“Yes, I think we can do that,” I said. “But are you sure you want to be part of it? We could do it without you and let you know what happens.”
Hugh fixed me with a look that was suddenly focused and intense. “I know I seem fragile sometimes. But I’m not. I want to understand what happened. I need to talk to my father. If you can’t do it, I’ll find someone who can.”
“Okay,” I said, taken aback. “I understand. I think you’re right; we should have a séance tomorrow night and see if we can get to the bottom of all of this. I’ll see if I can make it happen.”
We joined the group working on the ramp, and I introduced Hugh around. Monty came out briefly and asked if someone could fix the curtain rods in the front windows. Hugh volunteered to go in and see what he needed. Monty didn’t seem interested in interacting with the ramp crew; it made me wonder about what Stan had said, about Monty’s lack of involvement in the ramp’s construction.
While the others were busy, I called Olivier and asked about the séance. He had made contact with Meredith, and it was set to move forward. “We need six people besides Meredith. Three women, three men. I’ll be there, and Hugh, and you and Hugh’s wife? Do you know another man and woman who would be willing and able to come?”
“Sure, I’ll find someone,” I said, looking over at Zach and Graham. Once the posturing and power struggle between Graham and Zach settled down, and it was clear Graham was in charge, everyone had relaxed, and the work was progressing well.
I still felt a bit defensive about the whole ghost thing in front of Graham, and I realized a good part of it was that I cared what he thought of me. With Zach I felt more at ease, because I didn’t care as much. But if I asked Zach to the séance instead of Graham, I would never hear the end of it.
As for a woman to invite? Luz was petrified of anything ghostly, but my friend Claire, the landscape designer, was pretty kickass. She might well have plans for Friday night, but it couldn’t hurt to ask.
The sound of sawing and hammers banging was like a lullaby to me, calming and soothing. It was enough to make a person forget about ghosts and murder for a bit.
Kobe was using a drill with a Phillips-head bit to screw a sawn plank onto the support below. Graham, I noticed, was working nearby but acting as though he wasn’t watching; it wasn’t irreparable if Kobe did it wrong, after all. The boy was applying himself with concentration; tongue curled around his lip, he held the drill with both hands and pressed down firmly and steadily as he’d been told. The screw went in a little crooked but adequately.
He released the mechanism on the drill and stood back to admire his own handiwork, a pleased look coming over his face.
“Not bad,” I said. “Not bad at all.”
He seemed to catch himself and shrugged. “Yeah, no big deal.”
“Could be a very big deal if it makes the difference between a man being trapped in his house or getting out independently.”
Another shrug.
“Hey, could I ask you a question? Where would a person get drugs around here?” I felt like the worst kind of old person, the sort that asks kids about “newfangled” telephones and the like. Did people even call drugs “drugs” these days? Did you say “score some dope”?
Kobe gave me a decidedly disapproving look. “Don’t you think there are better ways of handling your problems? Lady, like, you should have, like, resources or whatever.”
“Thank you, Kobe. I appreciate your concern. But I wasn’t looking to buy anything for myself. I’m trying to find out who Linda—the woman we found here?—who she might have been in touch with before she died, and you mentioned you had seen her hanging around here. She had some problems.”
“She a user?”
“I think she was, yes.”
“What was she into?”
“I’m not really sure. Alcohol, definitely, but drugs, too.”
“Alcohol’s, like, totally a drug.”
“Yes, I realize that.”
“Worse than a lot of drugs.”
Little Kobe was a real stickler for public health issues, it seemed.
“I agree with you,” I said. “All of it can be dangerous stuff if it gets out of hand. But there’s one big difference: Alcohol’s legal. For grown-ups, anyway.”
He pondered this as though it were news.
“Anyway,” I continued, “I know it’s a long shot, but I’m trying to help out the folks who used to live here.” I glanced over at Hugh, who I could see through the front windows adjusting the curtain rods. “The boy who escaped, he’s a man now, but this sort of thing can haunt a person.”