Chance of a Ghost (63 page)

My posse—that is, the Hendersons, Mom, Melissa, Jeannie and Tony (and Oliver, if you want to count him sleeping in the sling around Jeannie’s neck)—swarmed around me. Josh put me down, and my feet were mostly solid on the floor. Mostly. I told them all (including my feet) I was okay, and physically at least, that was true.

From where I was (thankfully) standing, it was obvious
many of the audience members had indeed left (including the deceased ones, as I saw only ten or eleven floating around, and none of them was looking toward the stage). Penny Fields was nowhere to be seen. Back up on the stage, the company had all come out to see what had happened. A chastised Jerry knelt down on the stage and kept asking if I was all right. He apologized a few times, too.

I looked up at Josh. “I’m thinking maybe we can skip the second act,” I said.

“Works for me,” he answered.

Twenty-nine

As it was getting cold and an actual flurry was beginning
to fall, we decided to skip going out for dessert and drive back to the guesthouse in the two vehicles, (I told Melissa I was too shaken up, which was about thirty percent true) and instead stopped at a drive-through Dunkin’ Donuts on the way.

Jeannie and Tony dropped off the Hendersons and left to take Oliver home—they said they hadn’t seen anything in the auditorium that would help the investigation. I think they just wanted to go home.

The rest of us converged at the front door to the guesthouse. I fumbled for the key, and after a few bone-chilling moments, we were in my front room removing layers and swapping basic reconnaissance. Paul, clearly having been waiting, had started watching through the door (literally—he’d had his front half on the outside and his back half on the inside) before we’d made it inside. Maxie (who had luckily not wanted to go to the show), he told me, was upstairs
doing further research on Dr. Wells and said she’d have something soon. I did not impart that information to the Hendersons, and Melissa and Mom had heard it for themselves.

Josh, unaware of the extra participant in the conversation, did what he had done at the performance: He found a spot in the den that was a little detached from the group, stood and observed with a wry expression on his face. He appeared fascinated.

“I didn’t see any of the patients there coming up to the performers for drugs,” Morgan said, sounding disappointed. “Of course, a lot of them are a little less active than in the communities these people usually play.”

“Something was wrong,” I said. “I can’t put my finger on it, but there was something just off about the whole thing.”

“I think it was the show,” Melissa suggested, stifling a yawn. She took a bite of the chocolate-frosted doughnut she’d chosen. Eating that doughnut would be the last thing she did before going up to bed, I’d decided, though she didn’t know it yet. Best not to provoke the argument too early; it just gives her time to come up with logical ammunition. “It was terrible!” Everyone had a chuckle at that.

“I don’t get why Penny Fields was there,” I said, giving voice to one of the many things that had been bothering me. “If she really wanted to give Tyra her job back, she could easily have called; she didn’t have to show up in person to do it. In fact, when she finally did it, it was by text, anyway.”

“There’s a bigger picture,” Mom suggested. She eschewed the doughnuts but was sipping on a decaf tea I’d brewed. Morgan and Nan had coffee from the Dunkin’ Donuts, and Melissa had a white hot chocolate. Yes, I was indulging my daughter. “But I don’t think I’m seeing it.”

“I’m most interested in the fishing-rod contraption you told us about, Alison,” Josh said. “I’ve seen that kind of equipment used for a lot of different purposes, and some of
the fishing line you can buy in sporting goods stores can stand up to very large fish fighting a hook. Does it occur to you that…”

“That someone could hook an electric toaster on one and cast it into a bathtub, thus making the person doing the casting ‘invisible’ to the person in the tub?” I said. Yeah, it had occurred to me. “But if that’s the case, why bother? Whoever wanted to kill Lawrence could have just thrown it into the tub or walked in and dropped it. He was going to die, anyway. Why bother to hide yourself from the victim?”

Morgan, who had been eyeing the vanilla crème doughnut but had not partaken, stood from the sofa and raised a finger in contemplation. “Because electrocution is a very tricky way to kill somebody,” he said. “You can’t be sure it’s going to work, even in someone who had a history of minor heart problems like Laurentz did. If it didn’t work, and Laurentz had lived, he’d know who tried to kill him and could put them behind bars.”

Melissa finished her doughnut and hot chocolate, and I immediately sent her to bed—with a sugar high that potent, suffice it to say the argument was short and to the point, but after her grandmother offered a bribe in the form of another home-cooked dinner the following night, she finally was convinced. I felt properly chastised and resolved to ask my mother for cooking lessons.

Putting my maternal shame aside, I came back down from Melissa’s room after giving her a good-night hug and looked at Paul, which was convenient because he was hovering just over Morgan’s head, and this way I could get the opinion of both professionals. “So, we have all the conflicting words everybody said and we think we know how somebody killed Lawrence Laurentz,” I said. “Now how do we figure out which one did it?”

“It’s not the figuring out,” Morgan mused. “It’s the proving it.”

Paul nodded. “We have a lot of testimony and some
good guesswork but absolutely no evidence at all. Even if the ME had done a really thorough autopsy, he would’ve only had a small chance of finding any evidence of electrocution.”

Morgan hadn’t heard that, hearing aids or no, but he added, “The fact is, Laurentz really did die of a heart issue. The only question is whether it was caused by someone tossing an electric toaster into his bathtub.”

“So?” I reiterated. “What’s next?”

There was a long pause. Morgan looked me directly in the face and said, “I honestly don’t know. There’s nothing else to look into. Penny Fields was a witness, but there’s no proof she was actually there when he died. Nobody was reported as acting suspicious near the building at the time, according to Chief Daniels in Monroe, who checked with Manalapan. There was no sign that any drug deals were going on while we were there tonight or that anyone was even interested in doing some. I’ve got nothing left to suggest. I wish I could help more, but Nan and I need to go home tomorrow. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” I said. “I appreciate all you’ve done for me when you were supposed to be on vacation. I’m sorry you didn’t get to enjoy yourself more.”

Morgan brightened. “Are you kidding? Best vacation of my life.”

Nan chuckled and nodded. “I’m going to tell all the cop wives I know that if you keep your private-investigator’s license, there’s always going to be something for their husbands to do here.”

I suppose I could have taken that in a negative way, but I chose not to. I gave her a hug. “I’ll be sorry to see you go,” I said honestly.

Nan sniffed a little. “You’ll have to let us know how it all works out.”

I shook my head. “I think you’re seeing that now. I’m out of ideas.” I looked up at Paul, but he was gone, which
was odd. This was the moment he’d usually give me a pep talk about how you can’t give up. Maybe even he thought we were beaten.

Nan and Morgan said their good-nights and went up to their room to pack. I looked over at Mom and Josh and shrugged. “I guess that’s it,” I said.

“I guess,” Mom agreed. “I’m sorry, Alison. If Larry”—she looked at Josh—“were able to hear me, I’d tell him I’m sorry, too.”

“I’m sure he knows, Mrs. Kerby,” Josh volunteered.

Or will, once you get home,
I thought.

She shot me a look that said, “Don’t let this one get away,” and patted him on the hand. “You call me, Loretta,” she said. Then she pulled on her coat and her backpack and walked to the door, saying she was tired. Josh stayed back, letting Mom and me have our moment. Then Mom added casually that, Jerry Rasmussen was coming to her house for brunch the next morning.

“Mom!” I exploded. “How could you not mention that until now? He’s a suspect in what might be a murder! He almost strangled me tonight!”

“I know,” Mom assured me, “but I don’t think he’s actually violent, just crazy like an artist.” She threw me a look. “Not a
good
artist.”

“Mom, Lawrence hasn’t come back to your house yet; he won’t even be there to protect you. What are you thinking?” I demanded.

Mom looked into my eyes. “I’m thinking I can help. Look. Maybe I can do a little detecting myself,” she said. “Don’t worry. I’ll text if there’s trouble.”

You can’t argue with Mom when she decides something. “Call,” I said. “By the time I figure out what your text means, Jerry could be out on parole.”

Mom laughed, as if I was kidding, bid Josh and me good-bye, and went out without so much as a look back. My head was clogged with thoughts, none of them good.

“She’s crazy,” I said, mostly to myself.

“Alone at last,” Josh said when Mom closed the door behind her, and I chuckled a little. Okay, maybe one of those thoughts was good.

“I really know how to show a guy a good time, huh?” I said.

He walked over to me and smiled. “Maybe not as great as Color Quiz, but you’ve still got it,” he said. And he leaned down and kissed me very nicely for a good long moment. I felt his arms closing around me, too, something I did not attempt to stop at all.

Until we heard the crash.

It was clear the sound, a good loud one, had come from the area of the hallway near where the “STOP GO OUT” message was scrawled near the ceiling. Without exchanging a word, we ran to the spot, and sure enough, a huge chunk of the plaster above the door to the library had been knocked out. The mallet that had been used to do it lay on the floor, along with a bunch of smashed plaster and some insulation.

Paul and Maxie appeared from somewhere upstairs just as we reached the hallway. I could hear footsteps on the stairs, too, meaning Nan and Morgan were on their way.

“Not again,” I said without thinking.

“Again?” Josh asked. “This has happened before?”

“It wasn’t me!” Maxie insisted. “I have an alibi this time!” I looked up, and Paul nodded—this wasn’t Maxie’s handiwork.

“This is a really interesting house,” Josh said.

It took a while to convince everyone it was okay to quit
for the evening, especially Melissa, who rushed down but was sent immediately back to bed. Nan and Morgan checked through the house looking for the intruder they assumed had broken in, and Josh had stayed by my side throughout,
which was more than I probably would have done for some crazy person who’d just ambled back into my life for the first time since middle school.

I knew that there was no intruder, at least not a living, breathing one, so I must have seemed unnaturally calm to the others. In truth, I was hoping everyone would clear out so I could plot strategy with my two nonbreathing squatters.

Satisfied that there was no further danger in the house, and stocked with yet another great story to tell the gang at home, Nan and Morgan went back upstairs, assuming again that this was it for the night. And Josh, who was improbably not rushing for the nearest exit, had to be reassured that I would be all right, so he kissed me a few more times to be sure. Which would have been lovely but for the ghoulish Greek chorus I had in the room. Paul stuck his head up through the ceiling so he wouldn’t see anything, but Maxie’s sarcastic cries of “You go, girl!” and “Hubba hubba” somehow killed the mood for me.

Josh must have felt me holding back, because he stepped away. “Too soon?” he asked.

“No!” I stressed. Maxie laughed. “How could it be too soon? I’ve known you since I was eleven.”

“Still.”

“I’m tired,” I said. “Believe me, that’s all it is.”

He studied me for a moment, then nodded once. “Okay. I’m going to go so you can stop being tired. Thanks for dinner.”

“Thank my mother.”

“I’ll thank you for the rest of the evening, then. It’s been completely unexpected.”

I didn’t ask what that meant, which I consider a sign of maturity.

Josh scuffled out into the night, which was somehow not as cold as before. And I looked up for my two ghostly sidekicks, who were now drifting back down to eye level.

Maxie tried to get the first word in, but I knew what it would be, so I blazed past her and talked directly to Paul. “Are we really done with this investigation?” I asked him.

His eyebrows rose and he made a sheepish face. “I honestly don’t know,” he said.

I walked into the den and lay down on the sofa. I threw my left arm across my eyes. It all seemed so exhausting. “I think I’m done,” I said. “I can’t help Lawrence Laurentz. I can’t find my father. I can’t even stop some crazy ghost from punching holes in my walls.”

The voice that came back to me wasn’t the one I expected. “I think I can help.” That couldn’t be Maxie, could it?

I took my arm off my eyes, and there she was, hovering almost directly over me, wearing a black T-shirt with the slogan “Rhymes with Rich” emblazoned on the front and a blue denim miniskirt—it was sort of like what a skirt would be, anyway, if it had been left in the dryer for a week—and holding my prehistoric MacBook in one hand.