Home for the Haunting(78)

Just as he was saying it, I saw Graham emerge from his truck, glaring at Zach. For his part, Zach held his hands splayed out as though he was surrendering. They didn’t have the best history.

But no fistfights broke out, and everyone got to work. There was no Port o’ Potty or free food, but our little group seemed like a nice echo of the huge weekend crew. All of us here, working together for a good cause.

Kobe came wandering by shortly after we arrived. He was without his entourage today. I introduced him to everyone and asked if he wanted to join us, even without the enticement of cookies.

“C’mon, you could do a good deed. No one would have to know, and you’ll see how good it feels.”

Kobe shrugged. Caleb rolled his eyes. Apparently I no longer knew how to speak to the youth.

Graham handed him a hammer. “Come help me finish up this ramp. I’ll teach you how.”

To my surprise, Kobe followed him across the yard but then asked, “Why I wanna learn how to build a ramp?”

“Build a ramp today, build a skateboard park tomorrow.”

“Why I wanna build a skateboard park?”

Graham shrugged as he started to set out his tools.

“I guess a person who could build a skateboard park might be able to do a lot of things. Build things, start a business, be his own man. On the other hand, maybe you want to stay in school and study and go to law school or something like that; not everyone’s cut out to work with his hands. Or I guess you could join your buddies down the street and sell drugs.” Graham took some measurements and studied the drawings for a moment. Perhaps it was because he didn’t make eye contact with Kobe that the boy seemed rapt, waiting for him to finish. Finally, Graham continued. “Problem with that, as far as I can tell, is that most of the money goes to the guys in charge, while the kids out on the street get busted or shot. In fact, I guess a person might want to learn to build a wheelchair ramp in case he gets shot in the back sometime and needs to use it for the rest of his life.”

It was clear there was no need whatsoever for me to intervene. Graham was casting a much more powerful spell than I could ever muster with my self-important “help the community” line. Graham was speaking to Kobe with respect and laying out the truth of the world without judgment or opinion.

Our eyes met. I felt another little piece of the ice around my heart slough off in the heat.

Raven showed up half an hour later, standing on the sidewalk and rocking from one foot to the other. In the harsh afternoon sun, she looked much younger than she had the other night. I almost felt bad about pinning her to the floor with my boot.

I gestured to Caleb. “That’s Raven. I’ll introduce you, and then you could get her a pair of work gloves, and maybe you two could clean up the path between the houses?”

It was still littered with junk from old furniture to stray nails, from our interrupted work on the weekend.

“Okay,” he said, clearly dubious. “But it’s awkward.”

“I know. I owe you one. Or lots of ones.”

Speaking of awkward . . . Hugh was now standing on the sidewalk in front of Monty’s house. Again, he had such an ethereal look about him that he appeared almost like a specter himself.

“Hi, Hugh,” I said. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugged. “I was just—I don’t know—just looking at the house. My house. The Murder House.”

Once again it struck me that this was not a useful way for Hugh to spend his time; I was no therapist, but dwelling on the place that had housed so much tragedy didn’t appear to have helped his sister, and I wasn’t sure Hugh would fare any better.

“If you have some extra time, we could use all the help we can get,” I said.

“Really? I’d love to help. It’s about the only useful thing I can do. My dad was handy; he taught me.”

As was predictable, at his own mention of his father, Hugh’s attention wandered. His lips moved slightly, as though working on yet another poem. But since he didn’t have Simone with him, there was no one to translate for him.

“Thank you, Hugh; that would be great. We’re trying to finish up this ramp while we still have the light.”

As I led him over to the ramp, he kept his eyes on the house next door.

“Have you seen anything else happening at the house?” he asked.

“Not really, though I haven’t gone back in, so . . .”

“Tomorrow is the anniversary,” said Hugh.

“I know.”

“Have you . . . you mentioned once that you might be able to arrange for a séance?”

I wish I knew what was best in this situation; in a way, a séance seemed like the smart move, since ideally we could keep things under control, and with luck we could actually ask questions of the spirits. And according to Olivier, Hugh’s presence there would help by boosting the connection to the family. But I worried about his mental health.