House of the Golden Butterfly

by B. Groves

  “Is this it?” Claire asked holding out the brooch. “Is this what keeps you trapped?”

  “No,” David said shaking his head. “That’s how I can talk to you. Please dig, Claire.”

  “David, where are you? Where are you buried?”

  David stared at his sister. “You will find out. Just dig.”

  “I’ll find you, I promise,” Claire said.

  Claire blinked, and the strange world disappeared.

  Claire found herself in a kneeling position in the middle of the forest. She stood on shaky legs, and brushed off her jeans, and wiped her muddy hands on her sweatshirt.

  Dark and blurry memories flooded her mind, and she thought she would be taken down to her knees again.

  She could hear yelling—no—screaming. She could feel pain as a slap ripped across her cheek.

  “He didn’t do anything!”

  She could hear painful sobs as a body was ripped from her arms and crying her name.

  Claire tried breathing, but she thought she would suffocate.

  She tried remembering a face, but all she could see was a dark figure. One who ripped her brother from her arms while she tried to protect him.

  Was Rose abusive towards them?

  She didn’t know and couldn’t recall. All her memories so far did not indicate that Rose abused her grandchildren.

  Who was that dark figure? Did it hurt her brother?

  Claire’s feet finally moved from the spot where she froze, and she stumbled over a stick while she tried to gain her bearings. She didn’t fall, although she came close to eating a dirt sandwich.

  She walked back to the house and slammed the sliding glass door behind her once she was inside.

  She sank into a chair and stared off into space.

  Her brother was not in the river. He never was. He never drowned. He was buried somewhere on this property, and Claire knew why she came back to Lingate. Her mission was right in front of her the whole time. She would find her brother and would lay him to rest. She would discover the person who murdered him and why.

  If it was Rose, then it was too late, but at least she’d put this nightmare behind her once and for all.

  “I said I would find you,” she whispered. “I will keep that promise.”

  While Claire made her plans, her phone rang.

  It was Mac.

  15.

  M ac had a rough day, and he thought hearing Claire’s voice would make him feel better.

  He hated investigations about children. It made him angry. It made him bitter about losing his son. It made him hate humanity and awful things people did to each other.

  Two kids were found in deplorable conditions after their parents overdosed. Thankfully, one kid was smart enough to call the police from a neighbor’s house.

  Both parents would live, but this would affect the children the rest of their lives. Mac could only hope they could find a good home although there was a chance the system would fail them, too. He’d seen some people beat the system, and some of them he brought in for the same offenses. Most the time, the latter prevailed.

  He wasn’t the first responder, so he could leave as the investigation wrapped up.

  He would never forget the looks in their eyes as they were removed from the house. A dead, empty stare from years of abuse, but one child smiled when he knew they were rescued.

  That gave Mac a glimmer of hope for them.

  Mac dialed Claire’s number as he drove around to deliver the rest of his subpoenas for the day.

  Claire answered, and said hello, but Mac heard the tension in her voice.

  “I guess your day has been as good as mine,” Mac said.

  Claire laughed, but Mac could hear the edge in that laugh. “I’m sorry. You’re right, it hasn’t been good today.”

  He thought he heard her stifle a sniffle.

  They talked for a few minutes, but Mac could tell Claire wasn’t feeling the conversation.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” He asked.

  Another sniffle. “No, I’m okay. I don’t want to burden you since your day is going as good as mine.”

  “My lunch will be in another three hours. I could grab some food for both of us,” Mac suggested.

  There was silence over the phone. Mac half-expected Claire to hang up on him. The silent response made Mac’s heart sink, even though he didn’t want to admit it.

  He heard a deep breath in the receiver, “I would like that. Do you know where I live?” He heard Claire scoff, and she laughed with embarrassment. “Of course, you do. Everyone knows where I live.” You couldn’t miss the sarcasm even if you were deaf.

  “It’s okay,” Mac kept silent on why he knew where she lived.

  “I’d like that,” Claire said, sounding relieved at his suggestion.

  Mac smiled into the phone. He suggested a place, and Claire said that would be great.

  “I’ll be there around four if the radio stays quiet, but I’ll call you if something comes up,” Mac said.

  “Okay,” Claire answered.

  Mac hung up the phone and was happy how Claire’s mood changed during their conversation.

  He knew the perfect place to pick up some food for them. Claire mentioned she was sick of eating fast food. She said she suffered from heartburn and had to take an acid reflux medication daily so she could eat regular food.

  Mac didn’t want to look like half the staff that worked with him. He found a little deli that served soups and salads.

  He shook his head in amazement. It was funny how much this town boomed over the last twenty years.

  Restaurants he never heard of were popping up all over the place, but he tried to support local shops and not the chains most of the time.

  He couldn’t live without his coffee and stopped for some while the radio was quiet.

  Mac drove over to Sweet Spot Bakery and Coffee Company. He walked into the place. It was empty now that the lunch rush was over and saw Shirley placing some fresh pastries into the glass case. His stomach growled, but he knew that eating this stuff was unhealthy and ignored the sweet smell that called to him like one siren from The Odyssey.

  “Hey, Mac,” Shirley greeted as she placed the empty tray on the countertop after closing the glass case. “You’re early today.”

  “One of those days, Shirley,” Mac said.

  Shirley shook her head. “I was listenin’ to the scanner this morning. Those poor kids, I hope they find a good home.”

  Shirley probably knew about that call before he did. Shirley was all over the gossip around town.

  “You want the usual?” Shirley asked.

  “Please.”

  Shirley nodded to one girl and she went over to get Mac’s coffee. He was a plain coffee drinker. It wouldn’t take long.

  Shirley leaned over the counter like she wanted to let Mac in on a little secret.

  Mac studied Shirley a little more closely today. She was a rotund woman with bright blue eyes and short, dark chestnut hair that would go fully gray in the next few years.

  Now, that he stood in front of her, he thought there was something about her. A familiarity that he couldn’t place and a moment of Déjà vu hit him right in the chest.

  He’d known her for years, but today she looked… how could he describe it… different?

  Familiar?

  He didn’t like that word. She was familiar already.

  Shaking it off Mac concentrated on what she was saying.

  “I decided to give Miss Westcott a housewarming gift,” Shirley whispered.

  “You mean Rose’s granddaughter?”

  Mac was surprised she did that. He knew Rose came in here every Sunday in the afternoon from what he heard from the old farts that hung around here all day. Mac had never seen her personally since his day off was Sundays and he didn’t drop in on his days off.

  Why would Shirley deliver to Claire’s house?

  “She had that exact look on her face when she answered the door,
” Shirley said with a laugh. “I thought she could use that. It must be tough comin’ back here and all. Besides, she didn’t deserve those whispers.”

  “Eh. I don’t think it’s bothering her,” Mac said with a shrug. It was, but he would not give Shirley more fuel for her gossip fire when the old men came piling in again to sober up after drinking at the American Legion.

  Shirley’s eyebrow lifted in question. “Oh yeah? Seen her again?”

  She was so nosy, but Mac would play along since he was excited to see Claire later.

  “We bumped into each other in the grocery store,” Mac answered as the waitress handed him his coffee.

  Shirley nodded and wiped down the counter. “I didn’t know how to take her, but she seems sweet. She was appreciative of the coffee and doughnuts. I’ve been to the house before, and it’s still lookin’ like royalty even with the work it needs—”

  “That was nice of you,” Mac interrupted. “I better go.”

  He decided not to play into Shirley’s hands. He knew she was trying to bait him and wasn’t going for it.

  He gathered up his coffee, left his usual tip and rushed out the door.

  Mac got back into his cruiser, checked his emails on the laptop, and sat there for a minute sipping his coffee.

  This was the first time he ever felt uncomfortable inside that shop.

  It wouldn’t be the first time Shirley fished for information on a person, but this time was different. Something in her demeanor… something in her eyes changed with she spoke of Claire. He couldn’t put his finger what it was.

  Mac didn’t know if it was because he would see Claire for the second time, or what, but he didn’t like the sound of Shirley’s voice about her.

  When his gut talked to him, he listened.

  Or should he?

  It was a strange exchange and God only knew how often over the years he’s talked to Shirley. Hell, one could even consider her a friend.

  Mac pushed his unsettling thoughts aside and went back to work.

  The rest of his patrol was quiet. He issued a speeding ticket to a tourist who argued with him that he knew a lawyer and would have his job.

  How often had he heard that one? He thought with a roll of the eyes as he handed the driver the ticket.

  He finally picked up the food and send a text to Claire that he was on his way.

  He would call in his lunch once he arrived at Kinsey House.

  Mac looked forward to seeing Claire, but he was dreading pulling into that driveway again.

  The memories came rushing back to him as he pulled onto the street and looked for the house.

  Seeing the mail piling up in the mailbox, and then the older Cadillac sitting quietly on the driveway.

  As Mac walked up the steps onto the porch, he knew—he just knew—those curtains were closed on the front bay window.

  He turned into the driveway and tried to keep his hands from sweating. It wasn’t the first time he’d found someone, but that day a rush of strange and unexplainable feelings came over him and that’s what made this case unique. And what made him uncomfortable pulling up to the house.

  He always felt sorry for Rose. She passed away alone without help. All her family already gone before her and all the money in the world can’t replace loved ones.

  Mac figured the guilt she suffered from losing her only grandson is what made her send Claire away, but he was sure she must have kept an eye on her granddaughter from afar or Claire wouldn’t be here now.

  Kinsey House hovered over the treetops when Mac pulled into the driveway.

  He tried to shake off the chills that ran down his spine when the forest cleared and Claire’s car was sitting in the driveway.

  It still looked the same. It’s not like he didn’t drive by it a million times after he found Rose, but he never had a reason to go back there. Her attorney made sure a private security company watched over the house until he found a beneficiary.

  The late day sun no longer had the strength to make the house look like a normal mansion.

  It was now bathed in shadows from the surrounding trees. The ivy creeping up the right side of the house added to the creepy atmosphere.

  The only comfort were the lights shining in the area where he found Rose and on the second floor.

  Mac exited the car and realized Claire hadn’t answered his text.

  He frowned, wondering why not while he called in his lunch hour.

  After confirmation, Mac exited the car and the feelings of dread overcame him.

  He needed to calm his frazzled nerves and tried to tell himself that history was not repeating itself.

  She was fine, he thought, she lost track of time.

  Mac walked up the stairs. This time he didn’t knock. At least, not yet.

  He took a deep breath and wandered over the bay window.

  The flash of feet and legs on the floor played again and again in his memory.

  Where the hell was Claire? Why was he panicking like this?

  Mac put his face up to the glass. He wouldn’t want to scare her if she didn’t hear his text, but from their past exchanges, she was quick to answer.

  “Claire?” He called and then placed his face against the glass.

  The room looked empty.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, Mac leaned against the glass and felt stupid.

  He walked back to the door and rang the doorbell.

  That doorbell needed replacing, he thought with a smile. He could do it for her.

  Mac waited a minute and when Claire didn’t answer, he rang the bell again.

  His heart sank into his stomach when Claire still didn’t answer.

  Mac put the bag of food on the porch and walked back to the window.

  He peered inside once again but there was no movement.

  He tried curbing the panic growing like a balloon in his gut.

  Don’t panic, he thought.

  “Claire?” He called.

  He then reached for his phone and tried to dial her number. The rings went to voicemail.

  Should he try breaking in?

  Mac walked down from the porch and circled the house and go to the kitchen area. There were windows and doors everywhere in that part of the house from what he remembered.

  His heart was pounding, and his palms were sweaty. He didn’t want to panic, but he could only fear the worst being around this house again. The memories of the last time he was here kept overriding his common sense and his logic.

  The look on Rose’s face when he found her kept appearing in his mind as he walked towards the back of the house thinking that he couldn’t handle it if Claire somehow met the same fate as her grandmother.

  Mac was practically in a run now when he saw a figure moving around the backyard.

  It was instinct to place his hand on his gun until he could get a grasp of the situation.

  Mac walked closer and spotted Claire standing over a spot in the yard and holding a shovel.

  What in the hell?

  Her hair was pulled in a bun on top of her head. She was dressed in jeans, sneakers and a T-shirt on.

  What was she doing out here?

  “Claire?”

  Claire jumped from being startled and turned towards Mac.

  Relief and another expression—guilt—washed over her features.

  She held the shovel away from her as if she’d just been caught stealing candy from the candy drawer and had chocolate smeared on her face.

  “Mac,” She answered, breathlessly.

  She turned her head and looked up at the sky. Her cheeks were flushed, and her hands were dirty.

  Mac walked closer and saw a two-foot hole in the ground in front of her.

  Mac’s brow furrowed. What in the world was she doing?

  “I’m—I’m so sorry, I lost track of time,” she said with a slight smile.

  Mac’s gaze shifted from the hole in the ground back to her several times before he asked.

  “Claire, why ar
e you digging?”

  16.

  A fter Mac told Claire he was coming over to the house to eat with her on his lunch, Claire decided she had plenty time to explore the attic. Maybe she’d find some answers there.

  She didn’t want to burden Mac with her suspicions. How could she even tell him that she’d been seeing the ghost of her brother ever since she came home to Lingate? He would probably think she had completely lost her mind.

  She scoffed thinking that she was worried about her losing her own mind.

  She tried reasoning it out as she climbed the main staircase and made her down the hallway to the door to the attic. She came back to discover more about the short time she spent in Lingate when she was a young child. She’d only know tragedy when she lived here, even if there were some happy times mixed in. She left after David went missing and never looked back until the phone call from George telling her about Rose’s death.

  The door was right across from Rose’s bedroom and Claire could have sworn the eyes in the photographs followed each of her steps down the hallway as she approached that attic. She shivered at the thought and tried to ignore her paranoia about seeing her brother in ghostly form again.

  She had memories of where the attic was but had no memories of stepping foot into it as a child.

  She opened the door to inkier darkness, the same darkness from when she entered the basement, except this time the stairs ascended not descended. And this time, they spiraled upwards.

  She felt around the walls for a light switch and relieved when she flicked one and the stairs illuminated in front of her.

  The stairs were wooden and each step was narrow, just like the servant stairs that led from the kitchen to the second floor.

  Claire held each wall with her hands as she carefully made her way up the stairs.

  Her hands were covered in old cobwebs and dust but she didn’t pay it any mind. She was never the type to scream and yell whenever she saw a spider. She smiled thinking Clay had been a different story. When she was old enough, he would call her to get a spider out of the house if Mary wasn’t home. Eventually, both women would laugh at him for it.

  She passed the light bulb that lit up the stairs and reached the top where she was once again bathed in darkness. The light from the stairs wasn’t even bright enough to reach the landing.