Home for the Haunting(85)

Graham took one arm and I took the other, and we helped him stand.

“I try to keep consistent so I don’t forget and screw up in front of people.”

“Well, the gig is up, Monty. Seriously. And speaking of that—this is a pretty tight neighborhood. How’d you manage to keep this a secret?”

“The accident was real, and I did land in the hospital for weeks and had a wheelchair to get around at first. Then I thought I should just keep it up, for the reasons we just . . .” He trailed off when I glared at him. “Anyway, I’m remarkably consistent. And the truth is, most people don’t look at you that carefully when you’re in a chair. They don’t like to meet your eyes or look too close. It’s sad, really.”

We maneuvered him down the new ramp, since it was easier than the stairs, then got him into the back seat of my car.

“Listen, we have to call the inspector,” I told Monty as Graham drove us toward St. Luke’s hospital.

“I told you—she’ll blame me.”

“She’s smart,” I said. “She’ll know whether you’re telling the truth. And believe me, in a situation like this, it’s best just to come clean with what you’ve done.”

“But . . . there’s more.”

“I can hardly wait.”

“I found this other note with the body. She was holding it in her hand—I think she was planning on blackmailing me. You can’t tell where you got it from, though, okay?”

“You’re in no position to ask for any favors,” growled Graham before I got the chance.

I put my palm out, and he handed it over.

The script was feminine and erratic. It read: I know the truth. Bring $50,000 tomorrow, or I’ll tell.

“What truth?”

Monty shrugged.

“When was ‘tomorrow’?”

He shrugged again. “I think maybe she was trying to blackmail me because she saw I could walk.”

“I thought you said you didn’t know her?”

“I’d seen her hanging around the Murder House once or twice. I thought she was just some junkie, but maybe she saw me. I might have forgotten to draw the shade in my bedroom or whatever.”

“Would it have been worth fifty thousand dollars to you to keep it quiet? Do you even have fifty thousand dollars?”

He shrugged.

I realized I kept thinking of Monty as a needy member of society, but maybe he had rolls of hundreds or stacks of gold coins stashed away in yet another fake book. He might have been defrauding countless governmental and charitable institutions, for all I knew.

I called Annette and gave her the lowdown. She said she would meet us at the emergency room.

“Oh, I’m really sorry about trapping you in the shed that time. I was just sort of freaking out. I mean, you can imagine, right? I didn’t know what you were after, what you might find. . . . The police had already looked, but I got the feeling you were seeing ghosts at the Murder House, and what if you met one in the shed and it talked to you?”

“You’re the one who pushed me in there? You really are scum in so many ways.” I fumed, looking out at the darkened streets and thinking of all those duped volunteers.

“I know. You’re right.” He held his head in his hands for a moment, then looked up at me with pleading eyes. “Don’t repossess the ramp, though, okay? Maybe somebody will need it. Somebody ‘worthy.’”

“Don’t you dare play all hangdog with me. I don’t feel sorry for you; you hear me? You should get off your keister and do something with your life. People like you make people like me feel foolish for giving our time and resources to charity, and that’s unforgivable. The only way you’re going to make it up to me, to any of us, is to turn your life around and do good deeds.”

“I’m going to. I swear. I just wanted to get my place fixed up a little so I could sell it when the prices rise.” He shook his head, to which he still held the bloody towel. “All I ever wanted was to be left alone to read. I never catch a break.”

A tiny part of me could relate. For years I’d wanted a similar thing, albeit in a Parisian garret. I had wanted to be left all alone so I could do nothing but read and feel sorry for myself. I would never have gone to such nefarious lengths to attain the dream, but part of me understood the sentiment.

“You know,” I said, “Ray mentioned he was financing a workday down at the youth center this weekend. If your wound’s not serious, you should go help, start making it up to the world.”

“Really? I will. You’ll see. This weekend, at the youth center. I’m starting to turn my life around, from now on.”