The Summoning

by Heather Graham

  The apparatus was apparently fairly heavy, but Jackson didn’t hesitate to move it.

  “Do you need help?” she asked.

  “No, thank you. Just show me where to go.”

  She hurried back to the house, through to the kitchen and the stairs down to the basement; Jackson followed her more slowly. She hit the light switch.

  Overhead bulbs flashed on.

  They didn’t seem to dispel the miasma, the dark cloud that permeated the place.

  Jackson made it down with the radar. “Where do you think?” he asked.

  She pointed to an area with a woodpile, a covered barbecue and stacks of charcoal, and then strode to it, tossing charcoal bags and logs for the fireplace off of the pile and letting them fall wherever they may lay. Jackson quickly joined her, making the work much quicker.

  “I think... I don’t know,” she said.

  He brought over the radar tool, studied the screen as he moved it slowly over the dirt floor. And then he looked up at her. She couldn’t read his expression. Jackson turned away and hurried through the basement until he found a shovel.

  And he began to dig.

  Not so deep, not nearly so deep as the hole they’d dug to find Trinity McLane.

  After a couple minutes of effort, Jackson stepped back.

  “Time to call Dallas and Joe Dunhill,” he said. “I do believe that you’ve found Eliza Malone.”

  15

  It was obvious that Lacey Knox was never going to become a master criminal.

  Her face immediately flooded with color and she swallowed. “What’s that?” she asked, trying to lie.

  “A letter you left on Kristi’s bed,” Dallas told her pleasantly.

  “Me? No... I, uh... Why would I do such a thing?” she asked. She was still as red as a beet, and obviously excruciatingly uncomfortable.

  “Well, I don’t know for sure, but I think you’re jealous of Kristi. Carl does show her a great deal of attention.”

  It seemed that it would have been impossible, but her color heightened.

  Dallas pressed on, “Lacey, just tell me the truth. If you tell me, I promise, I won’t tell your parents—or Carl.”

  She swallowed hard, looking around the hallway. “He likes me, I know that he likes me, but every time she comes around, he gets distracted. I mean, she has to be doing it on purpose. Everyone is saying that you and Kristi have something going on, and if so, you have to know what I mean!”

  “Would you believe me if I told you that, yes, Kristi and I do have something going on? I can assure you that she isn’t interested in Carl.”

  “Then she needs to quit being so nice. And so...well, she could dress down a little, you know. I’m sure he thinks that she’s elegant and sophisticated.”

  “She wears jeans most of the time.”

  “Not that day at the funeral—and at the reception at the brewery, she was all dressed up and really pretty.”

  “You didn’t know Lachlan, did you? I didn’t see you at the funeral.”

  “I wasn’t at the funeral. I was just shopping at the riverfront. I happened to walk into that brewery for a root beer, and I saw her.”

  “I see. Did you turn the light off on her in the ladies’ room?”

  “What?” she asked, indignant. “No, of course not. That’s weird.”

  “Did you whisper a threat to her there?”

  “No. I swear to you, I did not!” she said earnestly.

  “Okay, another question. How did you get into Kristi’s room? It was locked.”

  She smiled, as though she thought she was pretty clever. “This is really a family establishment, you know, and I have been around the track. Everyone has a key to the front door. Guests come and go as they please, help themselves to coffee and sodas and water—the master key is in a drawer by the refrigerator.”

  “How did you know that?”

  “I saw...someone put it there.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know...one of them. Maybe Jonah. I just borrowed it for a minute—I put it right back, I swear.”

  He didn’t get a chance to go further. His phone rang.

  Dallas saw that it was Jackson, and picked up right away.

  “Get back over here,” Jackson said without any preamble.

  “You’ve found something?”

  “We found someone,” Jackson said. “Call Dunhill. Eliza Malone is buried in the basement at the Murphy house.”

  “I’m on my way, and calling Dunhill,” Dallas said, turning even as he spoke.

  Lacey called him back. “Hey! Hey—you said you won’t tell my parents. Or Carl. You said that you wouldn’t.”

  “Right,” he replied, already heading down the stairs.

  * * *

  Dallas arrived at the Murphy house with amazing speed.

  He hurried to Kristi first, deeply concerned.

  To her amazement, she was able to give him a grim, weak smile—and refrain from falling apart. She wasn’t at all sure how, when, or why, but the anger she had found earlier in the shower had given her strength; now she wanted this case solved. She wanted the truth, and she wanted justice for Eliza Malone’s death.

  Joe Dunhill arrived almost immediately after Dallas, and from there, the medical examiner’s office was called, and the basement was soon filled with people as Eliza’s body was extricated from its makeshift grave following Dr. Perry’s preliminary examination of the body.

  Dallas, Jackson, Angela and Kristi remained in the basement, standing out of the way while Perry’s workers removed the body.

  Dusting off, Dr. Perry looked at them and walked over to Dallas.

  “Well, finding bones from years and years ago...that was one thing. You may be working faster than I can handle, and Dunhill wants me to stay with...whatever this is. Now...” He paused, shaking his head. “There’s a strange assortment of factors at work here. In a way, she was halfway mummified, and in a way, destroyed by the elements. I’m going to have to get her on the table to see how she died. Her face...her face is almost gone, but one of my assistants found a pocketbook under the body. The driver’s license says that she is Eliza Malone. This just beats all—I mean, it’s Murphy’s house. But I can’t see old Ian killing this woman.”

  “Ian?” Kristi said. “He can’t be a suspect.”

  “This is his basement,” Perry pointed out.

  Kristi shook her head emphatically. “Ian never killed anyone—I would stake my own life on that. He wasn’t well...he battled cancer for a long time before his death. He was in and out of chemo. I’m telling you, Ian didn’t do this.”

  “Young lady,” Perry said. “I’m the ME, not a detective. But she has been here two years. And Ian was alive two years ago. And, while I have not begun to determine cause of death, she didn’t fall under a woodpile and then bury herself.”

  Dallas spoke up. “Ian was an old, sick man. It’s jumping to conclusions to assume that because it’s his house, he committed the murder. He was a friendly man, he had people over, all manner of people visited him here.”

  Perry shrugged. “Well, the truth is up to you and Joe Dunhill, huh? We’ll get her checked in tonight, and the autopsy will be first thing in the morning. You’re welcome to be there.”

  “I will definitely be there,” Dallas assured him.

  Jackson suggested that they go upstairs; crime scene workers were heading in to start their search for any little clue.

  Joe Dunhill followed them, and stood in the entry hall with them. “I need to call Jamie Murphy.”

  “I called Jamie right away. He’s horrified, of course.”

  “He owns the property. He’s going to have to come back home,” Joe said.

  “He’s making arrangements,” Kristi assured him. “And,” she added, “Jamie is certainly not guilty of a
nything—he was in California when Eliza Malone disappeared.”

  “I’m not Perry—and I’m not jumping to any conclusions,” Dunhill assured her. He looked at Dallas, and then Jackson and Angela. “Thank you. I didn’t have the resources—or the inside access to manage this,” he said, nodding to Kristi. “Maybe I should have been a better detective, but...” He paused, frowning. “You don’t think Ian jumped off the balcony out of guilt? I’m not saying it’s so, I’m just asking.”

  “No,” Kristi said emphatically. “He wouldn’t have done it out of guilt, because he wasn’t guilty. Whoever managed to get Eliza Malone down here also pushed Ian, I’m convinced of it.”

  He nodded. “Not to worry—my superiors will give me more support to work it now. They never denied me. They just didn’t have much to go on. Now they do.” He started out, and then came back to tell them, “There’s going to be an officer here tonight. I know you’re going through Ian’s papers with his grandson’s permission, but...we did find a body.”

  “Of course,” Dallas told him.

  Joe Dunhill went out—but came back in again. “Reporters,” he said with a sigh. “I’m just telling them that we’ve found a body, we don’t know whose yet. It hasn’t been proved... I’m leaving it to those with higher pay scales than mine to deal with a news conference.” He hesitated, looking at them all hopefully. “I’m really awkward with press,” he said.

  “We’re not here officially,” Jackson reminded him.

  “Yeah, right. Well, hopefully, I’ll say the right thing, and we’ll all get out of here without being dragged down by reporters—and tourists with smartphones.”

  “Here’s hoping,” Dallas agreed.

  Once again, Joe Dunhill left them. They could hear him fending off the press, and promising that there would be news forthcoming—as soon as they had news to give. The flurry died away as the reporters followed him to his car.

  Kristi gasped suddenly. “Dallas, shouldn’t we have given Joe that note you found on my bed—the threat?” she asked.

  “I actually managed to solve that particular mystery,” he said.

  “Oh?” Angela asked.

  He nodded. “The note was put on your bed by Lacey Knox.”

  “What?” Kristi said, incredulous. “Why?”

  “Carl Brentwood pays you far too much attention—and you really need to dress down, you know.”

  Kristi frowned; she was once again covered in dirt and grime, and her jeans were torn at the knees—and not by a designer manufacturer.

  Dallas shrugged. “I got her to admit it. I promised I wouldn’t tell her parents or Carl. I didn’t say that I wouldn’t tell you, and where it goes now is up to you.”

  “Whatever way you think we should handle it is fine. I don’t want to make her even more miserable. But how did Lacey do it?” Kristi asked. “Not how did she do the note—that was obvious. How did she get into my room? I never forget to lock it.”

  “Apparently, keys around here are easy to come by. It’s a nice part of Southern hospitality, and yet, not so good under our circumstances. Lacey went into the kitchen, helped herself to a bottle of water—and the key. She saw someone put it in the drawer the other day.”

  Kristi was quiet for a moment. “It’s the same drawer where the key to this house was kept.”

  “And very easily taken, as Lacey Knox proved to us all,” Angela pointed out.

  “It’s been a long day and night,” Dallas said. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but...” He hesitated, and then added, “Jonah is especially worried about the hole in the ground at Kristi’s place. He found Janet Knox snooping around—hoping to find an artifact. He’s afraid that someone is going to fall in the hole. Cops are patrolling, but they’re not going to note someone staying in the house, sitting out in the courtyard—and slipping over to the hole when there’s a chance.” He shrugged. “Everyone wants a good artifact, I guess.”

  “And it is nearly midnight,” Angela said. “Tomorrow, the news that Eliza Malone has been found will be out—and who knows what that might precipitate, once it’s confirmed that she was murdered.”

  “Someone is going to know what happened already—the someone who buried Eliza in the basement here. There will be something on the news tonight. They won’t say that it was Eliza Malone that was found, but the killer will know for sure,” Jackson stated. “It could act as a catalyst for more action.”

  “Let’s get back to McLane House,” Dallas told Kristi. He headed toward the door and turned back for her. She started toward him, and then paused, looking around.

  “It’s gone,” she said quietly.

  “Gone?” he asked, but then he knew what she meant before she spoke.

  “The darkness—it’s gone. Eliza wasn’t dark, but she caused the darkness—she wanted us to find her. She wants justice.”

  * * *

  On arriving at the house, Dallas went straight through to the courtyard. Jonah was sleeping in one of the patio chairs.

  He walked back to the hole in the rear of the yard; there was no one around. When he returned to the courtyard, Jonah was snoring.

  Kristi was waiting for him by the back door. A patrol car went by on the neighboring street, flashing its lights into the yard. Jonah woke up with a start, choking a bit on a snore.

  “Hey, hey! Oh, it’s you, Dallas,” he said.

  “Yeah. Hey, buddy. Sorry,” Dallas said. “You been out here—all this time?”

  “Went in for some supper. I just don’t want dingbats like that Mrs. Knox out here, messing around. The cops are doing a good job—they’ve been waking me up every twenty minutes or so.”

  Dallas glanced to the back door; Kristi was still watching through the window. “I’ll tell you what, Jonah, just let me get Kristi settled upstairs, and then I’ll come back down and I’ll sit watch—I promise. You can get some sleep. Has anyone else come out—that you know about?”

  “Keep drifting off, but the cops are good,” Jonah mumbled.

  He was clearly very tired.

  “I’ll be back,” Dallas promised.

  “Just like the Terminator. Hey, where did you go? You’ve been gone a long, long time—I mean, before now.”

  “We found another body,” Dallas said.

  “What?” Jonah frowned, waking up some. “No, they’re here—they’re all here. I know it.”

  “We believe we found Eliza Malone,” he said.

  That drew another astounded “What?”

  “In Ian Murphy’s basement,” Dallas said. “We had to get the cops out, the ME, you know—and crime scene technicians... I mean, it wasn’t a one-hundred-plus-year-old body. I reckon it’s been there just about two years. Since she disappeared.”

  “In Ian’s basement?” Jonah said, disbelieving. “Ian wouldn’t have hurt a—Okay, it’s the South, the man swatted flies. But he was...he was all about life. Until he died.”

  “I believe you. I didn’t know Ian, but from what I’ve heard, he was a good man.”

  “A fine man.”

  “I believe that someone made use of the house—easy enough with a sick man being in and out of his home. Or say, at night, a person could have slipped in and out, knowing that Ian was upstairs, sleeping under medication, and unlikely to hear anything,” Dallas said.

  Jonah hadn’t really heard Dallas’s words. He looked ahead, frowning. “Not Ian. It could not have been Ian, not Ian.”

  Dallas left him sitting there, deep in his own thoughts.

  Looking back to the door, he saw Kristi was still watching; she looked as if she wanted to run out and hug Jonah, but she backed away as Dallas neared the door, letting him enter.

  “Is he all right?”

  “He’s watching the yard. I’ll go back down and make him come in.”

  “Get him now—”

  “Not until y
ou’re upstairs and in the room and I’ve figured out the way to make sure no one enters while I’m away.”

  She smiled. “I’m not afraid of Lacey Knox. Honestly, I think that I could take her.”

  He grinned. “I’m sure you’re fierce in a hair-pulling fight.”

  “Never engaged in them, but...outside, usually, Monty and Justin would be watching the yard, and we’d know if something was going on.”

  “That was before we found Trinity’s remains. Monty won’t leave her, and Justin seems to be determined that he has to watch out for Monty.”

  “Watch out for him—what’s a ghost going to do? He was really distraught, and if he was living, I’d be incredibly concerned myself, but...he’s dead.”

  “Who knows the human heart?” Dallas asked her softly. “Anyway...let’s get upstairs. We’ve both had a long day, and you uncovered a crime scene,” he reminded her. “How did you find her?”

  “I saw her...or, rather, something of her. I was heading out to see if Jackson had found anything, and I stopped by the entry. She was so sad, and she seemed to be pointing down. Dallas, you believe me, don’t you? There’s no way that Ian was responsible for what happened to her.”

  “I believe you,” Dallas assured her. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

  She nodded, and they started for the stairway, but Dallas paused.

  There was someone in the front parlor, looking out into the dark street beyond the window. Dallas held up a hand, indicating that Kristi should stay back.

  The man standing in the parlor had his hands on his hips; he was just looking out into the darkness of the night. He was silhouetted from the pale glow of the streetlights. Dallas recognized him from his stance.

  “Mr. Meyer,” Dallas said, walking toward him.

  Murray spun around as if he’d been deep in his thoughts—and startled out of them.