Home for the Haunting(86)
Graham and I hung around, explained everything to Annette, and waited to hear about the outcome of his injury. The X-rays showed that while Monty had sustained a serious contusion and a major lump, there was no concussion. I was glad to leave him in Annette’s hands. I wondered whether he’d be up on charges for moving Linda’s body or for fraud against the charity or disability insurance . . . but in any case, I felt confident that Annette would make the right call. And I hoped that he might provide her with some shred of information that could help her solve the case.
“You seriously think Monty’s going to show up to help at that youth center project on Saturday?” asked Graham as we left the emergency room. “I tell you what, Mel, for someone who describes herself as a misanthrope, you sure do have a lot of faith in people.”
“I doubt it, but it’s worth a try. I don’t know how he could even begin to make something like this up to society.”
“He might well have to pay the price by doing time. Fraud is serious. As is disturbing a crime scene in order to sustain that fraud.”
We walked out into the brisk night and lingered for a moment in the parking structure. I looked down at myself: encrusted in dirt, blood on my skirt, and I could only imagine what my hair was doing.
“Graham, seriously. Why would you want to go out to dinner with someone like me? Look at me.”
He released a deep breath, put his finger under my chin, and lifted my face to his. “I’m just as dirty as you are.”
“It’s not just that. Dad says I’m like Typhoid Mary. Trouble follows me wherever I go.”
He smiled. “And I’d be better suited with, say, someone like Cookie?”
I punched him lightly in the ribs. “Oh, by the way: Are you free tomorrow night?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
“Don’t get too excited . . . I was going to invite you to a séance. At the Murder House.”
He let out a bark of laughter that reverberated in the cavernous parking structure. He shook his head. “I cannot wait to see your sister at a séance.”
“Cookie is not coming along.”
“Sure about that?”
“Absolutely.”
Chapter Twenty-two
“Why can’t I go?” Cookie whined. “You always think you’re the only one that can do anything.”
“It’s not a game, Cookie. This is serious.”
“Come on, Mel. Really, you’re saying you talk to ghosts? Like they were people?”
“It’s not that simple. But . . . don’t you remember Mom sort of . . . knowing things she couldn’t have known?”
“Well, sure. But that’s called being a mother.” She didn’t even try to keep the smugness from her voice. “You would know if you had children.”
“I do have a child. He was here for dinner last night, remember?”
“Caleb’s a doll, but he’s your stepson. It’s not the same.”
“Wanna bet?” As someone who had adopted—more or less—her stepson, I realized that few people could understand the level of my love and connection to the boy. My feelings toward Caleb were so deep that it was shocking when others assumed my bond with him was less than a parent’s. But that wasn’t the point of the argument here.
I tried again. “All I was trying to say was that Mom knew things; she saw things in the houses we were flipping. Just ask Dad. Mom was able to intuit and communicate with spirits or ghosts, whatever you want to call them. Apparently I am, too.”
“You always did think you were Mom’s favorite. Just because you took off and had your fancy life all over the world while the rest of us settled down and raised families, you think she admired you the most.”
“I . . . What are you talking about?” As was so often the case when speaking with my sister, I was shocked to learn how thoroughly we misunderstood each other. What “fancy life” was she talking about? Hadn’t she noticed that I’d been mired in divorce and post-divorce pain and petulance for the past several years?
I didn’t know how to respond. She was so off the mark that I couldn’t think what to say in rebuttal. Not to mention that it had nothing to do with what I was trying to explain to her.
“I would love to go to Paris and Rome and London and wherever else it was you and Daniel were always jetting off to all those years while you were married. But I had responsibilities at home. I had children and a husband who works so much I scarcely see him. Do you know I don’t even have a passport? I’ve never needed one because I never go anywhere!”