Home for the Haunting(91)
“Nooooo!”
More gunshots. Boom, boom.
Sidney fell near his wife. The killer put the gun in Sidney’s hand, wrapped his fingers around it, held the barrel to Sidney’s temple, and pulled the trigger.
Boom.
Chapter Twenty-three
“Why couldn’t she see the killer?” asked Annette.
“An excellent question,” I said. “It was incredibly frustrating.”
“I was afraid of that,” Meredith said, shaking her head. “But I was hoping they would say a name, or in some other way identify the killer. You remember anything like that?”
I shook my head. “You knew this would happen?”
“I didn’t know it would happen, but I’m not surprised. What you saw was not a replay of the actual event, but a reenactment of sorts. You couldn’t see the killer because he or she did not die here that night. The ghosts manifested because they are here, connected to this home, in these walls. But he is not. He is still alive.”
“I knew it,” Hugh said. He held his head in his hands, rocking, and his voice was raw. “I knew it. It never made any sense. All these years . . . and it wasn’t my father after all.”
I shook my head.
He leaned back in his chair, looked up at the ceiling with tears in his eyes. Simone stood behind him, hugging him gently.
“Well, that’s just great,” I said, disgusted. “So does this mean we’re back where we started?”
Meredith shrugged. “A vision like the one you experienced can be like a dream, vague and just beyond conscious grasp. But you may remember more when you sleep. Or something you encounter during the course of your day may spark a sudden picture. Don’t try to force it.”
“Fine, fine,” Cookie announced, her arm wrapped around my shoulders. “We’re leaving. Thai food and movies at our place. Everyone’s invited, but only if you promise not to talk about ghosts, goblins, witches, werewolves, or things that go bump in the night. I’ve had just about enough of this.”
And with that, Cookie grabbed my elbow and steered me out the door.
“So does this mean you’re giving up your plans to star in a reality TV show about ghost busting?”
“Don’t start with me, Mel. Just don’t start.”
• • •
The next morning, I was running late. Despite our movie marathon—three romantic comedies, back to back—I had had trouble sleeping. I kept dreaming about the events I had seen and heard at 2906 Greenbrier. Jean answering the door, the log slamming down on Bridget’s head, the finger pulling the trigger. The sound of the knocker, over and over. Boom. Boom. Boom.
But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t see who was behind the door.
As I stumbled downstairs and made my way to the kitchen, I heard Cookie on the phone in the living room, giggling.
“Who’s she talking to?” I asked Dad, who was sipping coffee at the kitchen table.
“Kyle,” Dad said. He held up crossed fingers.
“Did she call him or did he call her?”
“I didn’t hear the phone ring, so she must’ve called him.”
“Interesting,” I said, pouring a cup of coffee.
“Don’t say anything to screw it up.”
“Why would I screw it up? I like Kyle. And as much fun as Cookie’s visit has been, I’m thinking this house is no longer big enough to house three Turners. We’re a strong-minded bunch.”
“You get that from your mother,” Dad said.
“Yeah, sure. Mom was the stubborn one.”
“I don’t know what the hell kind of crazy party you dragged Cookie to last night, but I guess it knocked some sense into her.”
“It was a séance, Dad; you know that. You insisted I take her, remember?”
He ignored that. “You got plans today? I gather you’re not working on Monty’s place anymore.”
“You can say that again.” That reminded me: I should call Annette and see where things stood with Monty.
Just then, Cookie sailed into the room. She kissed Dad on the cheek and poured a glass of orange juice. “Morning, Mel! Did you sleep okay?”
“Kind of fitfully, actually. You seem in a good mood.”
“Guess what!” she said.
“What?”
“Kyle and I are going on a cruise!”
“Really? Well, isn’t that nice?” Dad said, looking pleased. “Your mother and I really enjoyed the cruise we took that one time. The Panama Canal was sensational.”
“Sounds like you’re going to need a passport,” I said. She beamed at me.
“And the cruise is just the beginning. Maybe next summer we’ll rent a house in the Italian countryside, you know, like in that movie we saw last night? The whole family can come!”