If Mashed Potatoes Could Dance

by Paige Shelton

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” I said.

  “I think Bartholomew was my father’s son. I think it was him. Bart, I suddenly remember the name Bart.”

  “Hang on,” I replied and then told Jake what Sally had just said.

  “That’s huge!” Jake said. “And could mean either so many things or nothing, sadly similar to the Damon Rim appearance. Look, Betts, I’m going out to that house right now. Tell Sally she can come with me. It’s still dark but not for much longer. If there’s anyone watching it, then I’ll find a way to sneak in. You can join me or not. It’s up to you.”

  “Yay!” Sally clapped, but without the sound. “You have to come, Betts. He and I can’t communicate without you.”

  It took me another few seconds to gather my courage. A part of me knew I was being ridiculous, but another part of me remembered being a teenager and sensing that something was awful, that something was wrong inside that house.

  “Let’s go,” I finally said. “I’ll drive.”

  Sally clapped silently again. “I’ll ride with you.”

  Chapter 23

  As I steered the Nova around the small hill that led to the open valley where the Monroe House and the small subdivision were located, I realized how beautiful the valley must have been without the small clutch of modern houses. There was little unnatural light in the area, the only pocket of real civilization being the subdivision. The predawn night sky was clear, and the stars and low half-moon lit the valley like something from a friendly fairy tale. The house, however, sat in darkness that was exaggerated by the tall old trees around it.

  I parked across the street. Jake and I got out of the car, but Sally popped herself to the front door.

  “The door’s wide open,” Jake said as we walked toward Sally. “It still looks like it’s barely attached to the hinges. And there’s a lawn chair on the front porch.”

  “I saw two construction guys sitting out here before Sally and I found the fabric.”

  “Just sitting? As though they were guarding, not working?” Jake said. “None of this fits. They dress like construction workers, but they act like guards.”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s strange.”

  “I agree.”

  There wasn’t any sort of posted notice that the property had been condemned or was scheduled for destruction. It was disquieting, but much to my relief, I didn’t sense anything evil.

  “Look,” Sally said. She was in her more dimensional form, and I could see very clearly that she could step across the open door’s threshold. “Maybe it’s because you’re here, Betts, like the darkness thing. Maybe.”

  “Sally can get in,” I said. She was, in fact, in her dimensional state.

  “That’s good. Let’s follow her,” Jake said.

  “Fine. You follow me. I’ll stick with her, and we won’t get far from each other. Got it?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Jake moved behind me as I stood in the doorway.

  “I’m really in!” Sally said from the large and empty front room. “Why in the world couldn’t I get in before? Come on, let’s check the attic.” She put her hand on the banister at the bottom of the tall stairway.

  “I can’t see a thing,” Jake said.

  I could because of Sally’s glow.

  “Use your cell phone,” I said. “Hang on just a second, Sally.”

  The house was empty and in bad shape, but as Jake had mentioned, the woodwork of the intricate banister was beautiful, or clearly would have been if it had been taken care of. We were in the entryway, but the front room loomed large to our left. The walls were striped in old wallpaper, some of it hanging by a few threads on the walls, some of it long gone. The floors were dirty and dusty. I imagined the place was covered in rodent droppings, but I didn’t immediately notice any, and I wasn’t about to take the time to inspect corners. There was a closed door to our right. I didn’t care what was on the other side of it. The stairway started at the edge of the closed door; a dark hallway on the other side led somewhere else I didn’t care to explore.

  “Look,” Jake said as he aimed his cell phone light. “Footsteps.”

  The dust and grime over the stairs had been disturbed. Streaks and spots of cleaner wood showed through here and there, as well as some definite bootlike prints.

  “I’m sure lots of people have been walking around in here,” I said, “especially people with work boots.”

  Teddy wore work boots all the time, and I’d often noticed the waffled prints he left behind.

  “Yeah, probably,” he said as though he was deep in thought.

  I looked to see if he was trying to spook me, but he wasn’t. His focus was on the prints.

  “Just try to step around them, I think,” he continued.

  “Sure.”

  We climbed the staircase, and I still didn’t have a sense of anything extraordinarily spooky or off-kilter. In fact, the house was stuffy and smelled so warm, stale, and uninviting that it seemed like even evil wouldn’t want to hang out in it.

  “The attic is up there,” Sally said when we reached the second-floor landing. She pointed to another closed door. “Open it, Betts.”

  The landing was wide but not very deep. It was full of closed doors, five in fact. Again, I didn’t want to know what was behind any of them, but a determination to get this search over with made me reach for the attic doorknob.

  It turned easily. I pulled and the door opened with predictably squeaky hinges. We were greeted with another set of stairs, a very narrow and steep set that seemed to lead almost straight upward.

  “Up there,” Sally pointed again.

  “Look, Betts,” Jake said as he redirected his light. Sally could have been disappearing and reappearing elsewhere if she chose, but instead she’d been walking with us. She pulled her foot back from the step that was in Jake’s light.

  “More footprints,” I said.

  “Fresh ones, I think,” Sally said.

  “Sally says they’re fresh. What do you think, Jake?”

  “I agree. That’s what got my attention down there.” He swung the light back down the first staircase and then back to the current one.

  “Why do you think they’re fresh? Does it matter?” I asked.

  “They just look it to me,” Jake said. “I don’t know if it matters yet, but it’s something to note is all.”

  “Remember when we were talking about the footprints in the barn, or the lack of footprints the prosecution tried to use against me?” Sally said. I nodded as I put my hand on Jake’s arm to convey that I was listening to the ghost.

  “I told my lawyer that some places are just dusty and dirty enough to cover up footprints again pretty quickly. I think I was here, in the attic, at the time of the murder, but I know that whenever I went into my barn and made footprints on the dusty floor, they’d disappear again quickly, covered up by more dust. In places like this and places like my barn, there’s always air moving around here and there. It’s impossible to keep footprints clear for very long.”

  I lowered my voice. “Do you suppose that means there’s someone in the house with us, maybe up there?”

  “Dunno,” Jake said as he peered up the attic steps. “If there is, they’re probably harmless, though. Someone looking to explore or looking for a place to sleep for the night. We don’t have a lot of homeless people around, but we do have some. It’s possible.”

  The only thing that kept me from leaving the house at that moment was the instinctual sense that everything was okay. Yes, we were in an old dirty house, but it didn’t feel unsafe and I wasn’t scared, or at least that’s what I told myself. The thought that I should call Cliff and ask him to join us passed through my mind, but I knew he was busy and I also knew we weren’t supposed to be where we were even if we did feel safe.

  “Sally, pop up there and see if you see anyone,” I said.

  “Sure.”

  She was suddenly gone, but an instant later her voice cal
led from the attic level. “Come on up. There’s nobody here, but it sure seems like there was not too long ago.”

  I told Jake and he led the way this time as I followed closely, now needing his light as much as he did.

  The attic was exactly what I expected. Its dormered ceiling spread the width of the entire house. There were a total of six small windows set in narrow alcoves—one on each side, two in the front, and two in the back. The windows must not have been opened recently because the attic was even stuffier and staler than the rest of the house. I briefly pictured the entire space full of the stuff that people put in attics—trunks, old clothes, unused furniture, et cetera—but the only things currently in residence were six more lawn chairs, several discarded paper food wrappers, and an empty Diet Pepsi can on its side on the floor next to one of the chairs.

  “Someone’s been eating up here?” I said, surprised that anyone would want to spend time doing much of anything in the uncomfortable space, particularly eating. I wasn’t even sure the thick dirty air was safe to breathe.

  “I don’t recognize the wrappers,” Jake said as he picked one up. “Whatever they ate, it wasn’t from Bunny’s.”

  The floor was dusty and dirty but had clearly seen lots of traffic. There were no real distinct footprints, but scuffs everywhere.

  “Squatters?” Jake said.

  “Must be, but I think I’d rather squat in the great outdoors than in here,” I said.

  “Here, look in here,” Sally said. She was inside one of the skinny alcoves. “This is the box I was talking about. There’s one under each window, but this is the one I think I sat beside most of the time.”

  “Over here, Jake. Sally said for us to look in the window box down that alcove.”

  He and I stood together as he aimed his phone into the short and claustrophobic space. Under the window was what appeared to be a small window seat.

  “Lift the top. It’s a lid. Please,” Sally said.

  “There’s a lid,” I said.

  Jake and I looked at each other. I was sure we were both wondering about the seemingly real possibility that a more-than-one-hundred-year-old diary lay hidden in the window seat. It would be an amazing find and the kind of thing Jake lived for, but it seemed way too good to be true.

  “I think we should open it,” I said.

  “Absolutely,” Jake said.

  The space was too tight for us to walk together. I let Jake lead the way, but I peered over his shoulder as he crouched down. Sally kept her spot next to Jake, so close that they partly overlapped each other. It was an odd sight, but I didn’t tell him about it.

  He took a deep breath. “Ready?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Yes!” Sally said.

  The window seat or box wasn’t any newer than the house. The wood it was made of was old and dry, despite the Missouri humidity that sometimes warped walls and furniture. It wasn’t an obvious box, which was the good news; there was an excellent chance that whenever the house had been emptied, this particular storage spot had been ignored.

  Jake gave me his phone and then put his fingers under the lip of the lid. “Here we go.” He glanced up at me for one more moment of dramatic effect.

  “Oh for goodness’ sake,” Sally said.

  “Jake,” I said.

  He lifted. The lid came off with little fight. Jake moved it out of the way, and I aimed the light inside. There was most definitely stuff in there.

  “Oh,” Sally said anxiously.

  “Hand me the phone,” Jake said. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to just reach inside and mess things up. Whatever is in here is probably really old.”

  There was no book. The only things I could see were some sort of folded fabric and a few pigeon feathers. The reds and yellows on the fabric were faded but reminded me of a paisley print.

  “Look at the dust pattern on the material,” Jake said.

  Unlike the rest of the attic, the inside of the box was free of grime, but a thin coating of dust had settled on its contents. However, one area of the folded fabric was dust free, as though it had been, until recently, covered by something else.

  “Yep,” I said, “it’s kind of square, kind of rectangular. Actually, it looks like a book could have been there.”

  “Someone took it?” Sally said. “Recently?”

  “We don’t know what was there. It just looks like it could have been a book,” I said. “I’d love to know, though.”

  “Me, too,” Sally said.

  When what happened next happened, even I was surprised that I didn’t scream or at least involuntarily gasp.

  A voice said, “No one else can see or hear me, dear girl. Please don’t be afraid, but I do think you can, and I’ve been trying to talk to someone for so long.”

  Instead of jumping, I froze for an instant as a million thoughts ran through my mind. I wondered who was speaking, if there really was someone or if I’d started hearing random voices not attached to anyone, dead or alive. And, of course, I wondered fleetingly if the distinctly male voice was attached to Jerome, but I knew it couldn’t be. It didn’t sound like him.

  Finally, as my mind quit churning and my heartbeat slowed to a closer–to–normal rhythm, I looked back at the other end of the alcove, hoping with every cell in my body that I’d see someone really there. I did.

  The ghost of Edgar O’Brien smiled at me, crinkling his friendly eyes underneath his glasses in the process.

  “They can’t see me,” he said. “Neither of them. In fact, I was downright thrilled and flummoxed when you seemed to see me wave at you the other day. I found that delightful, just so delightful. I’ve been trying to chase you down and talk to you, but it wasn’t working. I’m so pleased that you’re here now.”

  I couldn’t talk without Jake and Sally hearing, so I just forced an awkward smile and nodded.

  “Ah, yes, to be able to communicate is the biggest gift of life, the greatest gift of all. I’m so, so pleased.”

  Edgar was a talker.

  “Jake, Sally,” I said, “while this is going to be even harder to believe than the fact that Gram and I can see ghosts, I need to tell you something. There’s another ghost in the room. I can see him, but neither of you can. Don’t know why that is, but I’m pretty sure he’s really here, because I not only hear him, I smell him. He smells like ink.”

  “Ink?” Edgar laughed. “Oh, that’s delightful, too. Ink! I loved ink and running the press. I even enjoyed setting it up. How wonderful!”

  “Okay,” Jake said. Sally just looked at me doubtfully.

  “Pretty sure it’s Edgar O’Brien,” I said.

  “The reporter?” Sally asked.

  “You are so lucky,” Jake said.

  “I’m going to talk to him for a minute, just so you don’t think I’ve lost my mind completely.”

  “Oh yes, of course you had to tell them. How else would you talk to me? I understand. I’m rambling. I’m kind of a rambler anyway, but especially since you can hear me. I am indeed Edgar O’Brien,” Edgar said.

  “I recognize you. Was there something you wanted to tell me?” I said.

  “You recognize me? Wonderful! Yes, of course.” He cleared his throat. “I wanted to tell you that Sally didn’t kill her parents and the killer’s name, I do believe, is in her diary.”

  The legend of Sally Swarthmore had been an integral part of Broken Rope’s tourist economy for as long as I could remember, surely long before I was even born. I didn’t know Broken Rope without its summer actors and fake gunfights. We’d all been raised right next to our history, and a big part of that history was Sally’s brutal murder of her parents.

  “That’s…great news,” I said. It was great news, but it also meant we’d have to rework a skit or two. “Where’s the diary?”

  “I do believe it was in there.” Edgar pointed at the window box. “Is it not there now?”

  “No.”

  “That is so very disappointing. When you could see me I t
hought we were closer to exposing the truth.”

  “We couldn’t get in the other day. The construction guys kept Jake and me out, and for some reason Sally couldn’t make her way in either. Something wouldn’t let her. Do you know what that was?”

  “Something bad, that I’m sure of. I’ve never not been able to roam this old place. Until recently, that is. Something bad has been in here, something evil. They aren’t who they are portraying themselves to be. They’re bad, but I’m not sure I understand how. They left just before you got here tonight. I could come in when they left, but not before, no, not before.”

  “Were they holding people against their will?” I said as I looked around at the lawn chairs in the musty attic. It would be a great place to keep the kidnap victims. No one would think to look for them here.

  “I don’t have any idea.” Edgar peered around me, not the least bit interested in the current crimes. “Are you certain the diary’s not in there?”

  “Jake, we need to see if the diary’s hidden within the fabric. Can you feel?”

  “Sure,” he said doubtfully. “I don’t want to damage anything, but I understand we need to know.” A moment later, he said, “No, there’s no book in here, diary or not.”

  “But something that could have been a book looks to have been taken. There’s a dust print,” I said to Edgar.

  “Excellent! Then there might still be a diary. You must find it. We must let the truth be known.”

  “I think we’d all like to find it, but I don’t think we know where to search next.”

  “Maybe those men? Although, they seem quite dangerous. I’m not sure I’d want to cross them. Maybe have the police ask them?”

  I tried to picture Cliff’s reaction when I asked him to take time out of his murder and kidnapping investigation to ask some guys about an old diary. I’d have to find another way.

  “I don’t know, Edgar.”

  “What is he saying?” Jake asked.

  “He said Sally’s innocent and that he’s been waiting here a long time for someone he could communicate with to find the diary. The killer’s name is in the diary, he thinks.”