Die Job(80)

“I am Cyril Rothmere,” the wraith proclaimed in a deep but hollow voice. It sounded like he was speaking from the end of a long tunnel.

Nervous whispers sounded around me and I heard one low, “Oh my God.” Rachel’s hand crept into mine and gripped it hard. I gave her a reassuring smile, but I didn’t know if she could see it in the dimness. Even with my back to the windows, I knew when lightning zigzagged behind me because it cast strange shadows on the walls. Thunder rumbled a few seconds later.

“You were the victim of a murderous hand almost two hundred years ago,” Avaline said. “Is that what you’ve come to tell us about?”

The apparition shook its head slowly from side to side.

“Then what disturbs your peace? A more recent act of violence?”

Cyril nodded. “Yes.” The sound was sibilant, accusatory.

“This is such bullshit,” someone muttered from behind me. I thought it might have been Captain Crenshaw’s voice.

“What did you witness on this landing?” Avaline asked, taking a step toward the ghostly figure. Her arms spread wide to encompass the landing and stairs.

“I saw betrayal, a friend betrayed.” Cyril didn’t face Avaline; instead, he loomed forward, his torso leaning over the balustrade, and seemed to hover over those of us in the foyer below.

I felt Mark startle, his shoulder bumping mine.

“I saw death. Death before its time.” Cyril’s voice grew stronger.

“Braden didn’t die here,” Rachel whispered. I squeezed her hand to hush her.

“Did you see . . . murder?” Avaline’s voice dropped into a lower register on the last word.

“They argued. And then I saw you push him.” Cyril’s arm extended from shoulder height, lace dripping from his wrist, and his rigid forefinger pointed directly at Mark Crenshaw. “You.”

“I didn’t!” Mark jumped back, knocking me off balance. It sent a ripple effect through the close-packed crowd. The winds cracked a tree branch against the side of the house.

“My son would never—” Joy’s shrill voice sounded behind me.

“He didn’t!” Lindsay sounded on the verge of hysteria. “He wouldn’t hurt Braden. Not even when Braden said—”

“Shut up, Lindsay,” Mark whispered harshly.

“I talked to Braden that night. But I didn’t mean—”

Lightning exploded just outside the windows, illuminating the scared and confused faces in the room before thunder boomed. The lights flickered once, twice, and went out.





Chapter Twenty-one





I COULDN’T REMEMBER EVER EXPERIENCING SUCH total darkness. With the flash from the lightning still burned onto my retinas, I couldn’t see a thing. Even the red lights from the cameras were extinguished, as was the small spotlight that had lit up Avaline. The landing where Avaline and Cyril had stood moments ago was as pitch dark as the depths of a nightmare. Lightning must have hit the transformer, I realized, just as someone shoved me sideways.

I toppled toward Rachel, reaching out instinctively to break my fall. All around me people were pushing and swaying, grabbing at each other to maintain their balance. I fell in an ungainly heap, dragging Rachel down with me. Someone kicked my shin and I caught an elbow in the breast. Ow. Footsteps sounded and the front door creaked open, letting rain spit into the foyer.

“Wait!” It sounded like Mark.

A gust of wind ripped the door from someone’s hand—Lindsay’s?—and it slammed into the wall. Running footsteps pounded down the stairs, grated in the wet gravel, and then faded.

“Damn it!” That was Dillon. His radio crackled and he said, “Suspect fled through front door.”

A metallic voice said, “. . . in pursuit.”

I struggled to my feet and pulled Rachel up. “It was Lindsay?” she asked in a bewildered voice. “Why?”

I couldn’t answer her. If she’d killed Braden, it had been to protect Mark. I could reason through it that far. But from what? If Braden had threatened to tell the authorities or a teacher that Mark’s father was beating him, wouldn’t that have made Lindsay glad? Wouldn’t she be relieved to know he wasn’t going to be his father’s punching bag

anymore?

A strong beam of light cut across my thoughts. Dillon swung the flashlight from side to side, illuminating startled, scared, and worried faces. I caught a quick glimpse of Mom and Althea before the beam moved past them. The light landed on Mark, following him as he leaped over people still tangled on the floor and headed for the open doorway. His mother’s hand caught at his arm.

“Mark! Where do you think you’re going? There’s a hurricane out there.” Joy’s face looked haggard in the harsh halogen glare.