Death in the Park Page 14

  I shut my eyes tightly again and tried to focus on the séance. Raine's summoning was in full swing.

  "If you are there, please give us a sign. We are only here as friends. There is no sinister motive for this event. Just curious strangers wanting to get to know you," Raine sounded nothing like herself. Her tone was deep, almost sultry, as she spoke into the dark, empty room. Most of her words echoed softly back to her off the vacant walls and ceiling. "Please share with us your plight. We are here to help you find your way to peace." Raine fell silent. The only sounds in the house were the usual creaks, Nick's sniffles from ongoing allergies and Newman snoring from his bed in the kitchen.

  "Quiet," Raine commanded as Ursula cleared her throat. "Any sound might scare the spirit away. Please don't be afraid. Talk to me. I'm here to listen."

  Again, a thick, almost awkward silence fell over the room. It seem I wasn't the only one getting restless. Marylou kept shifting on the chair next to me, and her grip on my hand had loosened significantly. I wondered if she'd fallen asleep.

  "Everyone stay perfectly silent." Raine's order flowed from somewhere deep in her throat. I couldn't stop myself. I pried open one eye to a squint and glanced over at her. She was so deeply absorbed in the moment, I felt like a bad friend for not taking it more seriously.

  I took a deep breath and closed my eyes again. Just as another uncomfortable silence fell over the room a loud crashing sound came from the other side of the house. We startled and lost our hand holds, our persistent medium included. Eyes popped open and we all looked at each other with surprise.

  "Holy macaroni and cheese," Ursula muttered. "He's here."

  "Was it the ghost?" Emily asked Raine, who seemed just as confused and shocked as the rest of us.

  "Uh, yes, it could be," Raine replied with little confidence. "Sometimes they exhibit a bit of aggressive behavior if they are feeling shy or intruded upon."

  Another loud crash startled us. I recognized it almost instantly as the sound of breaking glass. It seemed someone was in the house. Nick and I stood from the table at the same time. I followed closely at his heels but took a cowardly position behind his broad back as we crept toward the sounds. They were coming from the kitchen.

  "What do we do if it's a ghost?" I asked Nick.

  "Good question." Another round of shattering glass made us both freeze in the narrow hallway between the sitting room and the kitchen. "I almost hope it is a ghost and not some intruder intent on breaking all your dinnerware."

  Footsteps plodded down the hallway behind us. It seemed everyone had joined us. We all stayed tucked out of sight behind Nick as we crept toward the kitchen. As Nick pushed open the door, a raccoon jumped down from the kitchen table and raced out the unlatched screen door. There was broken glass and sandwich crumbs all over the floor and table. My brave, gallant dogs were both sitting on their kitchen pillows shaking and looking terrified.

  "Well done, you two," I sniped. "I suppose it was too much to expect you to chase him away after the first broken plate."

  Lana went right for the broom closet. "I can clean this up if you all want to go back to the dining room and continue." She shot me a secret wink to let me know she'd had enough of the séance."

  "That is very generous of you, Lana." I reached for the broom. "But you're the guest. I'll pick up the mess."

  Lana held on firmly to the broom and gritted her teeth. "It's no bother, really, sis."

  "But I insist," I muttered back through a clenched jaw.

  "Oh, it doesn't matter," Raine said, her voice dull with disappointment. "The moment has passed. Even if the spirit was around, he's not going to show himself now."

  "I'm truly sorry about the abrupt end, Raine." I walked to the refrigerator and reached in for my surprise dessert. "But if it helps, I've got berry trifle with fresh whipped cream."

  Raine's sour mood disappeared quickly. "That definitely takes the sting out of the disappointment."

  Emily went to the cupboard to get more plates. "We can eat at the séance table and then Lana and I can help you clean up after we devour that trifle."

  Raine walked next to me as I carried the dessert to the dining room. "I think it was too much wine. It threw off my brainwaves, making it harder for me to sink into the trance I need to reach the spirit world. Next time we try this, I'll avoid drinking wine."

  "Uh, we had a deal, Raine. One séance. You gave it an admirable try, my friend. Maybe Edward Beckett has found a new love in the ghost world and left Bonnie behind for good."

  "Maybe," she said lightly as we walked into the dining room. "Guess we'll never know if you're going to hold us to that silly handshake over lunch."

  "I am. So let's move on from ghosts and dig into this luscious dessert."

  Chapter 28

  I wasn't in the office twenty seconds when Parker leaned out of his door and bellowed for me to come inside. Maybe bellowed was too harsh. Shouted gently might have been a better description. Either way, it seemed I'd done something wrong.

  Myrna shot me a worried looked over the top of her monitor as I pushed my purse into my desk drawer and headed across the cluttered newsroom to his office. Parker had settled back into his chair behind the desk as I stepped inside the office. He was holding a carton of strawberry yogurt.

  He pointed to the metal folding chair. I sat down and waited as he ate a spoonful. He winced and bunched up his bulbous nose. "That's truly awful. Like eating baby food." He leaned over and dropped the yogurt in the trash can. "Wife has me on a diet." He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a package of powdered sugar donuts and a bottle of antacid. "Donuts give me heartburn. These days, everything gives me heartburn."

  He placed the package of donuts on a pile of papers and thumbed through a separate pile before pulling out one page. He tossed it across the desk at me. I recognized it instantly as my story on the summer work program. There was one red mark indicating where I'd left off a comma and a sticky note that said, "is this it?" I wasn't sure what the note meant, but I was pretty sure I could guess.

  "You put out a clean first draft, Taylor." He pulled out a second piece of paper that was more red ink than type. "This is what Evans' first draft looks like. It's hardly recognizable as the English language. But he does occasionally deliver something compelling." He tapped my article with his thick finger. "This is not compelling or engaging or even the tiniest bit noteworthy."

  "I agree." I pulled the slump out of my posture. "But in my defense, the topic was hardly compelling or engaging or noteworthy."

  I startled when he slapped his desk. "You don't get to have a defense. A good reporter makes any topic readable."

  "I could interview the kids and see how they feel about the work program. Get their opinions on it."

  He laughed. "Yes, that should give you a raw, more double edged look at the program."

  I sat forward. "Or . . ." I started but paused, as he picked up the donut package and wrestled with the noisy cellophane wrapper for a few seconds. I decided to wait until he had a donut in his mouth, hoping it would make him more receptive to my suggestion.

  I waited for the cough attack that was required when eating a donut covered with powdered sugar. He covered his mouth with the side of his fist and sputtered for a few seconds, then drank some coffee to clear away the sugar.

  Parker looked up at me almost as if he'd forgotten I was sitting across from him.

  "I'm working on another story. Actually, it's the first assignment you gave me, the one about the custodian, Alder Stevens."

  "But he's dead."

  "Yes, I'm well aware of that." I held back a grin. "Probably more aware than you realize."

  He was too focused on his donut breakfast to notice my cryptic follow-up comment.

  Just as I opened my mouth to give my reasoning for covering the Alder Stevens story, a sharp knock was followed by the door swinging open. Chase strode in wearing a crisp blue dress shirt and a palmful too much hair product.

  "Evans,
what the heck do you think you're doing? Don't you knock?"

  Chase motioned back to the door. "I did knock."

  "Yes, but it's customary to wait for the invitation to enter, otherwise it renders the knock nothing more than an annoying sound on the door."

  Chase glanced over at me. I handed him back a deserved glower. It seemed that he was making a habit of barging in on my meetings with Parker.

  "I could come back," Chase suggested half-heartedly.

  "Now that you've interrupted us, what do you want? Actually, I don't care what you want. How far are you on that story about the murder? I need it by Friday, or the paper goes to print without the most newsworthy story." Parker looked pointedly at my dull article about the work program. "And at this moment, there isn't anything to save our next edition aside from some decent coupons from the shoe repair shop and Layers."

  "I'm waiting for my daily briefing from the police. But you know how stubborn and cocky that Detective Jackson is."

  "Sure do," I muttered to myself. They both looked my direction, assuring me that I'd said it louder than expected. "Carry on." I sat back to listen.

  Chase seemed to be mulling over whether or not he should divulge his collected information with me in the office. Parker wasn't in the mood for his silly tactics.

  "Out with it, Evans. You're the one that plowed into my office during a meeting. What have you found out?"

  "There is some story about the weapon, a relic of some kind, that belonged to a gangster back in the olden days."

  Parker sat forward, his face redder than when he choked on the powdered sugar dust. "Some story? You're basing an entire article on 'some story'? And what the heck are olden days to you? The seventies?"

  I'd had my morning's entertainment and decided it was time to slip out. I had things to do. "Excuse me, I'll leave you two to discuss the olden days." I stood from the chair and reached for my edited story with the one red mark, but Parker slapped his hand down on it.

  "Get me more than this, Taylor. I don't think the paper can last on coupons alone."

  "I'll bring you something better." I flashed a smile at Chase and walked out of the office. My first stop, on my way to 'something better' was Alder Stevens' house.

  Chapter 29

  I followed Emily's directions to Alder's house. It was located on a small cul-de-sac with only four other houses. Mature sweet gum trees and red maples shaded the entire street, adding to the rich, cozy quiet of the neighborhood. There was a car or two parked in neighboring driveways. Across the street, a tan and black German shepherd had caught wind or sight or sound of me and was eyeing me suspiciously through the slats on his backyard gate. I had hoped to see a neighbor out watering or collecting mail so I could introduce myself and gather a few more details about Alder, but no such luck. It seemed it was just me and the shepherd and a few curious birds.

  Alder's house was a cute brick and stucco home with symmetrical, neatly trimmed hedges bordering a frilly green lawn that looked as if it was in need of a mower. It was one of those houses that showed true pride of ownership. It wasn't stuffy or ostentatious. It looked loved and homey. It was sad to think that the pretty, little house had been left completely alone now, with no one to water its trees or keep dust off its porch.

  Speaking of dust on the porch, gigantic footprints crisscrossed the thin layer of debris and dirt littering the steps and front stoop. I had no proof, but I could venture an educated guess that the prints belonged to Detective Jackson. It made sense that they would scour Alder's home for some clues to help point the way to his killer. I walked on tiptoes, not wanting to disturb the left behind footprints. I pulled on the glove I'd brought along and turned the doorknob. I wasn't surprised to find it locked. The drapes on the front window had been pulled shut, giving me only the tiniest sliver of an opening to peer inside. The limited view only gave me a glimpse of the arm of a dark green couch and the corner of a floral rug. But I was still holding out hope that I could see through the back of the house. I had no idea what I'd find that would be worthwhile to solving Alder's murder, but I hoped to get more of a feeling about what kind of man Alder was. Thus far, I'd heard some very conflicting narratives about the man.

  I reached over the top of the back gate and flicked open the latch. The backyard, like the front, was in need of a lawnmower. The array of potted plants and impressive ferns hanging from mossy baskets along the back of the porch showed more of the same care and attention to detail as the landscaping in the front yard. The backyard had an added bonus. Just as Emily had mentioned, there were dozens of handcrafted birdhouses, of every color, shape and size, hanging from the sprawling oak tree that kept the yard cool with shade. Some sparrows and finches twittered in the gnarled branches above the dangling display of birdhouses. Most of the tiny houses had front porches that acted as containers for bird seed. But all of the front porches were empty. Without Alder, there had been no one to refill them.

  I headed up the back steps that were painted a brick red to match the brick trim around the house. A screened in porch ran the length of the back of the house. Just as Emily had said, the door into the screened porch was unlocked. An outdated washing machine, a utility sink and a shelf with several varieties of bird seed filled the space. Alder had only been dead a few days, so the fragrance of fabric detergent and bleach was still fresh, as if he would be coming home any minute to fold his freshly washed clothes. Next to the washing machine was a line of work boots and rain boots, all worn and tattered from use.

  The back door to the house was locked, and to my dismay, the only view into the house was through two narrow windows that were both covered with drapes. It seemed my trip to Alder's house was a failure.

  I walked back down the brick red steps. Emily had also mentioned the small shed at the back of the yard where she was sure Alder spent his time building the charming birdhouses. With any luck, the door would be open, but I had an important task to perform first. Word of my trespass into the yard had somehow reached the other feathered inhabitants of the neighborhood. They were all waiting patiently for treats.

  I walked back to the shelf and grabbed two cans of bird seed. My new friends fluttered up to higher branches, telephone lines and fence posts to wait for me to fill the feeders. Each container of seed had a small plastic scoop. I walked to all the houses I could reach and filled the handy trough-shaped porches. The second I ducked out from under the tree to return the seed to the shelf, a swarm of birds came down, covering the houses and splattering the ground with fallen seed.

  I placed the seeds back on the shelf and headed across the yard to the shed. The doorknob had no lock and key set, so I pushed right in. There were only thin windows up high in the wall, and any sunlight was blocked by the trees. I flicked on the light and pulled in a stunned breath as I stepped back. It seemed that Alder had fulfilled his promise to his wife after all.

  Sitting in the center of a long wooden table was an ornate and highly detailed miniature castle, constructed completely from cardboard. There were two tall turrets and a drawbridge held up by two thin metal chains. The arched windows were covered from the inside with colorful cellophane, making them look like stained glass. One side of the castle was covered with rectangles of cardboard painted a stone gray but the rest was still bare. I could see labels and brand names on some of the walls, including several with the Bounty Foods logo. It was easy to deduce that Alder had gotten most of the boxes from the school trash bins. I wondered how long the project had taken him. Now it would never be finished.

  I pulled out my phone and took pictures from every angle. It was truly a sight to see. Alder had been a very skilled artist. I finished taking pictures. I reached for the light switch and glanced back once more at the masterpiece. Most people knew him as the head custodian at the high school, but it seemed there were many layers to Alder Stevens. The castle only confused the picture I had of him more.

  I headed out of the backyard. It was still just me and the shepherd, only the dog h
ad grown bored of me already. He was curled up in front of his gate for a nap. I had no choice, I would need to go back to the one place where people knew him the most. I needed to go back to the high school.

  Chapter 30

  It seemed timing was on my side once again at the school. I decided I would be pushing my luck by trying to sneak in the back again and then, of course, there was the matter of a visitor's pass. I'd rehearsed my speech several times before opening the door and walking into the office. The counter was crowded with kids needing tardy passes. Apparently several carloads of seniors had gone to lunch but they got stuck on the wrong side of the tracks, literally. From the snippets of rushed, harried excuses being tossed toward a frazzled looking Mrs. Rodriguez, it seemed an extremely long freight train crawled at a snail's pace along the tracks crisscrossing Bear Road, leaving the students stuck on the wrong side and making them all late for fourth period. Mrs. Rodriguez was busy writing and signing tardy slips, leaving the visitor's log and pass job to a student helper.

  The student, a boy with heavy top and bottom braces waved me over. I skirted around the frantic late from lunch kids and walked up to the counter. "Can I help you?" His words were garbled by the braces.

  "Yes, I need a visitor's pass."

  "K, just a second." As he reached under the counter for the pass, I took a quick peek down counter. Mrs. Rodriguez was still dealing with the chaos left behind by the freight train. The boy moved in slow motion, and I found myself tapping a drum beat on the counter waiting for him to peel off the pass and hand it to me. Today's color was bright green.

  He moved just as painfully slow to retrieve the visitor's log from the end of the counter. Suddenly I knew how the lunch students felt watching the train crawl past. He turned the book around to face me and handed me a pen. The columns were labeled, but he went through the routine of telling me what to write in each one. "Your name, the date, the time entered goes here. This column you leave blank for when you check out. And reason for visit here."