by Deb Baker
“We can’t go back to the car,” Gretchen said. “He might be waiting.”
“Even if he’s not, Nacho and his tribal drumbeaters know what we’re driving.” Caroline gave her a weak smile. “I never thought I’d have to hide from Daisy and Nacho’s street family.”
“Or from Matt,” Gretchen added. “I’d like to get my cell phone out of the car, though.”
“Really, Gretchen, you’re too attached to that thing. We have mine.”
They called a cab and gave the driver the address of the banquet hall. On the way, they contacted Nina and April and asked them to meet them there. “Leave your cars someplace else,” Gretchen advised them. “As many blocks away as you can comfortably walk. We wouldn’t want anyone to pass the building and see familiar cars parked right in front of it.”
Within an hour, the four women were sitting with an oversized Barbie doll on the edge of the stage, eating burgers picked up by the ever-ravenous April.
Tutu, Nimrod, and Enrico whizzed around the room, playing chase games and looking for mischief while Caroline and Gretchen brought Nina and April up-to-date.
“You need to get into witness protection,” April said when they were finished.
“I don’t think they have those kinds of programs anymore,” Nina replied.
Gretchen addressed her aunt. “Why don’t you use your psychic powers to help us out? It’s worked in the past. Can’t you put out a distress call?”
“Mayday, Mayday.” April giggled.
“I can’t perform on demand. Messages come in randomly, and they aren’t one hundred percent reliable.”
“Walk backwards,” April suggested. “I heard it helps stimulate psychics.”
“The exercise isn’t about walking backwards. I’m supposed to think backwards,” Nina said. “And it isn’t appropriate for this case.”
“What if you held an object and concentrated,” Caroline said. “Would that work?”
“Like what?” Nina asked, looking doubtful.
“I know,” April said around a cheek filled with burger. “A piece of the skeleton would be good. Except I’m sure the police removed it from the house.”
“Yuck. I’m not touching any dead person’s bones.”
“It should be something connected to the victims,” Caroline said.
“What about the photograph?” Gretchen said, remembering that she had a copy of it in her purse.
“I held it before and didn’t feel a thing.” Nina drained her soda and set it down on the stage floor. “But I’m pretty sure the killer is male.”
“We already suspect a man,” April said. “That isn’t useful information.”
“What’s your reason for believing it’s a man, Nina?” Gretchen wanted to hear everyone’s conclusions. Maybe something would jump out at them. Other than ghosts.
“I think a man killed Allison and the same man is after you, because I have trouble ‘reading’ men.” Nina held her fingers up in quotation marks. “When we went near that neighbor’s house, I got a powerful incoming message. And there was a reason for it. They knew something important, yet disturbing. Women are easy. Men, I can’t do.”
“In other words,” Gretchen said for clarification, which tended to be a difficult task when dealing with Nina. “When we found the bones in the wardrobe, if the corpse’s killer had been a woman, you would have known that through a feeling or a message.”
“Right. But I didn’t, so it’s a man.” She glanced around the group. “I think.”
Gretchen heard footsteps overhead.
“Mr. B.,” April said, shifting her eyes to the ceiling.
Heavy shoes banged down the stairs from the apartment above. A moment later, Mr. B. entered the room. “Thought I heard something,” he said. “What are you doing rehearsing on a Saturday night?”
“We’re not,” Caroline said. “We’re just going over some of the finer points.”
“Four good-looking women like you should have dates.”
After a couple minutes of polite conversation he left, banging back up the steps, leaving behind the scent of cherry pipe tobacco. Gretchen sighed. Mr. B. was right. She should be out with Matt.
What was all this drama doing to their relationship?
Did they still have one?
Chapter 37
The four women reflected on the stories about Flora’s son Richard related to them by Nora and Bea Wade.
“Does mental disease run in families?” April asked when the story was over.
“Genes account for so much,” Caroline said.
“That’s right.” Nina stroked Tutu from the canine’s seat of power on her lap. “Look at our family. We’re spiritual and we have special abilities.” She glanced sharply at Gretchen. “If only we’d accept them.”
Caroline, the oldest, was the most knowledgeable about psychiatric procedures practiced in the seventies and eighties.
“Shock therapy was big,” she said. “And could be given against a patient’s will.”
“I’ve seen it in movies,” April added. “Patients were strapped down to tables with no anesthesia and all those wires attached to their bodies. Then the seizures. I can’t even think about it without feeling faint.”
Caroline nodded. “Electroshock was used to treat depression.”
Gretchen had done her internet homework. “And schizophrenia.”
Nina chimed in. “Anybody with emotional problems in those days was labeled schizophrenic.”
“That’s correct,” Caroline said. “The label was overused. But as far as electroshock goes, we learned at the library that over a million people each year still receive it. Of course, now the procedure is voluntary.”
“Who would do that?” April said. “How creepy.”
Gretchen was overwhelmed by the amount of information they’d discovered. “I think everything we’ve discussed tonight should remain between us.”
“What happens in the banquet hall,” April said with grin, “stays in the banquet hall.”
“Seriously,” Caroline said. “Very soon, we’ll go to the police.”
“Where do we go from here?” Nina said.
Gretchen looked over at her mother. She didn’t like the plan they had concocted on the way over in the cab. It had been her mother’s idea, and Gretchen couldn’t really see the point, but she didn’t have a better idea.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” she said, jumping into what she was sure would be extremely hot water.
Chapter 38
When the women leave the banquet hall, Jerome rises up from behind the stage curtain and stretches out his cramped muscles. Lucky for him, he heard them fumbling around with the lock and whispering. If they’d found him asleep in a stage chair, he’d have been screwed. In the nick of time, he took a dive behind the stage and didn’t move a single muscle.
They stayed long enough to worry him, his body complaining like all get-out, but he remained in a frozen position. How much longer could he do it?
As long as it takes, he said in his head more than once.
He sure heard an earful, though. Man! Craziness, he thinks, is in the eye of the beholder. It’s shifty. Who gets to decide? Other crazies?
He heard the whole thing from beginning to end, and now he’s in the driver’s seat again. He is back on track, just like the strip of lighting he installed over the stage.
For a time there, he’d lost their trail. But Jerome’s a smart guy. He knew they’d show up at the building eventually. He’s good at waiting, like when he’s after a bird. Cats are the same way, although he hates cats, for what they do to birds. But he’s an observer of behavior, and cats know how to get what they want.
It’s only a matter of who has the most patience.
He rummages through the garbage in the break room, pulling out the burger bags and eating what he can find, pieces of bun, a little hamburger meat, bits of lettuce. Finished with the scraps, he wipes his hands on the gray overalls. He decides right on the s
pot that he likes to wear this one-piece outfit. The pockets are wide and deep, perfect to fit a bird inside.
Weapons and birds are his fields of expertise.
Everybody’s special in some way, if you just take time to find it and accept it. You don’t have any control over some things, so go with the flow, he always says, and make use of your skills.
The women left some coffee in the pot, lukewarm, but hey, beggars can’t be choosers.
He pours a little for himself, using the same cup Gretchen Birch drank from, the one with her name on it and little dolls dancing around the rim. He can smell her scent right along with the coffee smell, and it is as rich as cream.
Jerome inhales, enjoying himself immensely, satisfied with life.
He isn’t in any kind of hurry.
Because he knows exactly where they are going.
Chapter 39
April and Nina, along with their canine entourage that included Nimrod, would spend the night at Brandon’s house. Under different circumstances, Gretchen would have found humor in the situation. Brandon Kline hadn’t known what he was getting into when he began dating Nina. This family came with a lot of baggage, most of it living and breathing, and Nina was throwing all her curve balls at him at once.
Her aunt drove the few blocks to World of Dolls in silence. Mentally exhausted like the rest of us, Gretchen thought. And angry. They’d had a heated debate over the wisdom of Gretchen and Caroline’s choice of accommodations and were barely speaking to each other.
Nina had continued to disagree with them even as they were leaving the banquet hall. “You’re fulfilling your destiny. You can’t seem to wait for your share of misery and disaster. Check into a hotel. I’ll pay.”
“Nina,” Gretchen said. “We want to stay there, so leave it alone. Join us if you’d like.”
“I’m giving up. This is so foolish,” Nina shot back. “Like one of those old slasher movies where the woman just has to go down into the basement, knowing that the killer is in the house. How stupid is that?”
“I love scary movies,” April had said as Gretchen inserted her key into the keyhole and opened the door leading into the World of Dolls Museum.
Now, as Gretchen made her way up the spiral staircase, she wondered again what they hoped to learn from the house and its ghostly occupant. A hotel would have been simpler, safer, and less nerve-wracking. Every creak in the floorboards frightened her. The small protection she carried in the form of a lipstick-shaped cylinder of pepper spray didn’t reassure her much. She wished it were a semiautomatic weapon.
Aunt Gertie, where are you when I need you?
And where was her other aunt when she needed her? It was uncharacteristic of Nina to turn down an opportunity for adventure. Nina had claimed that she refused to accompany them because of the danger of inciting wrath in a ghost whose remains had been improperly removed from its domain. “The bones might be gone from the house,” she said. “But the ghost has been left behind, and it will be angry.”
“Ghosts must have their own personalities,” April had said. “Like people. You can’t predict their moods. You’re thinking up excuses.”
Gretchen silently agreed.
What Nina really wanted was to be with her man. Who could blame her?
Soon, if all went well, Gretchen would be wrapped in strong, manly arms of her own. Matt Albright would be all hers.
With her mother beside her, she paused to listen at the upstairs landing.
Not a sound.
The light of the moon had guided them through the lower level of the house, past the doll displays arranged in more easygoing days. It seemed so long ago. One of the dolls appeared to move, causing Gretchen’s throat to constrict and her heart to beat wildly. Then she realized it was only a cloud passing across the moon, creating patterns of dark and light inside the old house, giving inanimate objects a sense of motion.
To make matters even more difficult, they couldn’t risk any artificial lighting, not so much as the smallest flashlight beam as they found their way along the upstairs hall and into the master bedroom where the armoire had revealed its long-kept secret.
“This is it then,” Gretchen whispered. “We might as well get settled.”
“Why are we tiptoeing and whispering?” Caroline said, whispering back.
“I don’t know,” Gretchen said, speaking at her normal volume, but finding it shockingly loud. “If a ghost is around, it knows it has company. No amount of sneaking is going to help us hide from it. I’ll be right back.”
“No, we have to stay together.”
“I’m only going to the next room. Relax.”
Using the wall for support and guidance, Gretchen moved through the rooms and returned moments later, carrying the doll trunk.
She sat down on the bed next to her mother. “Nina’s right,” she said. “What do we hope to accomplish by spending the might in this creepy place?”
“We have the same stubborn streak,” her mother said. “We’re doing it because no one else wants us to.”
Gretchen laughed. That was part of it. “We might get lucky and find another clue. Do you really think Nina saw a ghost come from this trunk?” she asked, feeling the travel stickers beneath her fingers.
“Nina’s paranormal experiences began when she was a child. At first they scared her. She told us about them, but no one in the family believed her. Most of the time, I pretended to. Sometimes, I really did believe her. She’s been on target with her predictions enough times that I have to wonder if she has some special talent to see the future.”
Gretchen smiled to herself. “Maybe our ghost was trapped inside the trunk for years and Nina released her.”
Caroline laughed lightly.
They lay quietly for a time. Then Caroline said, “Isn’t it special that we still spend quality time together at our ages?” She gave a tiny chuckle. “Mother and daughter on a sleepover.”
Gretchen laughed along. “It’s funny when you put it like that. A sleepover in a haunted museum. You rock as a mom, just so you know.”
“Thanks. I try to keep it interesting. And speaking of interesting, you seem to be fascinated by that trunk.”
“I am, but I’m not sure why.”
“Go ahead and sleep. I’ll take the first shift. In the morning, if our ghost hasn’t given us answers to help solve Flora’s or Allison’s murder, we’ll plan our next move. I can’t believe I’m doing this. We must be awfully desperate.”
Gretchen was tired. Her head throbbed, but lying down helped.
Caroline reached over and massaged Gretchen’s shoulder. “You know,” she said, “your father was an amateur geologist. He had an identification book and a few tools to crack rocks. Do you remember when the two of you would go out in search of fossilized stones and pour over that book?”
Gretchen stretched out. “I forgot all about that!”
She yawned, closed her eyes. A soft sound of a light breeze playing against wind chimes rode on the air. She drifted along with the melody.
The night hours passed slowly. Gretchen was restless. The house sounds were unfamiliar to her, and she had one ear tuned to every little noise.
She had finally drifted off when Caroline clutched her arm.
Gretchen’s eyes flew open.
“I heard something coming from the other side of the door,” her mother said, staring at the closed door. “It woke me.”
“Is it Flora?” Gretchen whispered. “Or someone else?”
“Let’s find out.”
They leapt to their feet, palming the only protection they had: pepper spray. Gretchen tiptoed over, opened the door without making a sound, peeked out of the bedroom, and heard the tinkling of chimes again, the same sound that had calmed her earlier.
Her mother stayed beside her. They approached the staircase, moving silently on bare feet. The sound had started inside the room then moved into the hall. What was it?
Gretchen heard a creak below. In the dim light from
the moon, she could make out the shape of someone climbing the stairs. The chimes had stopped. No one else was in the hallway with them. They waited for the person coming up the steps.
Whoever was on the stairs paused as though listening. Gretchen held her breath, taking a second to glance behind her at Caroline. The quiet, stealthy sound coming from the steps was different than the one that had alerted them.
Below, the person continued up.
Gretchen had more immediate concerns than tinkling bells. Clouds passed in the sky, obscuring the moonlight and making the intruder on the steps invisible. She got ready to strike, torn with indecision.
What if the person was a friend?
But why would a friend sneak up on them?
You snuck up, she thought to herself.
Her mother touched her with a light hand. They stared at each other. Gretchen was sure they were having the same thoughts, both hesitating to harm the wrong person.
“Who’s there?” Caroline said softly. “Identify yourself.”
Nothing. The clouds shifted and Gretchen could see movement, still coming up at them, faster now that they’d announced their presence. A friend would have spoken up, reassured them.
They were facing an enemy.
The women nodded at each other. They released their sprays at the same time, blasting two thin directional streams. Gretchen heard a male voice, a groan. He fell to his knees three steps from the top of the landing.
Gretchen took two steps down and crouched briefly by the man, spray at the ready.
“It’s Jerome,” she yelled, sliding past him, almost losing her footing in her haste to get away.
“Who’s Jerome?” Caroline said, while they banged down the steps and ran out the door.
“The play’s new light technician. He’s been working with us.” They stopped outside, breathing heavily. “We have to go back in.”
“You’re crazy,” Caroline said.
“Otherwise he’ll get away. We don’t want that.”
Caroline didn’t look so sure.