The Truth About Mallory Bain (38 page)

Mom fingered the edge of Grandma's white tablecloth and smiled proudly. Judith was smiling, too, when she glanced back over her shoulder after slipping a soft instrumental into the CD player on the corner table.

I realized then how she had won a huge battle when we asked her to conduct a séance. Her gift finally gained the recognition she believed it deserved. She won a greater battle when Mom lent the house for the event. Judith struck a match and lit long sticks of cinnamon and sandalwood incense set in the porcelain vases on the china cabinet across the room.

Caleb started tapping his foot against the panel beneath the counter like he had earlier in the afternoon. I wrapped my arm around Ben's waist. “Mom and I have told him before. He needs to quit doing that.”

Ben held his hand to his forehead, showing unease over my hint that he reprimand his son for the first time. We went to the kitchen doorway and peeked in together.

“Caleb,” said Ben.

Caleb glanced at us over his shoulder.

“Give it a rest, pal. No more kicking.”

Caleb swiveled a half circle and contorted his expression.

“Why is he looking at me that way?” Ben whispered.

I shook my head and shrugged. “Giving you the old Halloween creepy face. Relax. He's six.”

“I don't think that's it. Something about him is off.”

I glanced at Caleb and consoled Ben. “He's fine. He loves you.”

We joined the others in the living room to listen to Judith explain how the evening would proceed. After a while, Ben politely asked her to hush. Caleb's monkey rhyme echoed from the kitchen. Each time he repeated the verse, his voice grew louder, more forceful.

“Four little monkeys snoopin' 'round my hedge,

They got lucky instead of dead.

Mama called the doctor and the doctor said,

‘Don't let monkeys snoop around that hedge.'”

He croaked out the next verse.

“Two wicked monkeys lured me to a hedge.

One grabbed the ball bat and bashed in my head.

The other dug a deep hole, and my killer said,

‘Four trusting monkeys not yet dead!'”

Mom shrieked into her hands. Rick crossed the room to comfort her. Natalie dropped into the chair behind them.

I shivered. “Ben?”

He stepped into the dining room doorway.

Judith moved toward him. “Hold on. Give him a minute. See if the words change again. The spirit is channeling through him.”

Carl's face reddened. “Judith, you need to stop this game you're playing. You're messing with that kid's head.”

“He will be fine,” she argued.

“No, no he won't.” Carl clenched his fists. “I'm putting an end to this.”

As Carl brushed past Ben, Ben reached out and grabbed hold his arm. “You wait a minute. That kid is my son, not yours.”

“He is not in danger!” Judith exclaimed. “The boy is the spirit's voice. It is channeling the warning, because when he reached out, Caleb let him in. The spirit knows the child belongs to Mallory and Ben.”

The edginess in her voice convinced me of the spirit's conviction, his need for justice, and his desire to warn us of the potential for murder. My fears abated when I recalled the Jack Harwood I'd known in life would never have hurt a child.

“This is why I'm concerned about how Jack will manifest his desperation during the séance,” I said.

Ronnie added her concern. “He understands Dana's derangement. He is warning us—let Caleb speak.”

“Yes,” said Judith. “Caleb will forget.”

I slipped past Ben and Carl. “It's like a game they're playing.” I went toward the kitchen and stopped near the doorway and watched my son. He was coloring without any care.

“If you think your boy is playing a game with a ghost . . .” Carl grunted and coughed. “You're as crazy as Judith. A kid can't forget a gruesome poem like that. You people are crossing the line into child endangerment. All of you. It's wrong.”

“Please, Carl. Listen to them,” Mom pleaded.

He glared at her for a moment then turned again to walk toward the kitchen.

Ben held him back again. “Here's what's wrong, Carl: the murders of Jack Harwood and Lance Garner. Dana attempting to
kill Mallory and Ronnie. Twice, no less. Once she finds out Jack Grant and I are back, it's a matter of time before she murders us all—‘four trusting monkeys not yet dead.'”

Carl shifted his feet back and forth. “I won't be part of this, Holland.”

“Fine,” said Ben. “Then get out of here unless you can tell us how and where to find proof those two killed anybody. We're all ears, man.”

Carl bowed his head. “I admit those people look suspicious.”

Ben continued. “But your buddies haven't found any proof, and they can't lock them up without evidence or a confession. We've got one victim practically screaming the facts at us and it's time we listened on his terms before somebody else dies.”

“You're only going along with Judith's charade to get in good with the family.”

My mother whimpered, “Carl. No.” She went to his side. He pulled free and stormed out the front door.

“That's right.” Judith held her head high. “There's no room for nonbelievers in this house. Let him go, Diane. And you three ought to leave, too,” she said, nodding toward Mom, Natalie, and Caleb. “The Fowlers will be here soon.”

Natalie kissed Rick goodbye and lingered a moment with her arms around him. Sam helped Ronnie into the dining room and into her chair next to Judith's designated place at the head of the table.

Ben and I went to the kitchen and readied Caleb to leave for Pam's. Mom padded after us, holding tissues against her nose.

We said little about having lost Carl's support. Mom expressed more concern for Caleb's well-being than whether or not her friendship with Carl was over. Judith explained the spirit would stop channeling through Caleb when he was satisfied we understood his message. Until then, no one, including Carl, could keep the spirit away from our son. The rest of us congregated in the dining room, anticipating the Fowler's arrival for a good twenty minutes.

Judith quieted us with a wave of her hands. “I hear a car.”

Ben and Sam slipped down the hallway beyond the upstairs staircase and into the den. Rick stayed behind. He planned on positioning himself behind Erik, whom he considered a greater threat than Harwood's ghost. Dana was my charge, with Ben's help once he joined the circle.

Grant gave me a nod that Ben and Sam were out of sight in the den. I took hold the doorknob and turned. I donned a smile and pulled open the door.

“Hi, you two,” I said cheerily. “Come on in.”

Erik helped Dana with her coat and I removed hangers from the closet.

“I hope we're not late.” His brow knitted and he gazed into a vacant space beyond my shoulder.

“Not at all,” I said.

I maintained my feigned charm, hoping to ease them into the moment. I placed his jacket and her coat in the closet.

Dressed much like Ronnie and me, Dana fluffed her sweater and smoothed the front of her slacks. “Mallory. You are looking well. Over the ordeal with Lance, I imagine.” She patted her hair and smiled self-assuredly.

Her medicinal-smelling mint mouthwash failed to mask the telltale scent of gin.

“Ordeal?”

She nodded, eyebrows arched, eyes glazed. Her smile devious. Or perhaps I read devious because I expected devious. I was tempted to lash back for the thoughtless remark—Lance's death was a tragedy, not an ordeal.

“I'm better.” I reined in my rage and smiled too sweetly, I suppose. “We planned a special evening for tonight.”

Responding to my cue, Jack Grant rounded the corner from the dining room with arms opened wide and a smile spreading across his face. “Surprise!”

Shock washed over their faces.

Erik stopped mid-step. “Never would have expected to find you here.”

Grant's laugh exuded confidence. “You're not happy to see me? I'm devastated.”

Erik hesitated, extending his hand. “Sure. We're happy to see you. Surprised, though.”

They visited among themselves while Rick and I retreated into the kitchen for beverages and desserts. Grant stepped between Dana and Erik, and with an arm wrapped around each of their shoulders, he escorted them into the dining room.

“Guess who else is here.” He stretched out his hand. “Ronnie! Now we have a fair collection of our old friends.”

I stepped into the dining room with a stack plates and tableware. “With the exception of Jack Harwood and Ben Holland.”

Dana shot me a scowl. Her breathing quickened for a few moments. I stepped back, expecting her to lunge at me.

The dangerous emotions of unrequited love are alive and well with this woman.

I moved closer to Grant. “Of course, you remember my aunt, Judith Johnston.”

Judith smiled cordially, but clutched her arms close to her chest as though touching either of them was bad karma.

Without uttering a word, Ronnie glanced back and forth from Grant to Dana and Erik. I could tell she was reading my face for cues.

Erik stared at the vases holding the incense across the room.

Dana folded her arms and took in a deep breath as she gazed at the row of unlit white and lavender candles in front of Judith's place at the table. “What is all this?”

Grant gave her a mischievous wink. “We'll visit a bit first and enjoy our refreshments. Mrs. Johnston has graciously offered to conduct an old-fashioned Halloween séance for us.”

Dana's mouth fell open. “You mean theatrics. Certainly no one expects an actual spirit will appear.”

“I certainly hope one does,” said Judith.

Dana's eyes dulled, her expression stolid.

Judith seated herself at the table. “I will invite the spirit of a loved one into our midst for conversation. Perhaps Mallory's father has time for us this evening.”

I gestured at two of the chairs. “Dana, please sit in the chair across from my aunt, if you will, and Erik across from me, between Dana and Ronnie.”

We visited around the table until the sun set and we finished our refreshments. Our conversation remained light and cordial. Ronnie, however, remained silent nearly the entire time, speaking only when spoken to.

Rick and I quickly cleared the dishes into the kitchen, and Aunt Judith stood and faced the table holding the CD player. She explained how burning incense enhanced the atmosphere, making it warm and welcoming to the spirits and helping those gathered to concentrate. The candle colors signified spirituality.

Only candle or natural light was allowed. Soon, the blackness of night steadily pressed against the windows—a steely shroud of death, my home cast into a house of despair. Judith would encapsulate us in a dwelling filled from cellar to attic with the essence of that desperate soul—whether good or evil remained to be seen.

“Before we start . . .” Judith reached down and brought up a small wicker basket from the floor beside her. “I insist everyone turn off their cell phones and place them in the basket. We do not want any accidental interruptions during the séance.”

Dana scooted her chair back. “I'm sorry. I need to keep mine. Our daughter may need us.”

“Give it up,” said Erik. “This won't take long and you'll get it back. You might have some fun for a change.”

Dana scowled but dropped her phone into the basket with the others. Judith carried the basket across the living room toward the den where Ben and Sam waited.

“I've never heard of anything so silly,” said Dana. “Doesn't she trust us to turn off our phones?”

“Erik knows. You will have loads of fun,” said Grant.

“Time to begin,” said Judith, walking back into the dining room. “I've been thinking. Instead of my brother-in-law, perhaps I might call upon Ben Holland.”

Dana let out a small hiss. Erik cleared his throat.

“I suspect everyone is interested in knowing how Ben has fared in death,” said Judith.

“Not me.” Grant sniffled.

I nudged his ribs with my elbow and took my chair.

Judith's chair creaked as she seated herself at the head of the table again. The music clicked off. “Everyone, please take the hand of the person beside you. Breathe in deeply and exhale.”

I stretched my left hand past the empty chair and clasped onto Grant's right hand. Dana latched onto my right hand with the grip of a vice.

During our breathing ritual, Judith began to hum, soft and subdued. Her voice climbed to a crescendo, riding on an intense pitch. In the moment her voice held that prolonged note, Grant dropped my hand. Ben stole into the chair between us. I held his hand in mine.

The spark of a match lit the first candle. Its brilliant flicker moved from Ronnie, to Erik, and to Dana. The flame's glimmer glinted off the silver belt buckle that moved on the other side of Aunt Judith and disappeared. I let go of Dana's hand to take the candle and pass it on to Ben. Neither Dana nor Erik acknowledged his presence, even when Judith placed the last candle in the center of the table.

Judith chanted into a trance and summoned the residing spirit. The room turned cold and still.

“Identify yourself.”

I tugged against Dana's hold. She squeezed my hand harder, making me lean into her grip. I leaned back when a cool breeze brushed the back of my head.

The wafting breezes turned icy and rose into a blowing wind. The candles snuffed out. Wind whooshed above our heads and around us. Newspapers and magazines fluttered in the living room.

A thud and a crunch.

A lamp, its shade crumpled.

The chandelier swinging above our heads clicked and rattled.

Judith chanted louder. Wind filled the house.

Objects on the counter, blender, toaster, crashed. A heavy object rolled, then collided with the kitchen floor and splintered into chunks.