Home for the Haunting(94)

“The shed where we found Linda.”

“The very one. And when Sidney ran in, Ray shot him, too. Realizing Linda thought it was her father who’d done the deed, he made it look like Sidney had shot himself. But then, last week, Linda sees Hugh at the base of the stairs and thinks it’s her father’s ghost. Maybe it clicked then, and she realized it had been Ray.”

“So Ray killed Linda to keep her quiet, and figured he’d stash the body in the basement floor of Monty’s house, since he thought Monty couldn’t go down there in his wheelchair.”

“Right. And he made a point to sponsor Monty’s house, I guess, in a kind of secret apology. But when Ray realized Monty could walk, and Linda’s body was found down in the shed, he figured Monty moved it—but also thought maybe Monty had seen him earlier with Linda’s body. Ray must have been a nervous wreck, wondering if and when Monty would say anything.”

“All right, we don’t have enough evidence to hold him, but I’ll bring him in for questioning.”

We hung up. On the plus side, it looked like I really did now have a friend in the SFPD. Unfortunately, it was for all the wrong reasons.

I remained in the car for a moment, petting Dog and gazing at Murder House.

It was overwhelming. Could a trusted family friend really carry out such atrocities, then go on with his life, just like that? And never kill again?

Actually . . . he had killed again. Linda. She realized it had been Ray she saw at the base of the stairs, rather than her father. Foolishly, she thought to blackmail him rather than running to tell the world what he’d done. She was no foe for a man already saddled with such sins.

Do you believe in demons? Ray had once asked me.

I was beginning to.





Chapter Twenty-four




The blue knocker lay still and foreboding against the front door.

These knockers used to remind me of Paris, but I feared from now on they would carry a different association for me.

I reached out, wrapping my fingers around the cold metal of the hand. Lifted it up, banged it down. Bam. Twice more: Bam. Bam. And then a pause, one more bam.

I had no idea what I was doing, but perhaps the ghosts would recognize their own knocking pattern. I wanted some time alone with these ghosts. Perhaps, if I was right about Ray, I could let these ghosts know that he had been discovered and finally lay them to rest. That justice would be done, at long last.

Dog stood behind me, growling from some deep place in his furry chest.

The door swung in slowly. Dog immediately raced past me, running up the stairs, barking.

I crossed the tiled entry and stood on the spot where Jean Lawrence had died, calling out for her husband. Feeling nothing, I walked over toward the fireplace, where poor Bridget had fallen.

Nothing. No cold spots, no sounds, no eerie, blue-gray scenes unreeling like an old home movie.

“I want to talk to you,” I said, my hand reaching for my grandmother’s wedding ring hanging on a chain around my neck. I wasn’t afraid of these ghosts, not anymore. I was afraid of how they died, of the rage and cold ambition that could push a seemingly normal person to do the unthinkable. I didn’t want to know something like that was possible.

But the more I thought about it, the more sure I was. Ray was “part of the family,” but he always knocked. Jean recognized the pattern as his. Bam bam bam . . . bam. He had knocked that night. Was that why the sounds rang out, over and over?

“Dog?” I whistled. “Come here, sweetie.”

More barking from upstairs was my only response.

It was possible Dog was chasing spirits. It was also possible he was chasing dust motes. Like most animals, he was more tuned in to spirits than were humans. But like a lot of dogs, his attention wavered. And Dog wasn’t all that bright.

But then I heard a yelp and a panicked canine cry.

“Dog?” I ran up the stairs and down the hall. “Dog, come here, boy!”

The door of the second bedroom was ajar. I stopped short in the doorway.

Ray had Dog by the collar. He held a gun to my pet’s head.

I swallowed hard and tried to steady my hammering heart with a deep breath, which I let out slowly. We all, even Dog, seemed to freeze: a strange tableau.

“I thought you were meeting Monty at the youth center,” I said inanely.

“Change of plans,” said Ray.

The knowledge that I was right about the man before me was small comfort when I realized that I was here with no backup save the four-footed variety now in the clutches of the very evil I had been contemplating. My dad would be pulling up at Etta’s soon. My mind cast around for some way to make enough noise to get his attention.

“What are you doing here?” My hand went toward my pocket, hoping I might be able to surreptitiously hit the panic button on my car keys and set off the alarm. It would annoy the neighbors and attract attention.