Revealing the Dead

by Sheila Connolly

  “I’ve come to take Ellie home, but you’ll see her on Monday at school. Is your mother or father coming to pick you up?”

  “My mother is. My father is dead.”

  Abby hoped that Leslie had picked up on the fact that Danny was autistic, rather than merely strange. This was not the time to explain.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Leslie said in a perfunctory way. “Come on, Ellie—I’ve got to get home and start dinner. Thanks for keeping an eye on her, Abby. I’ll see myself out.”

  “I enjoyed having her here, Leslie. Bye, Ellie,” Abby called out as Leslie hurried her daughter toward the front door. Then she turned back to Danny. “Your mom should be here soon.”

  “Yes, she will. May I have a glass of water?”

  “Of course.”

  Jack was still watching Danny. “When will you be painting, Abby?”

  “I guess it’s too dark already to start tonight. Maybe in the morning. How long will it take the paint to dry?”

  “A few hours. I’d like to finish up here, but it can wait until Monday.” He hesitated. “Who is that boy?”

  “He just moved to Littleton recently, with his mother. I don’t know either of them well. Jack, did something happen? I mean, with the putty knife?”

  Jack nodded. “This is crazy. Maybe it was nothing but static electricity, that shock I felt. But the thing of it is, the boy’s the spitting image of some of the children in my family, back a generation or two. Or even me when I was his age. Maybe I’ll bring along the family photos I have so you can look at them, next time we come.”

  “I’d like to see them, Jack.” For more reasons than you know.

  Jack went out the kitchen door, carrying his tools. A knocking at the front door signaled Samantha’s arrival, and Abby went to answer it. “Sorry I’m late,” she said breathlessly. “I hope Danny wasn’t any trouble.”

  Abby smiled. “The kids had a great time. You want coffee or something?”

  “No, but thanks. I have to get home and throw together something for dinner. Maybe some other time. Danny? Get your coat. We’ve got to go.”

  Danny located his coat tossed over the back of a chair in the hall and followed his mother out the door wordlessly.

  Chapter 28

  Friday/Saturday

  Abby had a couple of pots simmering on the stove, although she wasn’t sure what she’d put in them because she was still chewing over what had happened between Jack and Danny. She didn’t even notice Ned’s arrival until she looked up to see him watching her.

  “Earth to Abby,” he said. “You were certainly thinking hard.”

  “I was. The plumbers were here, and something happened.”

  His expression sobered. “Something bad?”

  “No, nothing like that. Look, you remember when I told you that Jack felt something when he picked up his grandfather’s wrench that had been left behind years ago?”

  “Yes, of course I do. Jack had a physical reaction when he touched something that had belonged to an ancestor. And he told you why he thought it had been left here.”

  “Right. Good. Well, today Jack and Bill were spackling the walls, and Jack dropped a putty knife, which slid across the floor. Jack asked if Danny could pick it up and hand it to him, which he did—he’s a polite kid. But when Danny handed it over to Jack, they both kind of froze. I don’t think Danny knew what was going on, although he clearly reacted to something, but Jack said it was like when he’d touched the wrench. Kind of an electric shock. When Danny let go of the putty knife, it stopped, but Jack seemed kind of upset.”

  “So you’re saying that Danny and Jack made some sort of connection. And it was between them, not because of a putty knife?”

  “Yes, I think so, although the putty knife seemed to be some sort of conduit. But remember that the putty knife had a wooden handle, which might have acted as an insulator if it was a physical shock. So it probably wasn’t.”

  “And you believe it was a psychic shock?” Ned said.

  “Yes, I do. But why? As far as I know, there’s no link between them. Jack and Bill have never even met Samantha, and they only met Danny today. Although Jack did say that Danny looked a lot like some of his family members in old photos.”

  “Interesting. I think we need to talk to Samantha and her son and Jack. Together if they’re willing, or separately. I know we don’t have a solid theory about why these connections happen, but most often there has been a familial link. It’s a long shot, trying to figure out how these people’s ancestors crossed paths, if that’s what happened, but it’s the only lead we’ve got.”

  Abby opened the lids on the pots on the stove and stirred, although she wasn’t sure she saw anything. “What do we know?”

  “Not much, right now, so there are questions we need to ask. How about we have dinner and think about it?”

  “Fine. It’s almost ready. And I vote for coffee, because if we have wine I’ll get too sleepy or muddle-headed to be much use.”

  “What do you plan to do after dinner?”

  “See if I can trace any genealogy for either side. Right now all we know is that Jack’s aunt Mary Maguire worked in this house, with unhappy results, and her father beat up the son of the household, which is why the wrench was left behind. So that’s our starting point.”

  “Eat first, then research,” Ned said firmly.

  • • •

  After they’d eaten, while Ned was doing the dishes, Abby went into the dining room, turned on all the lights, and sat down in front of her laptop and booted it up. While she waited, she found a pad and began a list of things to look for. She started with a list of things she did know.

  Jack’s grandfather had emigrated from Ireland sometime around 1900. His name was James, and he began the plumbing business—in Boston? Had Jack said?

  James’s daughter, Mary Maguire, had worked in the house that Ned now owned, which the 1930 census showed. She had left under a cloud, and her father had gone after the son of the house, possibly with the wrench that had been found in the former powder room. Jack had told her that no charges were ever filed. Abby knew nothing more about Mary at the moment, and Jack had said no one in the family had heard from her again.

  Danny had been born around 2010. He said his father had died when Danny was three. She knew Samantha’s last name, Allen, but she wasn’t sure whether that was her maiden name or her married name. Danny had the same last name, so most likely that was his father’s surname. His father died in 2012.

  And that was the sum and total of the facts she had, but she knew where to hunt for more information, starting with looking for Mary in later censuses. Most likely she was dead by now, but Abby could probably deduce when she’d died, or even find a death record, unless she’d moved across the country or even back to Ireland, where her father was born. But only a couple of Irish censuses were available, or so she’d heard. And John Maguire was probably a pretty common name, and there could be dozens of Maguires. Probably she should start with the Boston area.

  Abby knew she could probably find marriage and death records for Danny’s father—luckily his mother’s distinctive name, Samantha, would help. What Abby did need to know was the parents’ names for both Samantha and her husband—if she wanted to find a connection to the Maguire family. Which she felt strongly must exist.

  Or she could skim the surface of the available records, without wasting too much time, and just ask Samantha and Jack to tell her whatever they know about their respective families. Personal stories weren’t always accurate, but they usually included some nuggets of truth. They also might include snippets of information that would never appear in official documents, whether or not those were published or available online. So she needed to talk to the people involved—the living ones. Which meant getting them together, face-to-face.

  She’d call them in the morning and ask both sides over for dinner on Sunday. She could work on her explanation while she painted tomorrow.

  She shut
off her computer and joined Ned upstairs, throwing herself on top of the bed. He put down the book he had been reading and rolled over on his side to face her. “What have you found?”

  “Not enough,” she grumbled. “Mostly I made a list of details I need to look for. Most of them are probably available online, but you know how long it takes to track down the little facts. And then you find that the library burned down in 1943, or that some churchgoer absconded with the only copy of the record book that you’re looking for from 1893.”

  “Yes, I know. But you’ve done this before.”

  “For my own family. I’m happy to help other people if I can, but wandering through the personal records of their family seems like an invasion of privacy.”

  “But these are all public records, available to millions. Aren’t they?”

  “Yes, but it still seems like prying. Which is why I’ll never succeed as a genealogist for hire. You think the police would like my services? At least working for them would make it less personal.”

  “Abby, are you thinking of changing horses again?” Ned asked.

  “You mean, shifting to yet another job hunt in a different profession? No. Or at least I don’t think so. I like working with kids, and I think they need me.” Even Danny. Abby reared up and propped herself on her elbow so she could look at Ned. “Tell me this: do you think the fact that I run into these psychic links all over the place is purely coincidental? Or do I have some sort of magnetic field or aura that leads me to them, or that draws them to me? Is there a reason behind this? Some Uber-Spirit watching to see what I’ll do next? Or am I just plain crazy?”

  “You’re not crazy, Abby. You and I, we both feel it. I’ve seen you with other people when they find that bond—it’s not all in your head. We’re on a path of some sort, but we don’t know how long it is or where it goes, and we don’t know how far along the path we are.”

  Abby flopped down against her pillow. “Wow, we don’t know a lot!” She stared at the shadowed ceiling for a while. “By the way, I want to invite Jack and Samantha over for dinner on Sunday. I’m sure you can guess why.”

  “You want to bring the interested parties together and see what happens?”

  “In part. But I want them to spend enough time together to relax, to let down their guard. That’s when the family stories, the old secrets come out. And in Jack’s case, much of what he might remember he saw or overheard when he was a kid. It may be that he hasn’t looked at his memories from an adult perspective, and if he does he’ll interpret them differently.”

  “And if one or both sides feel offended and walk out in a huff?”

  “Well, I’ve planted the seed, and I can say that at least I tried.”

  “True.” Another long pause. “What is it you’re doing tomorrow?”

  “Painting the walls in the bathroom and laundry. How do you feel about stenciled borders?”

  “I can honestly say I’ve never given them a thought.”

  Abby couldn’t remember what she wanted to say, so she fell asleep.

  • • •

  Morning dawned a dismal gray, not that it mattered much if all she was planning to do was sand and smooth, vacuum up plaster dust, and slap on a coat or two of white paint. She didn’t even need to go out and buy paint, since she’d found she still had plenty of white paint that she’d used in other parts of the house. The biggest decision she’d have to make was matte versus glossy.

  She needed to call Jack and Samantha to invite them to dinner the next evening. It might be hard to explain to Jack why she’d rather he left his wife at home, although Bill would be welcome. Samantha could bring Danny along, but Abby hoped he could find something to occupy himself, because the conversation she hoped to have was most likely beyond his years. On the other hand, if he was psychic to some degree, his presence might be useful.

  Abby pulled on some sweats that already had paint splotches on them and ambled downstairs, where she found Ned reading the Globe. “Has the world blown up yet?”

  “If it did, it didn’t make the first page. But the M.B.T.A. is running late again.”

  “Well, we must have priorities.” Abby poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down. “I am painting today.”

  “I know, you told me.”

  “Yes, but now I’m trying to convince myself. At least it’s a small area, so I should be able to finish it quickly. And Ellie gave me permission to go ahead without her.”

  “There you go—your day is all laid out. Are you having second thoughts about dinner tomorrow?”

  “No, not really. I want to get this out in the open. I accept that I might lose either Samantha or Jack as a friend, or maybe even both, but it’s better than ignoring the whole thing. What do you think we should eat?”

  “Something quick and easy to fix, that isn’t turkey, but does involve some good protein. You don’t know where she works?”

  “No, I don’t. We’ve barely had a conversation longer than three sentences, so I haven’t gotten her story.”

  “Oh, and dessert,” Ned added. “Especially if Danny is coming.”

  “Check. You can go buy the ingredients while I paint, and I’ll put them all together.”

  “Deal.”

  After Ned had drained his coffee and headed out for the market, Abby decided to get the phone calls out of the way. She hated cold-calling people, and that was compounded by the truly odd request she wanted to make. If she received a call like that, she’d think it was a joke, and at the very least she’d be suspicious. But the worst that could happen would be that one or both people would say no, and her search would end here, at least for now.

  She decided to try Samantha first. Abby punched in her number, and Samantha answered quickly. “Abby, is this you?”

  “Yes. I was wondering if the two of you would like to come over for dinner tomorrow—nothing fancy. But Danny and Ellie seem to get along so well, and I’d like to get to know the both of you better. Unless you have to work or something?”

  “No, I do get a day off now and then, unless someone else calls in sick. I’d be happy to come. Will Ellie be there too?”

  “No, I don’t think so. It’s kind of a complicated situation—I might have mentioned that I used to work with her mother, and my time is more flexible than hers, so she asks me to pick up or look after Ellie now and then. Which I’m happy to do.”

  “Ellie seems like a great kid, and I’m glad Danny has someone in his corner. Being the new kid, much less one with problems, is hard. So, yes, I’d like to come. What time?”

  “Say, six? You already know where I live.”

  “That I do. See you then.”

  After Samantha hung up, Abby smiled. One down, one to go.

  Jack seemed a bit puzzled by the invitation when Abby called him, but he agreed to come. Again, she didn’t mention there would be two other guests, and she asked him to come at six thirty, which would give her time to talk to Samantha first and maybe explain what was going on. If that was even possible. But it would be unfair to dump the whole psychic thing in her lap all at once. Maybe they’d both walk out before she could have a chance to explain, but she would have tried.

  She tied a bandanna over her hair, to keep the paint out, and settled herself on the powder room floor with sandpaper, paint and paintbrushes. As she had anticipated, painting the whole area didn’t take more than a couple of hours, and she was finished in time for a late lunch. Ned had delivered the groceries, peeked in at her efforts, then disappeared into his office upstairs, doing who knew what—and leaving Abby with an empty afternoon stretching ahead of her. What should she do with it?

  The answer was clear in her own mind: Jack’s and Samantha’s genealogies, separately or linked. She knew she was missing a lot of the pieces of the puzzle, but she had enough to get started. And she wanted to be prepared when they were both here the following evening. So she washed all her brushes, cleaned up the spots on the floor in the laundry room, then marched to her computer in the di
ning room and dug into research.

  Chapter 29

  Sunday

  “You still aren’t going to tell me what you found yesterday?” Ned asked over breakfast the next morning.

  “No. I think I have some of the answers, but I don’t want to tell the story, certainly not before Samantha and Jack have heard it. It’s their families, their history. If they don’t want to know all the details, they can tell me to stop at any time. But I wanted to tell it to the two of them together, because I think they each have pieces that fit together, and the whole story will be clear when they fill in the blanks. Or that’s what I hope. Am I making any sense?”

  “I think so. But tell me, how does this all fit with your interest in autism? I mean, apart from the fact that Danny is autistic.”

  “That’s not really relevant at the moment, although I’ve read a couple of articles that suggest that autistic people are more sensitive to psychic phenomena. But I want to know why Jack reacted to his grandfather’s wrench, and then to his accidental contact with Danny, and I think I’ve got a theory. I don’t have all the proof that I’d like, but I’ve only been working on it for a day.”

  “Then I suppose I’ll have to wait,” Ned said, with good humor. “So, housecleaning today?”

  “I guess.” Abby sighed. “Even though they’ve all already seen the place in its usual messy state. But it’s a polite gesture to guests.”

  “If you say so. But my mother might disagree. She always thought the guests were more important than the state of the furniture.”

  “So would mine,” Abby muttered to herself. Then she said in a louder tone, “Okay, I’m looking for a way to distract myself. I’ll clean and then I’ll bake and cook, and then the guests will arrive, and I’ll tell them how they’re related, which I inferred because I witnessed various psychic connections that they know nothing about. A normal Sunday.”