“Yes,” said Dormand, examining Ann.
“So,” said Mike, “have you had the place long?”
“My parents bought it when I was little.”
Ah, thought Mike, that explained the age discrepancy.
“Do you spend much time here?”
“Mainly in the summer.”
“Is it all right if Ms. Kinnear starts by looking around?”
“Yes. I’d like to watch,” said Dormand.
“Of course. We’ll stay in the same room with her, we just don’t want to crowd her.”
“Does that make it harder to ... sense things?” asked Dormand.
“No, I just generally don’t like being crowded,” answered Ann. She gestured toward the living room. “May I?”
Dormand nodded.
As Ann wandered around the large room, sitting in chairs and running her hand along the mantel above the fireplace, Mike leaned toward Dormand. “I didn’t tell Ms. Kinnear any of the details you gave me about why you wanted us to look at the house. We find it’s often better to let her experience the location without any preconceived ideas.”
Dormand nodded, his eyes following Ann.
“Have you ever encountered the situation you described to me when you’re outside?” asked Mike.
“No, only inside.”
“Recently?”
“Fairly recently.”
“In the last few days?”
“No, not that recently.”
Mike gave up. Getting information from clients about what they were experiencing that led them to call on Ann sometimes helped provide direction for their investigation and allowed Ann to get a sense sooner, if there was a sense to be gotten. But just as often a client didn’t want to share any information, wanting to test Ann, to see her demonstrate her skill without assistance. Mike was often both appreciative of and perplexed by the people who hired Ann—they paid considerable money to have her bring her skills to bear on an issue that troubled or intrigued them but at the same time were suspicious of the results. They wanted to believe and yet were unwilling to believe fully.
While they watched from the entrance area, Ann walked through the dining area and the adjoining kitchen, and popped her head into a mud room, a half bath, and a utility closet. Then she wandered back to where Mike and Dormand stood and shrugged. “It seems clean,” she said.
“‘Clean’ meaning free of spirits,” said Mike to Dormand. “Let’s go upstairs just to get the lay of the land and then we can decide on our plan of attack.”
There were four large bedrooms upstairs, darkened like the rest of the house by storm shutters. The master suite, complete with its own sitting area and gas burning fireplace, was decorated in light blues and greens, set off by white trim and accessories. The second and third bedrooms carried forward some of the tropical colors of the living and dining room accessories. The fourth bedroom was outfitted with a crib and a small bed. Mike turned on an overhead light and a ceiling fan began a slow rotation. The walls were decorated with a hand-painted underwater scene complete with sea horses, mermaids with billowing hair, cheerful looking dolphins, and fantastical fish. Ann glanced around and then wandered down the hall.
“This is charming!” said Mike, examining the painting with obvious enjoyment.
“My mother-in-law,” said Dormand.
“She commissioned this?” asked Mike.
“She painted it.” said Dormand.
Mike shook his head. “Quite a talent. For her grandchildren?”
“Listen,” said Dormand, “I don’t usually hear the voices up here. Maybe we should go back downstairs.”
“Certainly,” said Mike. “Let’s find Ann.”
Ann was in the master bedroom, sitting on the bed.
“Anything?” asked Mike.
She shook her head. “I’m not getting anything. Have we seen all the rooms?”
“Yes, this is it,” said Dormand.
“I saw a garage when we came in,” she said.
“I never hear the voices in the garage,” said Dormand.
“You hear voices?” said Ann, with raised eyebrows.
“I can hear someone talking,” said Dormand.
Ann shot Mike a look then turned back to Dormand. “Can you hear what they’re saying?”
“Almost, but not quite.”
“Well, we might as well check out the garage just to be thorough,” said Mike, “then we can decide how we want to proceed.”
They descended to the first floor and Dormand opened a door off the kitchen that revealed a flight of steps leading to the garage. He flipped the light switch and stood aside to let Ann and Mike descend.
The garage was empty of cars. Ann wandered around the perimeter, absently touching a few gardening implements hanging on the wall, the empty trash and recycling cans under the stairs, and some swimming pool paraphernalia stacked in a corner. She began crossing back to where Mike and Dormand stood, then stopped in the middle of the garage, cocking her head. She bent down, still turning her head, then sat down on the concrete floor.
“Ann?” said Mike, surprised.
Ann made a shushing motion.
“What’s she doing?” said Dormand, and Mike shook his head.
There was something near the floor—a sound so faint she could barely hear it. At first she had thought it was the creak and whisper that even modern houses make, but it was coming from the concrete floor—no, not from the floor itself but from just above it. When she sat the sound was microscopically louder but no more distinct. She turned her head, trying to locate the source of the sound, and when she scooted toward it she encountered a pocket of barely cooler air. Then the cooler air dissipated and the faint sound faded to silence. Ann stretched out her arms and strained her ears, searching, but they were gone. She climbed to her feet, stiffer than she would have expected to be.
“What was it?” asked Mike.
Ann shook her head. “I don’t know. I thought there was something but it’s gone. A sound—but not a voice as far as I could tell,” she said to Dormand. “Do you hear anything?”
Dormand’s already pale skin appeared to have paled further. He shook his head.
“Why did you sit on the floor?” asked Mike.
“I thought I’d be closer to it there.”
“Closer to what?” asked Mike.
“I. Don’t. Know,” said Ann. “Just a faint sound. And a coolness. It was probably nothing. Sorry for the false alarm.” Glancing around the garage one more time, she climbed the stairs back to the main floor, followed by Mike and Dormand.
They congregated in the living room. Ann turned to Dormand who seemed to have regained some color. “The voices, do you hear them during the day?”
“Yes, during the day, but always when I’m alone,” he said.
“Well, we haven’t been here that long,” said Mike, “these things sometimes take some time to manifest themselves.” He turned to Dormand. “Maybe if Ann sat in the house by herself for a bit …?”
“I’m very interested in the process,” said Dormand. “I’d like to stay, too. After all, they might be speaking directly to me.”
Mike looked at Ann who shrugged. “It’s all right with me.”
“OK,” said Mike, looking at his watch. “Why don’t I go wait in the car and I’ll come back in in, what do you think, one hour?”
“Maybe they’ll be scared away even if you’re in the driveway,” said Dormand.
“I’m sure it will be fine,” said Mike, scrutinizing Dormand. “Can you open these shutters?” Mike asked, gesturing to the window that would overlook the front yard.
“Why do you want me to open them?”
“So I can see in from the driveway. Is that a problem, Mr. Dormand?” said Mike, raising his eyebrows.
Dormand picked a glass paperweight off a table and tossed it from hand to hand as he looked at the shuttered window. After a few moments he said, “No, I suppose not. I just thought darker might be better.”
“You’d be surprised how few spirits have a preference for darkness over natural light,” said Mike, “based on what Ms. Kinnear has told me.”
Dormand looked at Ann who nodded. He sighed, put the paperweight back on the table, and, opening the windows, pushed back the storm shutters. He closed the window and turned back to Mike and Ann. “OK?”
Mike went to the window, looked out, and adjusted one of a pair of nearby chairs. “Ann, you sit here. I’ll plan to come in in an hour but if either of you want me to come in sooner just wave.” Ann nodded and sat down in the chair. Dormand sat down on a stool at the breakfast bar, turning it so he could see Ann. Mike left by the front door and Ann watched him walk down the driveway, look back at the window and give a wave, glance at his watch, and then lean against the car, his hands in his pockets.
Ann settled back in the chair, looked around the room, smiled politely at Dormand, then turned her gaze out the window again, not focused on anything in particular. They sat that way for some time before Dormand cleared his throat. “Still seems like it might be better if it were darker,” he said, gesturing toward the window blinds.
“I’m sure this is fine,” said Ann. They sat in silence again for some time.
“Maybe I’m the only one who can hear it,” said Dormand.
“Maybe,” said Ann. “Do you hear it now?”
“No.”
Again they sat in silence.
“Maybe it’s my late wife,” said Dormand eventually.
“I thought Mike said your wife wouldn’t approve of this,” said Ann sharply.
“My current wife,” replied Dormand. “My first wife died.”
“I’m sorry,” said Ann.
“It was a car crash.”
“How long ago was it?” said Ann.
Dormand hesitated. “Years ago.”
“And you never heard anything in the house until recently?”
“No.”
“Has anything happened in your life recently that your first wife would want to communicate with you about?”
Dormand shifted in his chair. “Not that I can think of.”
“From what I understand, it would be unusual for a spirit to wait this long to communicate with someone unless there was a precipitating event. Oftentimes in the case of a spouse it’s their spouse’s remarriage.”
“‘From what you understand’?” asked Dormand.
“I don’t speak with spirits,” said Ann. “I’m sure my brother explained that to you.”
“Yes.”
“I can only sense a spirit, and sometimes give an idea as to what kind of spirit it is—friendly or unfriendly, for example.”
Dormand nodded.
“But there are people who do claim to be able to converse with spirits, maybe you need someone like that,” she continued.
“Maybe,” said Dormand, then continued after a pause, “Actually I’m not sure I do want to ‘converse’ with her, I just want to know if she, or someone else, is here in the house.”
“Did she spend a lot of time here? Was it somewhere that was special to her?”
Dormand hesitated. “Yes.”
“Well, let’s give it some more time,” said Ann.
Dormand and Ann were silent for a while, then Dormand said, “Do you do this often?”
“It varies,” said Ann. “It’s been busy lately.”
“What’s the usual reason people call you?”
“Usually one of three reasons. They are experiencing unexplainable events in their homes and want to find out the cause. Or they are thinking of buying a new home—or establishing an office, whatever—and want to confirm if it’s inhabited by spirits.”
“Are they hoping you find spirits or don’t find spirits?” asked Dormand.
“It depends on the person,” said Ann.
“And the third reason?” Dormand asked.
“When people go missing and families want to find them.”
“Like Beth Barboza.”
“Yes,” said Ann, glancing sharply at Dormand. “Although in that case the request didn’t come from her family.” She paused then said, “How do you know about that?”
“When I decided I wanted to hire someone to check out the house I did some research,” said Dormand. “Do you ever find them alive?”
“No.”
Dormand waited for Ann to continue but she sat silent, her gaze turned out the window again.
The minutes stretched out. Dormand began jingling the keys in his pocket then stopped. He crossed his arms, trapping his hands under his biceps but after a moment released them to rest his hand on top of the breakfast bar. After a moment he began drumming his fingers on the countertop, then reached out to snatch up an object from the bar—a brass letter opener in the shape of an elongated mermaid with a sharp tail. He drew his finger along the edge, then pressed his finger onto the tip.
“How do you get business? Do you find clients by what’s going on in the news?”
Ann roused herself from her reverie and sighed. “No, we let the people who are interested come to us. In fact, the less we know about a client’s situation the better. Then there’s no question about where any information we can provide came from.” She paused. “No question for us, at least.”
Again they sat in silence. Then, mermaid in hand, Dormand stood, crossed the room, and sat in the chair next to Ann’s. He leaned forward in the chair. “Do you ever investigate crimes?”
A flicker off distaste crossed Ann’s face. “Not very often. Nothing I sensed would be admissible in court so there’s not much incentive for people to pay for my services.”
“Have you ever discovered a crime by accident? When someone asked you to investigate a house, for example? Or an office?”
Ann looked more closely at Dormand. The silence stretched out.
Finally Ann said, looking down at her hands, “One time a man in Wisconsin who had bought an old hunting camp asked us to check it out because he thought it was haunted. He was right. It was …” she cast about for the right word, “… soaked in this violent aura, it was almost physical, almost a vibration. It was clearly a murder. And I could tell where the murders had taken place—one in the kitchen and one in the bedroom. I hated being in that house.” Ann turned to look out the window again. “I couldn’t tell more than that but we did some research afterwards and it turns out that back in the 1800s a woman killed her child and husband with a meat cleaver one winter.”
“Were you sensing the ghosts of the child and the husband?”
“No, it was the ghost of the woman. She killed herself after she killed them.”
“How did she kill herself?”
“With the meat cleaver. She chopped her arm off.”
“Jesus,” said Dormand, sitting back.
“Anyhow, the guy tried to sell it but by then the story had gotten out and no one was interested in buying it. I think he ended up just boarding it up and abandoning it.” Ann turned back to Dormand. “I think our time is up.”
*****
Oftentimes such engagements were quickly completed. With the exception of those like the visit to the Maryland house with the Van Dykes, where the manifestation was reported to occur only at a particular time, the spirits Ann sensed were usually always present in their location, or the location was perceptibly free of spirits.
However, these things were unpredictable and Mike didn’t want to leave a client dissatisfied so, while Ann examined a quite fine shell collection on one of the living room bookcase shelves, he suggested some alternatives to Dormand—Ann coming back later that day or spending more time in the garage—but Dormand, fidgeting with his car keys, suddenly seemed anxious to end the meeting.
“We can always come back again tomorrow after our visit to the other house,” said Mike.
“Yes, that’s fine,” said Dormand.
“At that time we’ll need the second half of the payment.”
“Yes, I said I’d have that,” said Dormand irritabl
y.
After Dormand had closed the storm shutters they went out into the fading May afternoon, Dormand seeming not to notice Mike’s outstretched hand. As soon as Mike’s Audi was clear of the driveway, Dormand backed out and sped away, barely stopping at the corner before turning onto Long Beach Boulevard.
“Mr. Congeniality,” muttered Ann.
“Takes all kinds,” replied Mike cheerfully.
Chapter 28
That evening Ann and Mike sat in the restaurant of their hotel in Atlantic City at a table by the windows. Walt, unexpectedly fascinated with Atlantic City, had decided to walk the boardwalk to see the sights. Mike had ordered gin martinis, up and dirty, for himself and Ann.
“So, what did you think of Dormand?” asked Mike.
“I don’t think he was hearing voices. I think he was just one of those people who get interested in the idea of sensing spirits and want to see it for themselves.”
“It would be an expensive way to satisfy his curiosity if that’s all it was.”
Ann shrugged. “Bored son of parents with enough money to own a shore house.”
“What did he do while I was outside?”
“He told me he thought the voice might be his late wife. He’s remarried. Then he wanted to hear about crime scenes.”
“What did you tell him?”
“About the hunting cabin in Wisconsin.”
“Ugh,” said Mike. He had been pleased when he got the call about the Wisconsin job because it had represented an expansion from their usually East Coast-based business. But he had seen what that experience had done to Ann—both the sensing itself and the further shock of learning what event had precipitated it—and he was sorry he had taken it. He was also sorry this Dormand guy had stirred up those memories for Ann. He shouldn’t leave her alone with clients—if he had been there he could have fielded those questions himself. In this business it was never a good idea to let the client call the shots.
Mike shook himself. “Weird,” he said, taking another sip. “After the job is over, maybe I’ll do a little research on him and his late wife.” Mike also observed the boycott on internet research on clients and prospective clients beyond what was needed to screen out cranks—for example, checking to make sure the house they were visiting was in fact owned by someone named Robert Dormand.
The Sense of Death: An Ann Kinnear Suspense Novel (The Ann Kinnear Suspense Novels Book 1) Page 17