Home for the Haunting(44)

We then watched portions of a popular TV show about ghost busting. Olivier led the class in analyzing the show, breaking it down into what was done correctly and what was done incorrectly. From what I gathered, the biggest problems occurred when the crews didn’t document fully—noting not only the noises and sights they were seeing right there, but also the ambient noises, so there would be proof later. The discussion was interesting but not all that pertinent to me. I might be jumping on the ghost-busting bandwagon, but I wasn’t driven by the need to prove to the world that I wasn’t crazy. I was more about getting the darned renovation done.

Although I supposed I had a new motivation: Inspector Annette Crawford had asked me to lead her on a ghost tour through the Murder House.

Never thought I’d live to see that day. Mel Turner: SFPD ghost consultant.

When Olivier started going over the benefits and limitations of infrared camcorders, my mind wandered again. Why was I so fixated on that door knocker? For one thing, the banging I heard while I was in the shed had sounded like the smart rapping of a metal knocker, but there was no such thing on the plain wood doors. And when I looked at the knocker on the front door . . . I could still hear that sound, reverberating through my head. What could it mean, if anything? Had death come knocking that terrible night? Linda had a picture of the distinctive hand-holding-a-ball knocker tattooed on her neck; it must mean something. I should ask Hugh about it, I thought. Speaking of Hugh, maybe I should read some of his poetry. Luz—and whoever named the poet laureates—seemed to think it was worthwhile, and maybe there were some clues in it.

I noticed that Cookie, who at first claimed to be fascinated by everything spiritual, was now passing notes back and forth with an attractive man in his thirties. It was high school study hall all over again. I gave her a little kick under the table, but I couldn’t really blame her. If I hadn’t experienced ghost sightings personally, I would probably be much ruder than Cookie while listening to such things.

I wondered . . . did Annette now believe in ghosts? She hadn’t been specific, but clearly she’d seen something in the Murder House that had shocked her enough to call me in. Did she really think Linda’s death had something to do with ghosts? But if so, had Linda been killed in the Murder House? Then how had the body been moved to the shed? I had seen ghosts move lightweight objects such as papers and cause candles to flicker by creating a disturbance in the atmosphere. But no atmospheric disturbance—short of a tornado—was capable of relocating a corpse. That suggested human intervention. But who? Did the inspector suspect Hugh was involved? Or was she merely trying to set her own doubts to rest? As I knew only too well, the first encounter with a spirit can be traumatic.

A babble of voices and the scraping of metal chairs signaled the class was over, and I came out of my reverie.

“Listen, I’m going to take another look at that jewelry,” said Cookie. “I know I shouldn’t, but there are a few things I just can’t resist. Do you mind?”

“Take your time,” I said. I caught Olivier’s eye as he was saying good night to another student.

“You rang, madam?” he asked.

“What’s involved in holding a séance?”

“Why do you ask?”

I gave him the abbreviated story of what had happened at 2906 Greenbrier.

“So you don’t believe it was suicide?”

“I don’t know. She was clearly troubled, and drugs and alcohol don’t usually lead to sound thinking. But the inspector on the case is suspicious, and I trust her professional opinion.”

“And?” Olivier prompted.

“And what?”

“I am getting to know you, my friend. Something more is troubling you. What is it?”

“Even if it was suicide, I’m afraid there’s something going on in that house.” As I spoke, my previously unformed thoughts coalesced. “I’m worried that if Hugh moves back in, he might lose his own grasp on reality. It’s one thing to confront the demons of one’s past. It’s quite another thing to be savaged by them.”

Olivier nodded. “What is it you wish to accomplish in this séance?”

“To speak with the spirits—figure out who they are and what they want. And, you know, maybe solve a murder.”

“You have never done such a thing, I take it?”

“No. Can you help?”

“If you are to do this, it must be done right. You would agree with me, no?”

“Can it be done this weekend? Friday is the twenty-fifth anniversary of the murders.”

His eyebrows rose. “Well, in that case, yes indeed. We should take advantage of the timing.”