Home for the Haunting(92)

“A Turner family reunion  ?” I asked.

“Better make sure it’s a big house,” Dad said.

“Well, I’m off to make a few phone calls. Kyle’s hoping I can catch a plane tonight. I’ve been away too long!”

She sailed back out of the room.

Pleased that the crisis between Cookie and Kyle had blown over, Dad prepared to make a celebratory breakfast. I was explaining to him that I wasn’t in the mood for eggs and grits when my phone rang. I looked at the screen to see that it was Monty calling.

“I wanted you to know that, even though I’m injured and all, I’m going to work at the Tubman youth center today. I used my one phone call from jail to talk to Ray Buckley. I told him none of this was your fault, that you were acting in good faith. I came clean about everything.”

“Oh, that’s . . . um, great, Monty.”

“He’s a really good guy, not judgy at all. I thanked him for what he tried to do for me, and he said that if I made bail, I should meet him at the youth center for workday today so I could make it up to him and to society. So you see, I’m not such a bad person after all.”

“I appreciate that, Monty. I think you have a lot to offer.” I wasn’t going to ask about the whole disability fraud part of this equation. I imagined Annette was on top of that.

“So, that’s what I wanted to say. Oh, one more thing. Since you aren’t going to be working on my house today, your weekend must be free. Maybe you could join us at the youth center project? I’m meeting Ray there in half an hour. I even recruited Kobe and some of his friends.”

“I don’t really . . .” I wanted a day off. Just one day off. But tomorrow was Sunday, so I could lounge around then. And the thought of Kobe and his friends having a youth center to call their own appealed . . . “Okay, sure. I have something to do this morning, but I should be there by eleven.”

My dad’s eyes were on me as I hung up.

“Let me guess: Monty wants you to do something else for him? That guy’s got some nerve.”

“Not for himself this time. Believe it or not, he’s trying to make it up to me—and society, I guess—by volunteering at the youth center.”

“I didn’t hear you saying no.”

“Well, I was going to work at his place today, and since that’s no longer happening, I might as well use the time at the youth center. And he’s volunteering with a head injury. You have to give him a little credit.”

“Oh, I give him exactly as much credit as he deserves.”

“Speaking of volunteering, weren’t you going over to Etta’s today to work on that model train set of hers?”

I was itching to return to the Murder House. Now that I was no longer frightened by its ghostly residents, I wanted to see if they would speak to me directly. But it would be nice to know I had backup right across the street.

He grunted. “Yep, leaving in a few minutes. By the way, Graham mentioned you thought Etta was a murderess at one point. Does that mean you were trying to set me up with a murderess?”

My cheeks flamed. “I think he must have heard wrong,” I fibbed. “Anyway, I’ll stop by Etta’s this morning, too, but we’d better drive separately since I’m going to the youth center afterward. I’ll take Dog with me. You can have Cookie.”

“See you there.”

On the way to Murder House, I couldn’t stop thinking about last night’s visions. Also, I was hoping Dad wouldn’t say anything to Etta about my wild conjecture. I had been trying to keep an open mind, but it did seem absurd the more I thought about it. It was just that she was armed and able today, so I could just imagine her twenty-five years ago. And I knew better than to think that only men killed.

One thing about last night’s visions: I was now sure the murderer was a man. Or was I? I saw a man’s plaid jacket, but a woman could wear a man’s jacket.

Still . . . something about the vision made me feel that the killer was a man.

Gee, that narrowed it down.

A man with a plaid jacket. A lot of people wore plaid jackets. Like that photo Hugh had shown me, where he and his dad and Uncle Ray were wearing matching plaid hunting jackets, holding up their freshly caught trout with pride.

I thought of those pictures, taken so long ago. Sidney and Ray could have been brothers; they had similar coloring and build. I remembered Ray saying how touched he was the day Hugh called him “dad.”

Little Linda told the police she had seen her daddy at the base of the stairs that terrible night.

And when the adult Linda went back to the house last Friday, she thought she had seen her father’s ghost at the bottom of the stairs . . . but it turned out to be Hugh.