The Truth About Mallory Bain (26 page)

Thinking what more to say, I tapped my finger against my glass. “Aunt Judith claims he has a message, a warning, even, that someone wants us dead. She insists he is demanding justice.”

Ronnie stared at me for a long moment. “You nearly died last Saturday.”

“Do not go there. You can't blame Dana for what happened to me. It was the takeout.”

“Fine, but he does have a message,” said Ronnie.

“How do you know?” I asked.

“I hear whispers, too. They started back in Boston. Hearing voices is a scary thing, which is why I haven't said much about my encounters before tonight.”

“Who is doing all this whispering?” asked Natalie.

“That's just it,” said Ronnie. “Other than Ben Holland and a few ancient relatives, I don't know anyone dead. If there was someone she and I both knew who died and is visiting us from the grave, we should be concerned.”

“Maybe Ben is talking to both of us,” I said.

Ronnie stared at me. “Did he tell you to move back to Minneapolis? Because that's exactly what he told me to do. His urging was compelling, I had no choice but to pack up and leave a betterpaying job in Boston. Although, I am content with where I am at now. I met Sam. But the voice told me I had to be here.”

“He told me to ‘Cradle Caleb in the loving embrace of my family.'”

The similarities in our experiences were uncanny. We needed to process all we had shared. We dropped the matter for the night. Minutes later, Natalie called for the checks. The three of us said little during the taxi ride back to Mom's. Sam picked up Ronnie and Natalie stayed the night in Rick's old room.

Natalie left with the twins early the next morning without saying goodbye. I had no idea her beliefs in the afterlife, other than her regard for Aunt Judith, and she'd mentioned something about not wanting to miss Sunday church services. Perhaps Ronnie and I scared her off with talk about whisperings and ghosts.

Ronnie phoned mid-morning. Sam planned on working until after supper to wrap up the work he'd left unfinished Saturday night. She wanted to spend the afternoon with us and we both wanted to know more about each other's spirit encounters.

Sunlight penetrated the fluffy gray and white clouds after the night rain. The day renewed Caleb's enthusiasm for riding his bike to the park to play with the soccer ball. Within the hour, Ronnie's yellow Mustang pulled up the driveway.

“I bet I kick farther!” Caleb challenged Ronnie.

“You're on big time!” she cheered. “Is he any good?”

“He's six. What do you think?”

She rolled one shoulder and smirked. “I haven't played soccer against a six-year-old since
we
were six.”

“He kicks good, but I'm confident you're better.” I lazily pulled on my jacket and zipped it halfway. “Does Sam have kids?”

“No. He was married once before, too, but they never had kids, either. He wants a couple before he's too old to enjoy them. Our clocks are ticking, though.”

“Mine, too. I never wanted Caleb to be an only child.” I noticed my son tying his school shoes. “Rain boots, Caleb.”

“Sneakers, Mom. Can't play soccer in rain boots.”

“Play shoes, then. And he's not fourteen yet,” I muttered to Ronnie.

She gave her clogs a downcast glance. “Do you wear an eight?”

“Seven. Check my closet. I might have a stretched-out pair that will fit you.”

She sped up the stairs, leaving me alone with Caleb.

“Mom, how come Ronnie wants me to call her Ronnie and Aunty Dana wants me to call her Aunty?”

“It's Dana's way.”

“Are you Aunty Mallory?”

I glanced through the dining room and into the kitchen, where Aunt Judith had long ago called the space near the dining room doorway the death place. An image of Aunty Liz keeling over in front of a scared little Judith came to mind.

“I'm not ‘aunty' to anybody. Aunt Mallory to your cousins.”

He pulled his purple cap onto his head.

Ronnie bounded down the stairs wearing a scuffed and smudged pair of white running shoes.

“I'll bet you tried on every pair.” I glanced at my watch.

“Smarty. Come on. Let's do this.”

We jogged behind Caleb and his bike all the way to the park, me toting the soccer ball under my arm. We approached the place near the dead animal hedge.

“Hey! Not here!” I waved him on. “Go farther in!”

Caleb shook his head and jumped off his bike. “There's more room here!”

I shook my head and waved him on again. “See, this is why he needs my undivided attention,” I told Ronnie.

“See, this is why you need Lance. Let the guys play soccer while you go shopping, read a book, bake cookies, whatever you do. Have lunch with me. I'm surprised he's not here today. I need to meet him.”

“He's being godfather at his nephew's christening.” I dropped the ball and gave it a swift kick toward Caleb. “Do your whisperings ever tell you to commit a crime?”

“Like mass murder?”

I grimaced at her bluntness.

“No. Do they you?” she asked.

“Hardly. In fact, the day of my divorce, the prompting I acted on proved to be the best advice I've ever been given, besides the ‘let her have him' bit.”

The ball rolled toward Ronnie and she kicked it back to Caleb. “He never whispers when I'm with Sam. I never mind the whisperings—not anymore.”

“Neither do I, especially when it's quiet and I'm washing dishes or sorting laundry. I can almost hear him clearly then. His voice was clear enough when he told me to get out of Dana's house the night of their party.”

“Smart ghost. Too bad he can't tell you what made you sick.”

“The test results I do know about were negative or fairly normal. A couple were inconclusive and one result has been delayed. That's the test the doctor wants to discuss. I'm calling him back tomorrow.” The soccer ball rolled into my ankle and I kicked it back to Caleb again.

“I hope you haven't mentioned those tests to Dana, have you,” said Ronnie.

“Not yet. I probably won't.”

“Best not.” Ronnie stooped to retie her shoelace. “In the first place, your medical record is none of her business.”

“I agree.”

“I've heard, ‘Find me' repeated over and over in a clear male voice. I can be working among the stacks and out of the blue, I'll hear, ‘Find me'. Ben has no reason to visit me, let alone ask me to find him.”

“Your whisperer is definitely a man, too?”

“Yes. I always hear a man's voice, but I'm certain he's not Ben. I can't place where I've heard his voice before. I keep thinking that maybe he sounds like a celebrity or a newsman or politician I've heard.”

“He sounds familiar to me, too. I agree, he doesn't sound like Ben. Actually, I can't remember Ben's voice.”

She looked at me as though she understood my frustration. “The whispers are too hard to hear.”

“And usually garbled for me.” Caleb threw the ball at me. I caught it and held onto it.

“We might be hearing from the same spirit.” Ronnie took the ball. “We should consult your aunt.”

“Now there's a fun idea.”

She frowned. She dropped the ball and kicked it back to Caleb with such force, it rolled near the hedge. “We need her.
You
need her.”

“Not happening, Ronnie. We keep that woman out of this.” I started to run toward the shrubs. Caleb ran faster. “Do not touch anything!” I shouted.

“Touch what?” asked Ronnie.

“It smells like a dead animal over there.”

“Call the park board.”

Caleb retrieved the ball and started tossing it into the air. Ronnie and I strolled over to the same park bench where Caleb and I had seen Erik Fowler. A familiar roar of a motorcycle made me turn halfway, hoping to see the red bike again.

Ronnie swept sodden leaves from the bench before we sat down. “Lose something?”

“No. I like hearing motorcycles.”

“I see. You're expecting Ben the ghost rider.”

I shrugged. “Of course not. A motorcycle engine is a pleasant sound for me.”

“Mallory, let him rest in peace and let Lance into your life. Please. More dates, a few laughs, hot fun with a flesh-and-blood man instead of brooding over a memory.”

“I don't brood.” I wrinkled my face at her. “Anyway, my dating seems to be all you ever think about.”

“Well, lately.” She
tsk
ed. “Maybe your fantasies are holding Ben back. Maybe he's caught in limbo because you can't let go. He needs our help sending him into the light.”

I looked at her quizzically. “He didn't need us to move to Minneapolis to send him into the light. And explain to me why he needs
your
help, if
I
can't let go.”

Ronnie cocked her head sideways. “All right. Maybe our whisperer isn't Ben.”

“Caleb hears him talking, too, you know. He hears a man knocking at his bedroom window at night. He's even tried opening the window to let him in. Now
that
scares me.”

“You have second-floor bedrooms.”

“Exactly. Scarier imagining my child falling out of a second-floor window trying to let this imaginary guy inside the house.”

“What does the spirit tell him?”

“‘Open the window.'”

“I was hysterical one night when I drove down the alley and my headlights shone on a man standing in front of my garage. I backed out fast and didn't stop until I was two blocks away.”

“You didn't call 911?”

“I called Sam and he did. I panicked because the man barely looked human. He was frightening, like a translucent, decaying body. I never told Sam what I'd seen, or the police.”

“And I won't, either.”

“The police checked my garage and my house. No break-in.”

“I saw hands dripping blood down my bedroom window one night. I can be sitting in bed and ice-cold breezes blow my hair enough to lift it off my shoulders.”

Ronnie shook her head. “I wish we had talked sooner. We need to start investigating.”

I shivered. “Investigate an unknown mutual friend who possibly died and needs our help.”

“Exactly. We make a list and find out who died.” She stopped talking a moment to take a pack of mints from her pocket and offered one to me. “I never sense evil.”

“I did once.” I pictured Aunt Judith in the living room.

“I think one of the pair is dead,” said Ronnie. “I say Harwood, because I can't find him on the Internet. Jack Grant lived in
Chicago at one time. He ran in a couple of marathons and actually came in second in one.” Ronnie's face showed firm resolve. “I'll track him down again and give him a call while we work on finding Harwood.”

Caleb kicked the soccer ball against a tree's wide trunk and let it roll back to him, all the while reciting his monkey rhyme.

“Six stuck-up monkeys jumping on the bed.

One got dead from a conk on the head.

Mama told the doctor and the doctor said,

‘No stuck-up monkeys jumping on the bed!'”

“Five stupid monkeys jumping on the bed.

One got dead when—”

I refocused. “Caleb. Enough of the monkey song.”

He giggled at me and did a little bouncy dance.

“Mama told the doctor and the doctor said,

‘That old dead monkey ain't jumping on the bed!'”

He quieted. Stared at me a moment, and then snatched up his soccer ball and walked over to us.

“What's up, buddy?” I pulled off his cap and smoothed his hair. “I want you to recite nice rhymes. Leave the words the way they are.”

“I have to change them.”

“You don't have to.”

“The man inside the stinky hedge said so. He said that's where the bad thing happened.”

Ronnie and I glared at the hedge.

“You can't see him, Mom. He's inside the hedge.”

Ronnie strolled toward the stand of shrubbery.

I jumped up. “Ronnie. Careful.”

“I'm getting his bike.”

I stooped down to Caleb's level and cupped his shoulders. “Tell me what you heard.”

“He said, ‘This is where a bad thing happened. This is where I died.'”

“He died?”

“Uh-huh. By the hedge.”

We watched Ronnie roll the bike over to the row of shrubs and lay it on the grass. She walked up and down the length of the entire row of shrubs, at times sticking her hands among the twisting branches, pushing them aside.

Minutes later, she walked back, wheeling the bike beside her. “I saw nothing, but I smelled something rotting, too. I'll call the park board first thing tomorrow.”

Caleb walked his bike across the grass to the sidewalk. He turned to face us. “I'm not lying, Mom.”

“I know, sweetie.”

“There really is a dead man inside the hedge.”