Chapter 32 #3
“Nola, before I forget, I know you and Beau aren’t getting along right now, so if you’d rather give me the rings to hold until Mimi’s ready, I’d be more than happy to help. That will save you the awkwardness of dealing with Beau. I promise they’ll be safe with me.”
“Actually, I would—but I don’t know where they are.
” I wasn’t sure why I lied. Probably because she was married to Henry, and I didn’t trust him.
I gave her a reassuring smile. “After the attempted break-in I asked Sarah to hide them, and I guess I’ve been too distracted to find out exactly where she put them.
” I pulled out my phone. “Hang on—I can ask.”
I called Melanie’s landline in Charleston, knowing that nobody would be there to answer it, and I let it ring several times before hanging up. “She must have the ringer off.”
“Can you call Jolene and ask her to pass her phone to Sarah?”
“I could, but I really don’t want to bother them. It can wait. And no need to worry—Beau and Jaxson fixed the door and added more locks, and I’ll set the alarm on our way out. I’ll ask Sarah later.”
Camille slid on her jacket and picked up the box. “Don’t want to forget this. I’ll go first and open the car doors. I’ll be right back to help you down the stairs.”
“Thank you,” I said, stifling a yawn. “Sorry,” I said. “I haven’t been sleeping well.”
“Understandable. I’ll be right back.”
It was nearly three o’clock when we pulled out of the driveway and onto Broadway—plenty of time before sunset, around five o’clock. I sat with my leg propped up in the backseat, the box with its curious contents stored in the trunk.
Not surprisingly, Camille was a cautious driver, staying below the speed limit and taking corners more slowly than necessary.
It took us fifteen minutes longer to get to Esplanade than it took with Jolene or Beau at the wheel, and I must have fallen asleep at some point, because I wasn’t aware we were there until Camille shook my shoulder.
I never slept in cars, probably because of my childhood, during the lean times of which a car was our only shelter and someone needed to be on the alert.
Even on the long bus ride from Los Angeles to Charleston I didn’t remember actually falling asleep.
Now I found it difficult to hold my eyes open, every limb revolting at the notion of being forced to move. I wondered if this was a natural reaction to physical trauma, and if my brain was just now trying to catch up.
Camille had parallel parked at the curb, making it easy for me to exit the car.
We stood there for a minute looking at the faded facade, the house backlit by the late-afternoon sun, its front in shadow.
The brown grass and the dying leaves still clutching tree branches gave an appearance of a house in mourning and waiting for a miracle.
“I’m sure it was beautiful at one time,” Camille said. “I can see why you’re so attached to it.” After handing me my crutches, she said, “Give me your key and I’ll go open the door.”
I did as instructed, then slid my backpack over my shoulder before making my way through the door and into the front room. “I’ll be quick,” I said. “I just need to get something from one of the bedrooms.”
“Take your time—it’s still daylight, and I want to see the house. Although it’s such a shame.”
I wanted to ask her what she meant, but she was already climbing the steps to the second floor.
I paused at the threshold of the kitchen, remembering the feeling from before, the sense that something evil was coming down the stairs toward us.
Which was foolish right now, since Camille had already made it up the stairs and was now walking slowly around the room upstairs without any sign of fear.
I made my way to the closed armoire, turned the key, and opened it.
The doll had disappeared from Jolene’s car and it hadn’t shown up anywhere else, so I fully expected to find it where I’d first discovered it—especially since hearing what Sarah had said about the evil entity wanting the doll here.
The doll—or whoever was manipulating it—seemed to be of a different opinion.
I lifted my hand to open the small compartment at the top, where I’d first found the doll. I froze, my fingers suspended in midair.
Words had been written with a fingertip in the dust on the mirror. My dry tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth as I read the three words: FIND THE STONES.
I jerked back, knocking over my crutches and causing them to crash to the floor, the sound deafening in the almost-empty room. The words hadn’t been there before. I would have seen them.
Looking past them, I opened the small door. There was the doll, its glassy blue eyes staring at me, the expression almost challenging. I grabbed hold of her, and I could have sworn she blinked at me, maybe because she was aware of what I was about to do.
Despite the chill in the unheated house, dots of perspiration beaded on my forehead as a wave of nausea passed over me, making me wonder if I was coming down with something.
I sucked in a breath. “Sorry, Miss Pussycat. Zeus told someone to hide the key. I don’t know what key or where it goes, but considering your annoying habit of showing up everywhere, I’m going to guess you’ve been hiding it all along. ”
Leaning against the armoire, I took the doll’s head in both hands and used what was left of my strength to twist it until it popped off.
The head hit the wooden floor and rolled out of reach.
A wave of dizziness overtook me and I thought I might fall.
I waited for it to pass and then looked down at the headless torso in my hands.
Embedded in the soft stuffing of the body lay a silver key attached to a small chain with a plastic fob.
Guidry Moving and Storage was printed in red, with a 504 phone number beneath it.
I clasped the key tightly and let the doll’s torso drop to the floor.
In the part of my brain that was still functioning, I thought that a storage room would be a great place to hide a body.
I blinked, unspoken words swimming in front of me. I needed Beau. Even in my current mental state, I felt embarrassed by the admission. I needed him, and not just because of his psychic abilities. But not right now. Because all I could do at that moment was stay upright and not pass out.
Scampering footsteps ran down the stairs, followed by the heavier tread that I remembered from the last time I was there. A stench of rot sent an avalanche of fear through me, making me retch. “Mark? Are you here?”
I wasn’t sure when the pieces of the puzzle had finally clicked into place.
Maybe when I’d learned that Mark wore a toupee.
And that synthetic hair had been embedded in the bloodstained wooden floorboards.
The blood wasn’t Sybil’s, and there had been a lot of it, with strands of the hair stuck in the congealing and drying blood.
Which could mean only that the blood came from the person who’d worn the wig.
Mark. And there was only one reason why he would have been murdered by someone who was supposed to love him.
Ice-cold air swept through the room, and my limbs vibrated with fear. The spirit emanated pure evil. The evil of someone wicked enough to kill his own mother. I blinked hard, trying to clear my vision, which had suddenly become blurry. Think. Think.
I remembered the family photographs lining the windowsill in the elderly sisters’ house, how only one was of Mark.
He was their brother, yet they had chosen not to memorialize him in photographs.
I squeezed my eyes shut so I could focus on a single train of thought.
I recalled what the sisters had said about his relationship with Jessica and about how she’d moved out with Lynda to live with his mother, Sybil.
How Sybil had been brutally murdered and the rest of the family had disappeared on the same night.
But had they really disappeared? Maybe some of them had simply escaped after retribution for Sybil’s death had been exacted.
Opening my hand, I looked down at the key chain in my sweaty palm and wondered what secret it might hold.
And why the dark presence in the house didn’t want it revealed.
“Mark?” I said his name out loud without knowing why. Something was muddling my brain, but not enough not to know that I had just made a grave error.
A familiar scent of perfume wove its way through the gagging stench. I shoved the key chain into my jeans pocket while my fingers still functioned. I felt drunk but couldn’t remember drinking anything. What is wrong with me? An idea floated above my head, out of my grasp, unwilling to be dissected.
Heavy footsteps sounded from the adjacent bedroom as fear constricted my throat.
I knew better than to say Mark’s name again.
Irrationally, I thought he might forget about me and move on.
Smaller footsteps scampered around the room like a child was playing hide-and-seek.
I didn’t turn to look, my gaze fixed on the words on the mirror.
They floated in and out of focus, as if I were looking at them underwater.
An overwhelming exhaustion consumed me, and all I wanted to do was lie down on the floor and go to sleep.
But I couldn’t. There was something…a memory.
Or a thought. A piece of information that whirled around my exhausted brain, telling me to pay attention.
I tried to focus on the mirror as it caught an image of something behind me. But I couldn’t turn. I could barely stand on my one good leg. I braced my arms against the armoire so I wouldn’t fall.
Pay attention. The words came from a voice inside my head. A woman’s voice that I hadn’t heard in a long time. It made me want to cry. “Mom?” I said, the single syllable slurring.