A Murder at Alcott Manor

by Alyssa Richards

  “No one would have.” Dixie pushed a few soft brown curls away from her face. “Wait. What do you mean your dreams have left their mark?”

  Layla put her tea cup on the side table and told Dixie in detail about the dead zone and what happened with Brooke and Jordan at the campout. “It was me. I killed Brooke. And Jordan’s injuries have wrecked her life. Or at least her plans for her life. I suppose Jordan could have done something besides be a lawyer if she put her mind to it. It’s still my fault.”

  “Oh, honey. Tragic for everyone. Good Lord, the guilt.” She put her fingertips on Layla’s leg.

  “So, this dead zone. It’s like an alternate reality of some kind. And whatever happens there, the effect shows up in the waking world?” Dixie said.

  “That’s it in a nutshell,” Layla said.

  Dixie nodded as though she were trying to put all the pieces together. “And you see people from the past there?”

  “Yes, all sorts. A child playing a piano for a small group of adults, a nanny and a baby, some children, a dog—oh my gosh. I almost forgot about the dog—he's ours now, we named him Winston. And the cake!” Layla stood and pressed a hand to her forehead.

  “What cake? What do you mean?”

  “Just before I moved into the manor, I was off property, went into a lucid dream, and the manor pulled me into its dead zone. There were children running through the kitchen with their puppy. He had a red collar with a jingle bell on it and a red ball in his mouth. Then there was this chocolate-iced cake on an antique stand on one of the tables. I ate some of it, again thinking it was just a dream. When I woke up, I went to the manor. There was the same chocolate-iced cake on the same stand on the same table and piece of cake sat to the side with a bite taken out of it. A bite that I had taken.”

  Dixie tipped her head back, her mouth slightly open in an a-ha kind of way.

  “A little while later, I found Tom and Mason with the exact same puppy I saw in my dream—golden terrier, red collar with a jingle bell. And a red ball. He's our dog now, he goes everywhere with us.”

  “Oh, my,” Dixie whispered. She closed her eyes and frowned slightly, as though she were reading the situation, getting a feed of information and not liking what she was seeing.

  When she opened her eyes, they were glassy and unfocused, as if she had just returned from some other realm. “The past is overlapping the present at the manor, like two realities or two eras trying to exist in the same place at the same time. The energetic trajectory at that intersection is pulling the past to the present. When you’re in the dead zone, you’re caught up in that pull. So whatever you do in the dead zone, you might as well be doing it in the real world, your waking world. Because the manor makes it real.”

  Layla lowered herself to the edge of the recliner. “They were dreams. I never meant for any of those things to really happen. I never meant to kill Brooke.”

  “No, you didn’t,” Dixie said. “But the manor is drawing things and experiences from that space between here and what used to be, into the real of this world. Like the dog and the cake and—"

  “Brooke’s death, Jordan’s injuries and my pregnancy. Oh my gosh.” She placed her hand protectively over her belly. “It doesn’t discern between what’s happening in my lucid dreams and what happened in its past.”

  “You’re right.” Dixie looked away, her focus softened again as though she had to listen to another voice. “It’s taking most of what happens there…and makes it real.”

  “Why?”

  Dixie shook her head. “The manor’s history must be unresolved in some way. It’s reliving its experiences, trying to work something out, trying to remove something from its past. Right a wrong in some way.”

  “In one—”

  Dixie shook her head and raised her hand to quiet Layla, so she could listen to something Layla couldn’t hear. “This dead zone has a hold on you, Layla. It knows you, it has your name. Wherever you are, if you dream, the manor will pull you in. And whatever you dream in that space will become real in your life. Don’t go in the manor anymore. And for heaven’s sake, don’t dream.”

  She lifted her teacup to her lips for a sip, her hands shaking. “My last dream with Mason, I wasn’t even at the manor. We were at his house. I had a dream that we were swimming in the lake, and then we were in this cave. I thought of Asher on our way back to the house and he showed up shortly thereafter. It’s like my thinking of him made him aware of where I was. That dream is how he got to us.”

  Dixie nodded. “I think the manor could pull you in from wherever you are. Since you've been in its dead zone, it claims you as one of its own, as if you and your dreams are a part of its past.”

  “Sometimes the dreams just happen. I can’t always control it.”

  “You have to. Don’t dream. Asher will get to you that way, as well as whoever else is in that dream with you.”

  They looked at one another for a minute before Layla said, “Okay.”

  “So that was what you had to tell Mason.”

  Layla told her about their conversation in detail and how she’d left. “He’s beyond angry. I doubt he’ll ever speak to me again.”

  Dixie shook her head and muttered her son’s name. “I wish there was something I could do. You know he’s an adult and I try to stay out of his business. But it’s hard. I told him that he had to stay away from the manor, that Asher was there. He told me not to get involved. Have you dreamed at all since you saw him?”

  “No. I think I’ve been too tired and too sick.” She leaned forward and put her head in her hands. “I’ve got to have the money from the tours. Asher left us with so much debt, I can’t breathe.”

  Dixie patted her on the back. “Oh, sweetheart.”

  “How in the hell am I going to get rid of him? He’s dead and he’s still ruining my life.”

  Dixie sighed. “I don’t know. He’s not a normal ghost in a normal house.”

  Layla popped her head up. “Please don’t tell Mason that I’m pregnant.”

  “No, sweetheart. That’s your news to share, not mine.”

  “Thanks. I need to get stronger first. I need time to prepare myself emotionally for everything he’s going to say. You know, that the baby isn’t his and so forth.” The tears continued to fall as they did these days.

  “I wish I could shake some sense into him for you. Of course you and the baby are welcome here any time. Anytime at all. I won’t intrude, but I want you to call me to help whenever you need it. Babysitting, errand running, sleep time, you name it. I’m here for you and him.”

  You and him? Did Dixie say that because she was accustomed to having boys? Layla wanted to ask, even though she tried not to get too attached to her babies until after twelve weeks and the risk of miscarriage had lowered. That never worked for her; she had been attached from the beginning twice before, and she was attached now. “I’m going to need that help. I have no idea how I’m going to manage three children on my own.”

  “You won’t be on your own. You’ll have me. And I’ll bet that Jayne Ella will help more now that Asher isn’t around.”

  Layla thought that might be right. This baby would be raised by women: sisters, mother, grandmothers.

  Layla finished her tea, and when Dixie offered her a BLT with extra bacon, she accepted. She hadn’t known she was hungry until Dixie’s cooking was an option. Even though it was just a sandwich, Mason’s mother did it extra well.

  “There’s just something about grease that’s bizarrely comforting when you’re pregnant,” Layla said after the first bite.

  “When I was pregnant with Mason, I used to walk around with a small container of shoe polish.”

  “Shoe polish?” Layla caught sight of several green-blue stones on a desk by the window and recognized them as the same stones from her dream with Mason. A chill covered her upper back.

  “Something about the scent calmed my morning sickness. I think I have an old tin of polish in Steele’s shoe polish kit. Let’s gi
ve it a try.” Dixie headed toward her bedroom.

  Layla turned the smooth stones in her hand, the fire of the yellow bursting through the varying shades of green blue as though the color reached for her.

  “That’s labradorite,” Dixie said from behind her. “Do you like it?”

  “Very much. It looks like it comes from another planet.”

  “It’s a very mystical, protective stone because its vibration is about truth and the coming forward of that truth.” Dixie put the shoe polish on a nearby table and folded Layla’s hand around the stone. “You keep it.”

  Maybe that’s why the stone had been a fit for her: the coming forward of truth. If nothing else, her slate was clean. She had finally told the truth. And though she wasn’t eating much these days because of her morning sickness, neither was she craving cake.

  “I’m here for you. Know that. No matter what.” Dixie’s brown eyes held a fierce protectiveness and Layla let it rule the moment. She knew that one day soon her typical mama bear fierce side would reemerge and this baby would be under that protection. For the time being all she felt was sick and overwhelmed, and she appreciated the strength that Dixie loaned her.

  She hugged her as she used to and for a moment Layla felt like a teenager again—at Mason’s house, wrapping up a meaningful discussion with his mother and feeling better about life. She could even hear the memory of the front door slam, keys hitting the porcelain bowl in the foyer and the clunking of work boots. She waited to hear Dixie’s husband yell, Where is everybody?

  When another wave of nausea hit, she picked up the shoe polish and gave it a long sniff.

  “Oh, darlin’, I wish I could make that go away for you. I remember how awful it was.”

  Layla drew in another long breath. “It does kind of work. Am I killing off brain cells by doing this?”

  Dixie giggled. “Maybe so. But Mason turned out alright.”

  “I wonder if I can just make a necklace out of this. You know, to keep it handy.” Layla positioned the tin of shoe polish like a medallion that would hang on the end of a chain. Dixie laughed aloud until something caught her eye across the room.

  “Hi, Mama,” Mason said from the doorway to the den. “Hi, Layla. I thought that was your car out front.” He wore a dark gray shirt with the words Holloway Construction scripted in white across the front over a single line drawing of a house.

  Layla didn’t want to panic, but her heart banged against her chest like it needed a way out. She wasn’t prepared to talk with him. She wiped beneath her eyes and hoped she didn’t have mascara running down her face.

  “Why are you sniffing shoe polish?”

  Dixie never missed a beat. She crossed the room and gave her son a hug and kiss. “You look terrible. Are you feeling okay? Do you want some soup? How about a BLT?” She placed her palm on his forehead and he moved it away.

  “I’m fine, Mama. Can we talk?” he said to Layla.

  He did look ill. Maybe about as bad as she felt. She entertained the idea of walking out the back door, right on through the grass until she reached her car. She didn’t owe him an immediate conversation.

  Under normal circumstances, she would have just told Mason. But nothing was normal now. They hadn’t actually had physical sex. So telling him she was pregnant was going to be a humiliating discussion, particularly when he asked who else she had slept with because he couldn’t possibly be the father.

  “Please, Layla?”

  She realized the day of feeling calm and capable was never going to come, so she said, “Fine.”

  She sniffed the shoe polish and headed outside.

  Mason waved Dixie off and headed outside. He knew he looked like hell. He hadn’t slept much since Layla left his house a month ago and he had barely eaten. Everything she had told him flew in the face of what he knew was real. He had been a fool to hope that the two of them could finally be together.

  She sat on the edge of the pool and dangled her feet in the water, looking like a page from a magazine. He had always thought she was a beautiful girl, with a peach-perfect complexion, voluptuous figure and gorgeous hair that seemed to do whatever she wanted. For a while he thought the simple life he wanted with her was finally happening.

  Until she started talking about dreams that came to life and how she had been the one who killed Brooke. He sat next to her and wondered if seeing her today was a bad idea. If it was too soon. But when he saw her car in front of Dixie’s house, he couldn’t stay away.

  “Hey.” He heard his mood filter into that one clipped word.

  She barely looked at him and that was about the response he expected.

  He sat next to her. “I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch.”

  “It’s fine.” She glanced at him and the watery sadness in her eyes hit his heart like a knife.

  “I can’t seem to get my head around what you told me.”

  She shrugged. “Yeah, well, I know how you feel.”

  He exhaled hard. “I just—I don’t understand any of this.”

  She placed her hand on her stomach. “About Brooke—I really would have told you sooner, there just wasn’t a way. It was hard for me to understand. Harder to talk about. You never would have believed me anyway.”

  He winced. “You’re really the one who killed Brooke?”

  “Yes. We were in the same sort of dream you and I experienced. Twice. It can leave its mark on reality, apparently.” She shook her head, turned away from him, and sniffed the open tin of shoe polish.

  He couldn’t imagine what she was doing. He didn’t remember any of Dixie’s home remedies being shoe polish, neither could he figure out these dreams of his that she knew about. This was ruining everything he had planned for them.

  “I’ve spoken to Jordan twice about the manor, and unfortunately, she’s still set on making things difficult for us. City inspectors come out next week. They’ve sent notice.”

  Layla lifted the metal tin and drew in a deep inhale.

  “Is that my dad’s old shoe polish? Why do you keep sniffing that?”

  She closed her eyes for a long moment and when she opened them again, they were full of tears. “Because strangely, it helps calm the morning sickness.”

  He couldn’t quite comprehend what she said. “You’re sick?”

  “No. Mason, I’m pregnant. With your child, in case you were going to go there.” She sat on the edge of a lounge chair and wiped a tear from her cheek.

  “That’s not possible.” Something about the way she looked at him hit him square in the gut and made him kneel on the ground to be close to her. “We’ve never—”

  “Twice. In my dreams. Once at the manor and once when we were skinny dipping. I know you remember at least parts of those dreams.”

  He sank onto his heels. “A baby? Are you sure?” From the look on her face, he knew she would throw the shoe polish at his head if he asked her if he was the father.

  “Several drugstore pregnancy tests. One blood test from my OB/GYN. So, yeah, I’m sure. I’m not asking you for anything. I know this is complicated, and our history is even more so. You don’t need to worry.”

  29

  “She says she’s pregnant.” Mason knew his mother was in the room somewhere, though he had only a distant awareness of her. He stared at the dark brown shag carpet beneath his work boots and, for the first time in years, didn’t think all that much about how she needed to switch it out for something new. Instead, he replayed his discussion with Layla in his mind and tried to find a shred of logic.

  “Without going into any details, we haven’t…we haven’t had that kind of relationship.” He had had rather vivid dreams about having sex with her. But guys did that all the time and no one got pregnant. She wasn’t the type to sleep around or cheat or lie. She wasn’t crazy. If this had been Brooke or Jordan, he would have suspected them of all four of those possibilities. With Layla, those options were off the table.

  Strangely, she knew about those dreams. She could recite
them verbatim, and they left their proof on her lower neck. He couldn’t explain that.

  When he finally looked up, he found Dixie sipping from a brown bottle of beer and eyeing him steadily.

  “Well, she is pregnant,” she said. “I saw the baby when she pulled up today. Do you want to know its gender?”

  “No,” he said quickly. There was no gender because there couldn’t be a baby. “How did she end up here?”

  “I called her. I hadn’t heard from her since I saw her at the hospital and I wanted to see how she was doing.”

  Tension gathered across his forehead and he pushed his fingers along those muscles. “None of this makes any sense.”

  “Sometimes you have to use your intuition to find the real logic in things, as well as your right next steps. I’ve taught you that.”

  “Intuition or not, it doesn’t matter. This is medical science. What she’s saying isn’t possible. And it’s awkward because I’d made it clear that I cared about her. That I had come back for her.”

  “It is possible. And I’ll tell you why.” Dixie described how the manor was pulling its past through the dead zone and into the present. “It appears that whatever happens in that dead zone has its effect in reality. Objects and living things can even travel from the dead zone to our side of reality.”

  He could barely hear his mother’s voice. He was stuck in this mystery that Layla had laid at his feet, and he was circling around and around it and not finding any good answers.

  A baby.

  “She mentioned that y’all weren’t seeing one another much since the hospital.”

  “She, um…” He lowered himself to a straight back chair. A familiar feeling of terror crept up behind him with fangs and claws. “She was the one who killed Brooke.”

  Dixie pressed her lips together. “I know. She told me. She may have wanted her dead in the moment she pushed her, but I don't think she really thought Brooke would die, sweetheart.”

  He could still see Brooke’s blood-red pillow and the horrified expression on her face when he’d found her. “She’s still the one who killed her.”