on the town. I was imagining karaoke and cosmos, not summoning the dead. You went because of Hattie, right? You’re so obsessed with this woman, this woman you’ve never met, who died almost a hundred years ago, that you go and sit down with a bunch of nutjob strangers to try to conjure her up?”
“I thought they might—”
He held up his finger in a but wait, there’s more gesture.
“Tell me about the mantel, Helen,” he said.
“What?”
“I’ve been thinking. First the beam, then the bricks. I thought it was great at first, that you were incorporating pieces of history into our house, repurposing materials.”
Really? Then why’d you argue with me about it every step of the way? she thought, but stayed silent.
“But it’s weird, Helen. Your insistence on bringing home objects connected to these women who died in terrible ways. So, who did the mantel belong to, Helen? What’s the real story behind it? I wondered when you brought it home but didn’t ask. But now I’ve got to know.”
“I—”
“Tell me the truth, Helen. Please. Or are you just going to lie to me again? It must be getting pretty easy by now.” He looked so crushed.
She felt a horrible weight bearing down on her. Guilt. How had it come to this? How had she become a woman who could do something like this, sneak around and lie to her own husband, the man who was once the great love of her life, the man she once shared every secret thought with?
Because he doesn’t understand, a little voice whispered. He never has.
“Okay. The mantel belonged to a woman named Ann Gray. She was Jane’s daughter. Hattie’s granddaughter.”
Nate clenched his jaw. “Yeah, I figured. But let me guess. There’s more to it than that, right? She died in some really horrific way?”
Helen thought of lying. She did. But Nate would look online and learn the truth in a few quick keystrokes. She sighed and nodded.
“It was a murder-suicide. Her husband shot her, then himself.”
He laughed in a sickening I can’t believe this is happening kind of way. “So the mantel—this mantel that you just had to have, that we had to do a major redesign for—for our new home, our new life together that we left everything behind for, it came from the house where the guy shot his wife and then himself?”
“I—” she stammered. “I’m sorry,” she said, truly meaning it. Feeling it in her gut. “I know it sounds crazy and terrible, but it’s not. I didn’t mean to lie. I was just afraid. You get so annoyed, angry even, when I talk about Hattie and Jane.”
“Do you blame me, Helen? I mean, really? Think about it. How is it that they’ve become more important to you than I am?”
“They’re not more important, Nate. How can you think that?”
How could she explain it? This feeling she had, uncovering little pieces of truth about these women and the lives they led. It was like Hattie wanted her to find them. Hattie was guiding her, helping her to bring them all together like this, these generations of Breckenridge women. And now to save one of them.
“It’s just been this amazing experience,” she confessed. “To make these discoveries. To feel so connected to the past. To find these objects tied to these women, generations of Breckenridge women. It’s like…like I was meant to find each object, led to them somehow, and I—”
“Don’t
give me this New Agey destiny bullshit,” he interrupted. “You sound like that wacko Dicky talking about all that the spirits have to teach us.”
“I don’t think—”
“You’re turning our house into this fucked-up museum of Hattie’s fucked-up family, all of whom seemed to die in horrible ways! Some people move into a haunted house, but you, you want to build a haunted house, Helen. How fucked up is that?”
He took a few long swallows of beer, tilting the can way back. Then he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stared at her accusingly.
She’d never seen him this angry, this spiteful. His whole face seemed to change. The dark circles beneath his eyes made them look sunken deep in his skull, small and beady. His hand holding the beer can trembled slightly.
She thought, absurdly, of Ann’s husband. Of what it had taken to break him, to turn him to act in the violent way he had. He must have loved her once, back before something snapped inside him.
Was everyone capable of such evil? Of doing such a terrible thing?
A few months ago, Helen would never have believed herself capable of lying to Nate. And if anyone had told her Nate would talk to her in such an angry way, look at her with such loathing, she never would have believed it.
Other people’s lives were like that. Not theirs. They were different.
They loved each other. He’d written her a poem about the night they’d met, a beautiful poem that had won her over completely. They had their differences, sure, but she didn’t remember him ever even losing his temper before Vermont.
“Shit, Helen,” Nate continued. “Are you going to charge admission at Halloween? Welcome to Helen’s Haunted House: enter if you dare!”
She didn’t speak.
“Do you have any idea how totally fucked up this is? You’re obsessed. It’s a sick, unhealthy obsession. I think you need help. Seriously. And I don’t mean help from Dicky and his spiritualists. I think it might be time for therapy. For someone to help you figure out where this need you have for these things is coming from.”
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