Grave Doubts (A Paranormal Mystery Novel) (3 page)

“I won't have a dog, Amy. You know
that.” Lee concentrated on not moving a muscle, hoping it would reinforce her
point.

“Mom,” Amy came and sat across from
her mother, her favorite charm bracelet tinkling as it hit the tabletop. “It's
not as if you have to keep her. I'll be back on Saturday. She'll keep you
company.”

“I don't want company!” Lee snapped,
inadvertently pounding the can of soup on the table. Amy’s charm bracelet bounced
a short melody in response.

They both froze. Lee dropped her
eyes and drew her clenched fists into her lap. Amy tensed, but kept silent,
pulling the animal to her side.

“I’m sorry. I’m pretty wound up,” Lee
apologized.

She looked up at her soon-to-be
nineteen-year old daughter and then down at the dog now resting its head on Amy's
knee. The black mask that extended down the dog’s muzzle softened her face, but
Lee knew better. Soldier had been trained by a military man as a security dog
and had failed a crucial test. She’d been unable to identify with a human being
strongly enough to provide the required protection. The trainer had a choice to
either put the dog down, or find it a home. Her soft-hearted Amy had offered a
home. Now Lee had visions of her daughter’s throat being ripped out by mistake.

Lee shifted her gaze to a mug sitting
on the table from breakfast.

“I love this mug, you know,” she
said aimlessly.

Amy had given it to her for
Valentine’s Day. Lee reached for the mug, absently tracing the two interlocking
hearts stenciled on its side. Her world was falling apart, pushing her emotions
to the edge. She had just lost her assistant and close friend. Now, she was
losing her daughter. She needed to get a grip. Gymnastics had once been her
vehicle of choice to blot out personal conflicts. Back then, dusting her hands
with chalk and heading for the parallel bars was all it took. In fact, Patrick
had once accused her of using athletics to fill the gaps in her life. He’d been
partially right. She hadn’t dated much back then. She always said she was too
focused on the sport. It wasn’t until she’d been injured and had to give it up
that she’d met and married Brad. After Brad, there was Amy. Now, there was only
work.

Lee got up and took the mug to the
sink to give her time to think. She put it under the faucet and turned on the
water to rinse it out. When the old pipes stuttered, something inside her
snapped, and she slammed the flat of her hand against the curved spout with a
strangled curse. Amy remained silent as Lee's anguish filled the room. Lee held
her breath, staring into the old, ceramic sink, wincing at the tears that
threatened to explode. A full thirty seconds passed before she exhaled.

“Okay,” she whispered. “The dog
stays until Saturday. That’s all.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Amy agreed, jumping
up to give her mom a hug from behind. “I know it’s been a tough day. You need
to get some rest.” She kissed her mom on the cheek.”I’ve got to get going. I’m
meeting Maddie for dinner.”

Amy left the kitchen, running up
the stairs with the dog right behind her. Lee continued to stare into the sink,
focused on the small water bubbles that gathered around the strainer. The phone
rang three times before she actually heard it. Forgetting she’d unhooked the
phone in the kitchen the night Diane had died, she reached for that one first
only to slam it down before hurrying into the hallway. She just caught Patrick
before he hung up.

“Hey,” he said. “Sorry about
before. I didn’t even wish you a Happy Birthday.”

Patrick couldn’t stand conflict. He
was almost always the one to apologize first, sometimes showing up in awkward
places in order to do it. He’d once appeared at her office in the middle of an
important meeting, intent on assuaging his guilt over a disagreement. She had
to let him off the hook now, or he’d be on her doorstep when she got home from Robin’s
that night.

“Don’t worry about it,” Lee said. “I
shouldn’t have snapped. I’m just really tired.”

“No problem, and I’ll take good
care of the typewriter. And I hope you have a nice dinner. You deserve a break.
Then get some rest.”

“Okay,” she smiled. “That’s just
what Amy said. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

She hung up just as Amy came down
the stairs.

“I'll call you when I get back to
Corvallis.”

Lee perked up and turned to find
Amy with a box of folded clothes in her arms.

“I’m going over to Robin's for
dinner.”

“Good idea. I left a little
something for you upstairs,” she said shyly. “I’m sorry I won’t be here
tonight, Mom. I mean, for your birthday and all.”

Lee smiled, hoping to camouflage
her disappointment. “That’s okay. We’ll do something next weekend.”

Amy brightened up. “Absolutely. I’ll
call you when I get to campus, so turn the answering machine back on.” Amy
leaned down to give the dog a kiss on the nose, letting her dark curls flop
into her eyes. “I left the dog food in the kitchen.” She grabbed her purse off
the hall table and turned to her mother. “I love you, you know.”

“I know,” Lee replied, blinking back
tears suddenly.  Her throat seemed perpetually tight these days, and she
swallowed to relieve the pressure. Amy opened the front door and stepped onto
the porch.

“You have your inhaler?” Lee
stopped her, already knowing the answer.

“Yesssss, Mom,” Amy replied,
twisting the corner of her mouth.

“Well, don't get used to the idea
of leaving this dog here.”

Amy smiled. “I won’t. By the way,
there are a couple of bags of clothes upstairs for the thrift store.”

Lee just nodded as Amy ran down the
steps and started across the lawn.

“Hey,” Lee stopped her again. “You
originally said there were two reasons why this dog flunked out of security dog
school. You only gave me one.”

Amy turned back, the hood framing
her face. “It seems she was a bit hard to call off, as they say.”

An impish smile appeared, deepening
Amy’s dimples. For a fleeting moment, she looked exactly like her Uncle Patrick.
Then she dashed for the street, the jingling chime of the charm bracelet fading
as she reached her car. Lee watched her pull away from the curb, finding it
difficult to breathe.

She continued to stand in the
doorway long after the car was gone as if Amy might change her mind and come
back. When Amy didn’t come back, Lee crossed her arms over her chest trying to
hold in the sob that struggled to get out.

How could it be that her daughter
was old enough to be in college?  Lee still remembered the smell of the baby
powder she used to smooth onto Amy’s skin after a bath, and how she laughed
every time Lee touched the bottom of her tiny little foot. Lee remembered
staring at that foot, wondering how a foot could be that small. It was like a
perfectly made miniature of the real thing. Now, Lee wondered how that foot had
grown so big it could walk away on its own.

With a deep sigh, she looked down
at the dog standing quietly by her side. “Don't get any ideas. I'm not a
willing partner in this.”

The dog whined and placed its head
beneath her hand. Lee grimaced, but didn’t push her away this time. As a brisk
breeze wound up outside, Lee glanced once more to the street. A handful of
dried leaves had begun to chase each other down the sidewalk, pushed on by an invisible
force. She closed the door under the watchful eyes of a large, black bird
perched on the telephone wires above her property.

CHAPTER FOUR

A hundred small water jets pounded
the knots out of Lee’s neck and shoulders, sending tingles of pleasure down her
back. Moments later, she toweled off and dressed in her favorite lime-green
chenille sweater, faded jeans, and black flats, before surveying herself in the
oval mirror that hung next to the vanity. If she thought the image would
lighten her mood, she was disappointed. The high cheekbones, a gift from her
Norwegian grandfather, helped support the visage, but the whole image lacked
energy. Even pinching her cheeks only succeeded in creating red blotches that
stood out in contrast to the shadows that dulled her normally clear blue eyes. Only
the dark curls that had been cut to frame her face seemed to add any vitality
to the image in the mirror. Lee stared for so long at the haggard reflection,
that the image blurred and she no longer recognized the person staring back. Just
the hazy outline of a woman she didn’t really know - a mother, a sister, an
ex-wife, an ex-friend.

You’re no friend of mine!

The last words Diane had ever said
to her seared her mind, and she closed her eyes, willing the tears to retreat.
Finally, when she opened them again, her tear-soaked gaze came to rest on a
picture reflected on the wall behind her. In it, she and Patrick were perched
on the lap of a department store Santa when they were very young. Patrick was
two years older than she and sat tucked in the old man’s elbow, eyes twinkling,
his hand outstretched to snag a curl of the man's fake beard. The expression on
Patrick’s face never changed. She saw it then as she saw it now. To him, life
was a bit of a lark, something to enjoy, but not take too seriously. On the
other hand, at some point in her own life, Lee had retreated to an inner
sanctuary where few people were allowed. Even Patrick.

Lee sighed and shook her head to
dispel the conflicting images. She reached over and picked up the onyx bird
from where she’d placed it on the counter earlier. The head was polished as
smooth as an oil slick, and the beak was carved like a fishhook. Reflections
from the light over her mirror made the chiseled eyes seem as if they were
alive, keeping track of her every movement. The lamp on the counter had also
warmed the onyx. It was comforting, and somehow familiar. She’d been with Diane
the day she’d bought the figurine in a second-hand store in Yakima, Washington,
near the Indian reservation. They’d been browsing for antiques. Diane found the
bird tucked behind a dusty old watering can, along with two other stone
sculptures. Although the other figurines were of the same quality, it was the
bird alone that had attracted her, prompting her to take it to the old Indian
behind the counter.

Quick to recognize a potential
buyer, the old man had waxed eloquently about Indian totems and how they
represented the physical form of an individual’s spiritual guide. The man had
taken Diane’s hand in his leathered palm and turned it over as if reading her
fortune. With a curious glance at Lee, he’d claimed it was Diane’s totem and
even offered to lower the price. Lee sniggered in the background, thinking this
guy should have been selling used cars. To her surprise, Diane had shelled out
the required fifty dollars and taken it home. Cupped now in the palm of her
hand, Lee wondered why Carey had picked this one item out of all of Diane’s
belongings to give to her. She replaced the figurine on her makeup table and
finished getting ready.

Fifteen minutes later, she was back
downstairs, anxious to get to Robin’s. She placed a ceramic bowl filled with
dry dog food in front of Soldier. The dog sniffed at the bowl and then turned
up her nose.

“What’s that supposed to mean?
You’re not getting anything else.”

Soldier sat down, her German
Shepherd ears standing straight up like two exclamation points. The message was
clear. She wanted something else. Lee looked into the bowl and wrinkled her
nose.

“It is pretty pathetic, I suppose,
but you have no choice.”

The dog whined and slid her paws
forward until she lay on the floor, her big black nose pressed against the bowl.
Frustrated, Lee yanked the bowl away and added warm water. When she replaced
it, the dog rose and began to eat.

“Jeez. Is that really what you
wanted?  You communicate better than most four-year olds.”

Soldier consumed the meal quietly. When
the dog had finished, Lee snapped her fingers.

“C’mon, time to go outside.”

She led Soldier onto the back porch
and then let her out into the backyard. She watched her sniff her way around
the withered rose bushes and rhododendrons until the doorbell rang. Letting go
of the outside screen door, Lee left the back door to the house open, thinking
Soldier would bark if she wanted back inside. Lee was surprised to find Carey
standing under the porch light.

“Hi, Lee. Am I disturbing you?”

Carey still wore her funeral dress
under a light raincoat, but had removed the gloves and hat.

“Of course not,” Lee replied. “I’m
going out for dinner soon, but please, come in.”

Carey stepped inside and Lee
offered her a cup of tea.

“Just a glass of water, if you
don’t mind.”

Lee hung Carey’s raincoat on an
antique coat tree by the stairs before going to the kitchen. As she filled a
glass with water, the screen door slammed. She turned in time to see Soldier
pad down the hallway toward the front room with only a cursory glance in Lee’s
direction. Smart dog, Lee thought. She threw some ice into the glass before
following her.

Carey stood looking through the
front window toward the street. The sun had dipped below the trees, washing the
sky in hues of dark gray. The soft light from a faceted Tiffany lamp cast a
warming glaze across Lee’s collection of antique clocks that lined the walls on
either side of the window, their ticking creating a soothing white noise in the
background. Next to the clocks was an oak bookcase that held about fifteen of
her antique cameras. Soldier sat behind Carey waiting for acknowledgment.

“Here you go.” Lee offered the
glass of water.

As Carey turned, the spill from the
lamp caught the area under her left ear lobe, illuminating a large bruise. The
mark was visible for only a moment and then gone. Lee pretended not to notice
as Carey took a long drink.

“Please, sit down, Carey.”

Lee gestured to an overstuffed
white chair, and Diane’s sister sank into its comforting embrace as if she’d
just returned from a long journey abroad. She closed her eyes for a moment,
while Lee sat on the edge of the flowered sofa. An awkward pause filled the
room until Carey opened her eyes to stare at the glass in her hands.

“I just have to talk to somebody,”
Carey said, still staring at the glass. “Vern couldn’t care less about all of
this. He thinks I’m crazy.”

“You mean about Diane’s death?”

“Yes. I just can’t believe she
killed herself.”

Her voice trailed off, and she
paused, looking at Lee with a frozen, haunted expression.

“I know this will sound stupid,”
she continued, “but I think Diane would have died before she would have killed
herself.”

Lee smiled despite the gravity of
the statement. Lee slid down onto the sofa, curious now to hear what Carey had
to say.

“I don’t know if you knew this or
not,” Carey began, as she placed the glass on a side table, “but we had an aunt
who committed suicide when we were in high school. Diane loved her very much.
But instead of being sympathetic, Diane was really angry at her. She felt life
could never be that bad. That’s why I don’t think she’d ever do such a thing.”

Another long pause filled the space
between the two women. Carey seemed to be calculating her next move.

“But, if she didn’t kill herself,
Lee, then how did she die?”

The expression on Carey's face
− the rounded, innocent eyes and lifted eyebrows − reminded Lee of
a child. Diane had often said her sister couldn’t make a decision to save her
life. Lee suspected she was right and considered whether she should be honest.

“I don’t know how she died,” Lee
admitted.

Carey stood up and crossed to the
fireplace, gazing into the cold, black chamber. Soldier lay on the floor in
front of the antique chest that served as a coffee table, her eyes following
Carey with a calm acceptance. Some dogs were like that, Lee thought,
instinctively knowing friends from enemies.

“The police think it was suicide,”
Carey said to the empty fireplace. “So does my husband. Vern doesn’t have much
imagination I’m afraid, and can’t conceive of anything else.”

Carey continued to stand with her
back to Lee, both hands resting on the mantle. Outlined by the rich wood of the
fireplace and the warm tones of the wall sconces, she could have been a nun in
prayer, all dressed in black. Lee watched her for a moment, contemplating the
two sisters. Carey was shorter than Diane, and her brown hair had a natural
curl to it, while Diane’s had been bone straight. Carey’s voice was feather
light, as if she couldn’t quite get enough air into her lungs to support it. On
the other hand, Diane’s voice had carried the heartbreak of a torch singer. Lee
had tried to get Diane to sing on occasion, and once, when they’d had a little
too much to drink, she’d succeeded. Diane had thrown a silk scarf around her
neck, raised a shoulder and broken into,
“Whatever Lola wants…Lola gets.”
The
two had peeled off in a fit of laughter, knocking over a bottle of red wine and
staining the cream-colored carpet in Diane’s condo. It was one of the reasons
Diane had recently pulled up the carpet and had the hardwood floors refinished.

“I guess I can’t blame Vern,” Carey
said softly. “Suicide is bad enough. But if Diane didn’t kill herself, the alternative
is chilling. Vern thinks people who commit suicide are quitters. Now he doesn’t
want his name associated in any way with Diane’s.”

“That seems rather harsh,” Lee
responded.

“You don’t know my husband.” Carey
lifted her chin to the ceiling as if to gain strength from heaven. “Diane
wouldn’t have been surprised. Vern is very opinionated. He likes things…a
certain way. If they deviate, even to a small degree, he gets, well, upset. You’ll
have to agree, suicide is a severe deviation.” She paused again and let her
eyes drift back to the fireplace. “He won’t even let me talk about it at home.”

“You can’t talk about your own
sister’s death?”

“No.” Carey turned a saddened face
in Lee’s direction. “He says Diane was a loser. That she was always a loser. She
got divorced and then in desperation dated a married man. To Vern, suicide was
just the logical result of an already failed life.”

Tears suddenly filled her eyes and
she restrained a sob. Lee got up to put a sympathetic hand on Carey's shoulder.

“You don’t think of her that way,
do you?”

“Of course not.” Carey gulped.

“Carey, do you know of anyone who
would want to hurt Diane?”

This close, Lee saw that Carey wore
heavier than normal face make-up, especially around her eyes where it was a
shade lighter than her skin tone. It made her skin almost translucent. Lee
thought it was meant to cover her grief…or something else.

“Let’s face it,” Carey began, “Diane
didn’t have a lot of friends, but those she did have were very close, like you.”
She smiled and the corners of her mouth creased into thin folds. “But I don’t
know anyone that would want to…”

“Kill her?”

Carey just nodded and looked at the
floor. When she looked up again, her face looked stricken. “My God, Lee, who
would kill my sister?  It’s really unthinkable. I mean, women like Diane aren’t
murdered.”

“I know. I can’t think of a reason
why anyone would kill her.”

Lee silently wished she hadn’t used
those words.

“Yet, I can’t think of a reason why
she would kill herself,” Carey almost pleaded.  “I just don’t know what to
think.”

Lee dropped her eyes as a feeling
of remorse washed over her. The fact that she and Diane had argued about her
new boyfriend only hours before her death was something she hadn’t shared with
anyone. Although she had reasoned away any real responsibility for Diane’s
suicide, the guilt still lay across her shoulders like a suffocating blanket. The
repeating nightmare only punctuated her self-imposed torture.

Carey looked up, her brows knit
with deep suspicion. “What do you know about her boyfriend, Bud?”

Lee looked up as if Carey had read
her thoughts. “Not much. I mean other than he’s married and seems like he’s
naturally oily all over.”

Even though the thought of Bud
Maddox made her feel as if someone had just walked across her grave, Lee was
glad to throw attention on someone else.

“He gives me the creeps,” Carey
agreed. “I never could understand what Diane saw in him. Vern wouldn’t even
allow him in our home. It’s been hard these last few months. It drove a wedge
between us, and I…” she choked back tears again and went to sit in the chair.

As Carey leaned sideways to wipe
her eyes, Lee got another glimpse of the bruise on her neck. When she looked
up, Lee looked away.

“I just keep thinking that I never
had the chance to say goodbye,” Carey sniffled. “It was like I lost the last
few months with my sister.”

Lee sat down again, considering
Carey’s loss and feeling very selfish for having focused only on herself these
past few days.

“Do you know anything about his
wife?” she asked.

Lee shook her head. “No. No one’s
ever seen her that I know of. Had Diane ever met her?”

“No,” Carey said. “Definitely not. In
fact, she mentioned once that Bud had never shown her a picture of his wife, so
she didn’t even know what she looked like. I think Diane was very conscious of
the fact Bud was still married and didn’t feel right about it. But she said
he’d told her he would be getting a divorce. She was convinced that Bud was in
love with her. I can’t think of any reason why he would harm her, can you?”