Grave Doubts (A Paranormal Mystery Novel) (13 page)

The room was
filled with people. In front of the fireplace, the wife of the University
President listened to Roland Bates, who had somehow commanded the attention of
two other women as well. Martha Jackson stood in the dining room next to a
table laden with food, casually chatting with two of the hospital board members
from the competing hospital in Eugene.

Patrick moved
into the living room, greeting a number of university professors before making
a beeline for the bar. He winked at Lee as he maneuvered through the dining
room, grabbing something from the table before slipping quietly out the door to
the sunroom. Before Lee could settle on her own strategy, she felt a leaden
hand on her shoulder and turned to find Mrs. Bates only inches away.

“Lee, I'm so
glad you could come,” she said in a lazy voice, her jowls trembling slightly.

Mrs. Bates was
wearing a rose colored wool suit that looked like it came right out of one of
Patrick’s old movies, with a string of pearls wrapped tightly around her
sagging neck. Eloise Bates never wore makeup, even face makeup, so that, to
Lee, the deep lines in her face made her look like a dried prune.

Lee flashed her
best smile. “Happy Birthday, Mrs. Bates. Thank you for inviting me. This is
really a lovely party.”

The older woman
looked around the room with a blank expression. “It's nice to have so many
friends here.”

Lee produced the
card and bottle of wine. “I found a bottle of Fetzer wine you might like. I
know you traveled down to California last year for a wine tour.”

“How nice of
you. Thank you. You know, Lee,” she began stiffly, taking the bottle. “I’d like
to stop by next week. I have something important I want to talk about. I
mentioned it to that assistant of yours, but nothing was done.”

“Uh…Diane?” Lee
paused. It could be that Mrs. Bates was unaware of Diane’s death. “I’m sorry.
Just give me a call. I’m sure whatever it is, we can figure it out.”

The doorbell
rang, and Mrs. Bates excused herself to welcome another couple. Lee turned away
to follow Patrick, but bumped smack into Bud Maddox who was standing behind her.
He was talking with a slender, dark-haired woman dressed in crisp gray slacks
and a cashmere sweater. Maddox turned as if to merely acknowledge the mistake,
but seeing Lee, made the full turn with a forced grin.

“Well, well, I
thought you were taking a little vacation,” he said, running his tongue over
his lips. “Sounds like you raised quite a stir this morning.” He leaned toward
her as if to share a secret. “You’d do better spending your time grieving
rather than raising questions.”

Lee locked eyes
with him in an effort to stare him down and suddenly the room felt quite small.
“At least one of us actually
is
grieving.”

Maddox only
returned a light laugh. The woman behind him merely stared at her.

Lee turned away
and muttered, “Asshole,” and then retreated back into the entryway.

She ducked down
a hallway and back through the kitchen to the sunroom, where she found Patrick
laughing with the bartender, a glass of Scotch in his hand. Roland Bates and
another man had joined him.

 Roland Bates
was an odd man with a protruding stomach and a large nose. He was standing with
one hand behind his back. Lee couldn’t decide if he looked more like W. C.
Fields or Alfred Hitchcock. The man with him was short and skinny. Together,
they could have been characters from a Dr. Seuss book as they listened to
Patrick talk about the Ireland he really knew little about.

“I’m telling
you,” Patrick leaned into them, “before the Great Plague, the Irish survived on
potatoes. They ate them mornin’, noon and night. Potato stew, potato pancakes,
potato biscuits. They even invented the French fry, although it wasn’t called
that then, o’ course.”

The little man interrupted
him. “That’s just like pizza. It wasn’t invented by the Italians, either.”

Patrick seized
the opportunity. “Exactly right! The Irish used to fry up little sticks of
potatoes in a skillet, and today we have French fries.”

He lifted a
glass in a meaningless toast. Lee stepped to the bar.

“Give me your
best white wine,” she said to the bartender.

He reached for
a Riesling, his eyes still watching Patrick. It was clear Roland and his guest hadn’t
been the only ones caught up in Patrick’s story. She waited while he poured a
glass. Patrick turned to her as his audience drifted back into the house. She
waited until they were out of earshot.

“French fries?”
she smirked. “Are you kidding?”

“You don’t know
it’s not true,” he said, suppressing a smile. He took a sip of his own drink
and eyed her carefully. “Don't tell me you're bored already.”

“I was bored on
the way here.”

His eyebrows shot
up in mock complaint. “Oh, thanks a lot, Sis. I'm hurt beyond belief. Sure and
you'll be tellin' me that you'll be wantin' to go home with someone else. Perhaps
none other than Roland himself.”

“Oh, shut up,”
she frowned and looked around to make sure no one but the bartender had heard
the affront.

“You talkin' to
me?”  Patrick suddenly asked pointing at her. “You talkin' to me?”

“That's from
Taxi
Driver
,” the bartender shouted. “Great movie!” he said as he dried a glass.

Patrick looked
at the bartender and then winked coyly at his sister.

She rolled her
eyes and turned to leave. “Go look for those bodies in the basement.”

“What bodies in
the basement?” the bartender asked in earnest.

Not too bright,
she thought. She stepped back into the kitchen leaving Patrick to make his own
entertainment. She grabbed a small quiche from under the watchful eye of one of
the caterers and emerged into the hallway again, where she looked around with
caution, hoping to God she wouldn’t run into Maddox a second time. She decided
to take a tour of the house and popped the quiche into her mouth before poking
her head into the guest bathroom. She raised an eyebrow at the austere white
interior, marble counter top, gold faucets, and monogrammed towels. When she
turned to leave, she bumped into Martha Jackson, who was heading inside.

“Oh, hello, Lee.
It’s an amazing house, isn’t it?” her CEO said.

Lee swallowed
before saying, “I haven’t seen much of it yet.”

Lee felt
awkward talking to the hospital CEO in a bathroom, but Martha Jackson seemed
oblivious to the moment.

“Well, make
sure you see the upstairs.” Martha started into the bathroom and then stopped. “And,
Lee, be careful what you say tonight.” She gave Lee a knowing nod and closed
the bathroom door in her face.

Lee saw the
sweeping staircase leading to the second floor and decided to follow Martha’s
advice. She climbed the stairs and started with a French provincial bedroom at
the head of the stairs and then moved on to one decorated with an ebony
four-poster bed that showcased a huge kimono encased in glass. There was also a
richly decorated office that sported dark leather furniture and a carpet
putting green. Lee looked at her watch and was disappointed to find she’d only
consumed ten minutes. She was about to return to the first floor when she
noticed a set of carved double doors at the end of the hallway. She looked
around for intruding eyes and then traversed the space and stepped inside. What
she saw took her breath away.

The room was
adorned from floor to ceiling with cats. Cat figurines crowded every shelf and
bureau top. A decorative wood shelf had been installed around the room sixteen
inches from the ceiling to display an enormous collection of stuffed cats. Some
were obviously antiques; others were collectibles, while still others were
clearly nothing more than children's toys. Cat pillows filled the center of the
bed. Somebody had handcrafted a set of lampshades out of a cat print material,
while a large antique bureau held several inlaid jewelry boxes with cats
crafted onto the lids. A porcelain teapot arranged with flowers was painted
with two cats frolicking after a butterfly, and a large coffee table book
entitled
Cats
sat on an antique highboy chest. Everywhere she looked,
she saw felines. She was repulsed, yet riveted, barely conscious of the music
and laughter downstairs.

To her left was
a small child’s desk. On it were children’s Valentine cards. She bent over to
pick one up. The colorful image was that of a cat handing a Valentine to a
mouse. Lee thought this was meant to mimic the olive branch, but if you looked
at the cat’s expression closely, it was much more sinister. As she studied the
card, she sensed the air in the room shift and glanced up. A face stared back
at her from the large mirror above the bureau.

Lee spun around
and let out an involuntary, “Shit!” as she came face to face with a set of dark,
glaring eyes.

“I'm sorry,” Lee
apologized, throwing a hand to her chest. “You scared me.”

“What are you
doing here?” the woman growled.

“I was just
looking around,” Lee said, putting the card down.

“Not in here,”
a thin lip curled angrily.

“I… uh…didn’t
know the upstairs was off limits,” Lee stuttered.

“This room is.”

The woman’s
eyes were mere slits in her head, and a narrow red mouth accented the dark facial
hair that covered her upper lip. There was no question as to who she was. The
resemblance to her mother was unmistakable. This was Pauline Bates. According
to rumors, Pauline Bates had never married and lived at home. Lee thought she'd
heard that Pauline had attended the university at one time and graduated with a
degree in biology or something, but that she'd never held a job.

As the two
women stared at each other, a brisk breeze pushed its way through the open
balcony doors. The Bates woman brushed past Lee as if she weren’t there and
went to the French doors. She grabbed a door handle in each hand and stood with
her arms outstretched, ready to close them. A second breeze picked up the black
scarf she wore around her neck, intertwining it with her stringy black hair.

A chill jerked
its way through Lee's body. The black dress. The black hair. The black scarf. It
was the same image − the same woman − from the grassy knoll above
the graveyard the day Diane was buried.

Lee backed away
feeling as if she were trapped underwater. Her lungs just wouldn’t expand. As
she backed up, she bumped into a small table near the door, knocking a ceramic cat
figurine to the floor. It hit the table pedestal and broke in half. Lee stared
at it wide-eyed, knowing full well she’d just made a huge mistake.

“Oh…I’m so sor…”
Lee began.

Pauline Bates
turned in a whirl of black chiffon, her face a dramatic mask of grief. As Lee
reached down to pick up the figurine, Pauline rushed forward, forcing Lee to
back into the hallway. The other woman flew into a kneeling position beside the
fallen figurine and picked up the two pieces, turning a dark expression in
Lee’s direction. The two women locked eyes for a moment before Lee mumbled an
apology, turned and hurried away. She glanced back only once to see the bedroom
door slowly close.

Lee descended
the stairs in a state of near panic, almost running into Andrew Platt as he
emerged from the coatroom behind the staircase. When she flew off the last
stair, he nearly ripped the seam from his pocket trying to get his hand out to
catch her.

“Whoa!” Andrew
gasped, pushing the lining of his pocket back in place. “Where are you going so
fast?”

“Oh! Andrew. I’m
sorry. I didn’t know you were here,” she said breathlessly, stepping back. “Um,
where’s Miriam?”

Miriam was
Andrew’s wife, and someone Lee would normally try to avoid. She’d only met her
a few times at hospital functions, but had always gone away feeling like she’d
been dipped in something sticky.

“I’m sure she’s
off somewhere silently criticizing something,” Andrew said cynically. The look
on his face was a mixture of bitterness and resignation. “She never gives up,
you know. She thinks we ought to live like this.” He attempted a laugh, but
fell short. “How’s the party?”

It took several
breaths for Lee to slow her heart rate down sufficiently to answer. Andrew
fiddled with his pockets as he waited. She glanced to the top of the staircase
half expecting to find Pauline Bates floating down the banister behind her. Andrew
followed her gaze.

“Did you see a
ghost?  I’ve heard the rumors,” he chuckled, leaning in to her.

“No, I…uh… just
got going too fast down the steps. I’m okay. Actually, I was looking for my
brother.”

“Patrick?  Is
he here?” Andrew asked.

“Yes, perched
on a blarney stone somewhere telling a story, I’m sure,” she laughed, still flustered.
“Have a good time.”

She started to
step away, but Andrew caught her.

“Have you seen
Martha, yet?” he asked.

“Yes, she’s
here.”

“Well, between
you and me, I wouldn’t say anything. You know, about Diane.”

“Yes, I know,
Andrew. Believe me, I won’t say anything.”

“I just don’t
want to see you lose your job.”

The front door
opened to admit a new couple and Andrew lowered his voice.

“I thought
she’d have a coronary today when she heard that Bud Maddox was dating Diane.”

“Well, I’d like
to know the truth,” Lee said, remembering her conversation with Patrick. “I owe
that much to Diane.”

Andrew’s
expression grew dark. “Lee, Martha is more ruthless than you think. I ought to
know. She makes my life hell. I think you should drop it.”

“I’m not sure I
can, Andrew, especially when Bud is already here with another woman.”

Andrew’s brown
eyebrows adjusted up. “You’re kidding?  Diane just died a few days ago. That’s
rather crude. Oh, wait a minute,” he interrupted himself, looking over Lee’s
shoulder. “I see what you mean.”