Chapter 6 #2
“Some draughty old hotel near the Yorkshire moors,” he replies.
“Essie and Martha dragged the whole bridge club up here for a stay. The food and booze are top-notch, but the place is infested with ghosts. They’re practically oozing out of the walls and floors.
Very entertaining though, I’ll give them that.
The staff too. It’s like a geriatric Faulty Towers. ”
“Do Dad and Pops know you’ve made a break for freedom?”
“Pft, they’re off on a jolly on some bloody big boat in the Caribbean, why should they be the only ones allowed to have fun? Anyway, to what do I owe the pleasure of this call? I heard you were shacked up in connubial bliss with a psychic copper.”
“He’s a private investigator, not a police officer.” I sigh. I should have known Dad would have told him. I’m pretty certain half of Devon knows about me and Sam by now.
“But you are shacked up in connubial bliss?”
“No, I…we—oh, shut up,” I say snippily when Grumps barks out a loud laugh. The gravelly sound is comforting. “Anyway, the reason I’m call–”
“Hold on a minute, Harry, let me move somewhere quieter. Marjorie has just knocked over a suit of armour, some bloody thing named Brad. It’s making a terrible racket.”
“Who’s Marjorie?”
“My bridge partner and, for the purposes of this trip, my roomie,” Grumps replies. The background noise gradually quietens, so I assume he’s moved into a different room.
“Your roomie?” I repeat slowly. “You don’t mean that you and her are—no, nope. I can’t even bring myself to finish that sentence.”
“For goodness’ sake, Harry, I’m eighty, not dead. Besides, we’re really only sharing a bed. She put her hip out last week, and she’s trying not to aggravate it while she’s on the list for a hip replacement. The consultant advised her to avoid any vigorous movement.”
“Oh my god.” I close my eyes.
“You know I loved your grandmother, but she wouldn’t have wanted me to be lonely, and it’s not like Marjorie and I are exclusive. We’ve both been playing the field, you could say. Do you know what a swinger is?”
“Please stop talking.”
“I have to admit, my life has gotten a lot more exciting since I’ve moved into the retirement village. There’s a lovely new resident from Thailand called Sulada. Hell of a handsome woman, and she’s very flexible for her age. She does this thing with her toes–”
“I am literally begging you.”
“Gave me quite a funny turn with her foot under the dinner table, I almost spilled my soup.”
“Do Dad and Pops know what goes on in this den of sin they’ve apparently settled you in?”
“It’s not a den of sin. We’re all just really friendly.”
“I’m beginning to think Dad was right. The Devonshire countryside appears to be a hotbed of debauchery.”
“People do get a little bored around here, Harry. There are only so many activities to counter the tedium of your twilight years. We have to take our entertainment where we can get it.” He pauses.
“You aren’t going to tell your dad, are you?
I love my son-in-law, but by god, that man’s a shameless gossip. ”
“No,” I sigh. “I won’t tell him, if nothing else but to spare you the inevitable lecture on safe sex.”
“Got you, did he?”
“My ears are still on fire,” I mumble, and he barks out another rusty laugh, making me smile. Although I don’t really want to hear about Fifty Shades of Pensioner, I’m glad he’s happy. “Your secret is safe with me.”
“Knew I could count on you, Harry,” he huffs.
I fall silent, trying to gauge how to broach the subject of everything that’s going on here in London without just word-vomiting it all in an incoherent mess.
“Grumps?”
“What’s wrong, lad? And don’t bother lying to me.
I’ve always been able to read you like a book even when we’re not face-to-face, so spit it out.
We’ve got seniors entertainment in the dining room in half an hour.
Some twinky little spirit with a moustache, by the name of Roger, is apparently very excited about it.
” He sighs. “I have to say, Harry, if the most exciting thing about the afterlife is watching a bunch of geriatric guests playing bingo, I don’t think I’m looking forward to dying all that much. ”
“Okay?” I shake my head, not really sure what to say to that.
“Anyway, how are things going with your mum? Have you spoken to her yet? Your pops says you’ve been dragging your feet.
Perhaps you should consider crawling out of bed with that psychic PI long enough to actually have a conversation with the woman who gave birth to you.
Not that it matters that much to me one way or another, but it’s always seemed to bother you.
Maybe you’ll feel better once you two have talked. ”
“Uh…that might be a bit of a problem.”
“What is?”
“She’s dead,” I blurt out.
There’s silence on the other end of the line for a moment, then Grumps’ low, soothing voice comes over the line. “I’m so sorry, Harry. What happened?”
“She was murdered,” I reply. Then, before I can stop myself, the floodgates open and along comes the word-vomit, a whole tidal wave of it.
“Someone killed her and then used really dark magic to bind her soul and I’ve been having these nightmares about one of her ancestors ever since I arrived in London where I keep seeing this witch called Cordelia setting a demon loose in Victorian London to slaughter all these abusive men.
I haven’t told my dads and they’re going to be so mad at me when they find out and I finally made some friends and one of them is actually dating Death, as in the real actual Grim Reaper, who I’ve met by the way.
My friends all knew my mother and are trying to solve her murder because one of them is a police detective but I haven’t told any of them that I’m Vivienne’s son who she gave up for adoption and now I’m kind of involved with Sam, the PI guy, and I don’t know what the hell I’m doing...
oh, and there’s a fox who can walk through walls that led me to an empty grave in Whitechapel that belongs to the woman I keep dreaming about. ”
There is another protracted silence before he finally answers.
“Is that everything?”
“Basically.”
“My goodness, you have got yourself into a bit of a pickle, haven’t you?” He pauses, and I wait for him to organise his thoughts. “Let’s start with the most important thing, your mother’s murder. How did she die?”
“I don’t know for certain yet. I’m trying to get my hands on the post-mortem report.
My friend Tristan is a pathologist, and he was particularly close to Vivienne, so hopefully he can find out.
It’s not her cause of death that’s the most pressing issue though.
After her death, the killer marked her body with these symbols that I don’t recognise.
They look like some kind of sigil, but the worst part is her mouth.
I’ve seen her spirit twice now, and her mouth…
it’s just gone. There’s a patch of skin where her lips should be, and it’s marked with another of those symbols. ”
“A binding spell,” he muses. “Someone didn’t want her spirit talking.”