Three
From Brigit’s Journal:
I’m so upset! Miss Irena’s spreading rumors about me—she called me a cheap tart and told everyone that I come from a broken home. My parents may be dead, but they loved each other till their deaths and I simply won’t stand for her lies. But what can I do? I’ve never said a word against her, or complained about the extra work she causes, or the slights or snubs when she thinks I’m not looking.
If only my parents had lived. I miss them dreadfully. It’s only been a couple of years. I think I could have taken my sweet William’s loss, if they’d been around to support me. Some days, I miss them all so much, and the land of my birth more than anything. Why, oh why, did I come here? And now, there’s so much at stake. I feel like a rabbit trapped in a magician’s hat. If only I had the chance to start over. If only my father hadn’t fallen asleep in that chair with his cigar, none of this would have happened. I’d still be home, safe.
All I feel is a sense of bleak desperation, and I wonder if we’ll ever be happy. Or will it all crumble, and will I go home to Mary Kathryn in shame? There are times when I think that might be best. I think I’ll look into ticket prices tomorrow on my day off. Perhaps this is the only way.
I thought we were going to have it out in the open last week, but at the last moment, fear took hold and we kept silent. My life seems to be made of silent moments, and like the Lady of Shalott, I silently watch from my tower as the world goes on loving and living.
“WHY DON’T YOU take off and search the neighborhood?” I shooed the kids toward the door before they could start clearing the table. “We’ll take care of this, and when we’re done, I’ll come out to help.”
“Thanks, Mom!” Kip gave me a brief hug, then he and Randa rifled through the supply cupboard in the pantry for a couple of flashlights and took off out the back door. I peeked through the window over the sink, watching their bobbing lights as they began searching through the backyard. As I turned back, a thought crossed my mind.
“Mur, do you know anybody who works at the animal shelter? I thought I might give them a call. Maybe they picked up Sammy today.” I hated that place. When I went to choose a cat for our family, I wanted to cry. It tore me up something awful to see the rows of cages sitting there, scared and lonely babes peeking out of each one. I couldn’t give them all a home, but I’d taken Samantha and her kittens, and at least I’d saved four lives. Even though it would make finding her much quicker, I prayed she wasn’t locked behind cold bars again.
Mur shook her head. “They’re on short staff, so you’ll have to wait until morning to go check it out, and maybe until Monday. She’s wearing a collar and tags, right?”
I nodded.
“They’d call you if they found her. Our shelter is pretty good, compared to the ones in the bigger cities. I’ll bet you she just snagged herself a nice place to hide and is curled up there, waiting until everybody’s good and scared before she saunters home. Definitely give them a call if she doesn’t show up tonight, but I don’t think it’s going to be necessary.”
I gave her a thin smile. Murray had two large boas and they never got out of their cages unless she took them out. She’d never owned a cat in her life. But I didn’t say anything. She was trying to cheer me up, and that’s what friends are supposed to do.
“You’re probably right, but I’m worried all the same.” I glanced out the window into the darkness beyond. “It’s going to be cold out there tonight.” As I poured the spaghetti sauce into a container and snapped the lid on, Joe and Jimbo came back into the kitchen.
Jimbo was carrying Mur’s jacket. “I hate to leave with the kids so upset,” he said. “But Anna and I have a few errands to run before the evening’s over.” He gave me a peck on the cheek, a habit he’d recently adopted. I could see the worried twist to his mouth peeking out from the brush that he called a mustache.
At least he’d gotten rid of the fashion faux pas I’d recommended earlier in the year. His cornrowed biker’s beard had definitely not transformed him into a “ten.” Thanks to Murray’s influence, Jimbo had recently shaved off the Deadhead-Rasta look, and now his beard was neatly clipped near his chin and his hair smoothed back into a long ponytail. He still looked rough and tumble, but hey—he looked
good
rough and tumble. I reached up and patted his cheek.
“You’re a sweetheart. And so are you,” I said, turning to Mur.
She sighed. “Damn it, I wish we could stay and lend a hand, but I have to stop at the station and make sure the men haven’t done something stupid again.” Murray glanced at Jimbo, obviously torn, then turned back to me. “I didn’t tell you this because it’s just so demeaning, but on Thursday, somebody—I still don’t know who—got into my computer and E-mailed an X-rated picture to the chief from my account. Supposedly from me!”
I winced. “Holy hell, that sucks rocks. How X-rated?” You just didn’t E-mail the chief of police porn.
She grimaced. “More than you want to know. Think overly endowed young man, with a big-breasted woman on her knees in front of him, and you get the idea. The woman was wearing a skimpy Pocahontas costume and I have the sneaking suspicion that whoever sent it was trying to suggest to Bonner that I wanted to reenact the scene.”
I stared at her, unable to comprehend that someone on the police force would actually go to such lengths just because they didn’t like Murray’s boyfriend. Unless it was one of the men passed over for promotion who was bucking for her job. Either way, it was lowdown, dirty, and stupid to boot. Anybody willing to take a chance on incurring Murray’s anger had to be either insane or … no, just insane. Murray could be a dangerous enemy; everybody knew she had a temper.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
She frowned. “I was hoping to find out who did it, but I don’t think I’m going to. I’ve changed my password, but it’s become obvious that I’m no longer just fighting for an equal chance on the force. I have enemies there.”
Jimbo grunted. “If I ever catch the S.O.B. there won’t be anything left of him. Nobody treats a woman like that and gets away with it.”
I stifled a snort and thought about reminding him that earlier in the year he’d made an obnoxiously rude pass at me while drunk. And
then
had gone on to throw a crudely inscribed brick through my living room window. But I decided not to bother. Jimbo had changed, all for the better. I turned back to Murray.
“Keep me informed. This is just sick.”
“Oh yeah. I’m not giving up. If I can find the asshole who did it, he’ll pay. Trust me on that.” As she shrugged into her jacket, a brown suede affair with fringe on the sleeves, she added, “Call me later and let me know if Sammy’s shown up, okay?”
Joe and I walked them to the door. I stared out into the night. “Sure thing. Say, would you please take a look beneath your trucks and their hoods before you leave? Cats like to hang out in the stupidest places.”
“Chin up, O’Brien, you’ll find her,” Jimbo said, waving as they clattered down the porch steps to the driveway.
I turned back to find Joe digging through the closet. “Where do you keep the extra flashlights again? We should help the kids look for the cat.”
As I started to speak, his cell phone rang. He answered it while I headed back to the pantry where I kept a half-dozen flashlights. I was making sure the batteries were fresh as Joe came running in.
“Em, there’s a fire over on Hamilton Drive. People are hurt and they need the medic unit. The entire station’s been called out—this is a big one and it doesn’t look good.” He grabbed his jacket. “I’m going to be late. I might be gone all night.”
I handed him his backpack, fear puddling in my stomach. “How bad?”
He rubbed his head, pushing back the strawberry blond curls that tendriled down over his brow. “Big Bad. We may need volunteers. Every truck in Chiqetaw is on the way. Apparently the Delta Mae apartment building has been engulfed by flames. There are fifty units in that building, five floors’ worth, and the fire’s out of control.”
I leaned back against the wall, closing my eyes. “Those poor people.” Then, realizing that every minute he stayed here kept him safe but put others at risk, I yanked open the door. “Go! And be careful, please. Call me when you get a chance.”
He gave me a grateful smile. “You know how much I love you, don’t you?”
Fighting back tears, I nodded. “I love you too. Just take care of yourself, Joseph Files.” I hastily planted a kiss on his cheek and he raced toward his truck. My heart skipped a beat when he stopped long enough to take a quick peek beneath it, then shot out of the driveway on his way to the station. There were so many reasons I loved this man.
As I stood on the front porch, shivering, the kids came running up the street, both pale and with deer-in-the-headlights looks in their eyes.
“What? What is it?” I hurried them inside and shut the door, latching it firmly. “What happened?”
“M-m-m-mom … in the lot next d-d-door …” Kip only stuttered when he was frightened or terribly upset.
I leaned down and put my hands on his shoulders, bracing him firmly. “Kipling, honey? Take a deep breath—shush. Breathe.” Randa was glancing back at the door. “What happened?” I asked quietly, hoping to hell that some pervert hadn’t moved into the neighborhood. Or maybe, they’d found Samantha dead on the road.
Her voice quivering, Randa slid down onto the bench in the foyer. “Kip saw something next door. In the lot.”
“You saw something? Something as in what?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t see it, but Kip did.”
“Lights,” Kip broke in. “I saw lights. Round balls of light in the air.”
I was taken aback, I hadn’t expected to hear anything in that vein. Slipping on my jacket, I said, “Maybe somebody’s prowling around over there with a flashlight.”
Randa shook her head. “Not somebody, mom. Something.”
I gave him a long look. “You didn’t see anybody?”
“No, just the lights. They’re all different colors.”
Bewildered—we didn’t have fireflies in the area and it wasn’t the season for them anyway—I took a deep breath. “Okay, stay here. I’m going to go have a look. By the way, Joe had to go out on a fire. If something happens, call Murray.”
I grabbed one of the flashlights and headed next door. Most likely somebody was just out walking his dog for the night, and had startled the kids, but I wanted to make sure that nobody was mucking around the foundation. I could easily see someone deciding to ignore the warning ropes. All it would take was one misstep and bingo—a broken neck from a nasty fall.
The night was crisp, but judging from the clouds, the mist would rise before morning. In Chiqetaw, the streetlights were reminiscent of the gas lanterns that adorned street corners years ago before electricity and mercury vapor hit the mainstream. Modern in use, but vintage in looks, they gave the town a homey, cozy feel.
As I neared the lot, the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck began to bristle. Something was out there all right. I turned off my flashlight and slowed. As I rounded the fence that separated my house from Joe’s new land, the clouds parted briefly, letting a bare glimmer of star-shine through. The moon was near dark, of no use in lighting my way.
I squinted, searching the vague shapes and shadows, when a flicker of light caught my attention. Faint—so faint I could barely keep it in sight. One step at a time, I closed in, taking care not to go careening into the basement myself. The lights were a good twenty yards beyond the foundation, still out of reach, hovering in the last tangle of brambles we hadn’t managed to clear yet. As I moved closer, they came into focus. Whoa, Nelly. Kip had nailed it. Dancing lights, all right.
The glowing orbs were about the size of a large grapefruit and they darted through the air, shimmering shades of pink and greens, pale yellow, and blue so bright it was almost white. Enchanted, I watched as they swooped and dove around the lot.
One of the orbs suddenly approached me, hovering at arm’s length. It was almost a perfect sphere, and energy crackled from it. I reached out again, probing for a sense of what it was, but the orb darted away. Then, almost imperceptibly, it began to move forward again until it was hovering right in front of my face. My eyes ached from the light as I held my breath, waiting to see what it would do.
It circled me slowly, radiating behind my head, and then settled back in front of me. As we stood there in a comfortable standoff, I reached out again with my thoughts and asked, “Who are you? What do you want?”
Almost instantaneously, every light in the lot flickered and vanished, and a low wail rose from the basement, chilling me to the core. Holy hell, what was down there?
Shaking, I nervously approached the edge of the foundation and peered beyond the ropes, over the edge. There, against the layers of mulch in the basement, a thick pillar of fog had risen. Perhaps it was the autumn mists that came with the damp, chill nights in western Washington. Or maybe, my mind whispered, maybe it was something else, something trapped down there.
Whatever it was, I decided I’d had enough. Time to head home while I was still in one piece. I’d deal with this mystery in the morning, during the daylight. As I opened the front door, a distant wail of fire engines reminded me that Joe was out on duty, in danger, and once again, I had to acknowledge that this world could be a most unsettling place in which to live.
The kids were waiting. I slipped off my jacket and handed it to Miranda, asking if she’d hang it in the closet, then set the flashlight on the table. Both Kip and Randa looked at me expectantly.
“Did you see them?” Kip asked, and I had the feeling he was both afraid I’d say yes, and afraid I’d say no.
I nodded. “Yeah, I saw them. You weren’t imagining anything.”
“Why didn’t I see them, then? And what are they?” Randa asked. She stopped, swallowed, and added, “Mom, are they ghosts?”