Dead Voices (30 page)

TEN

Another Warning

1.

The sky was lowering with rain clouds blowing in from the west as Elizabeth walked out of work late Thursday afternoon. She took a breath, deeply inhaling the moist-smelling air, and started across the parking lot, intent on heading home before the rain started. Looking up at the fast-moving clouds, she realized she would be in for a soaking by the time she got halfway home; so she turned toward downtown instead, figuring she’d go to the aunts’ house and visit for a while before calling home for a ride. It had been over a week since she had seen the aunts, and one of the few promises she had made to herself was that she would visit them as often as possible now that she was back home.

“I had a hunch I’d see you today,” Junia said, swinging open the screen door to allow Elizabeth to enter. “Just after lunch, I told Elspeth that we’d be seeing you before the day was over. Come in, come in and have a cup of tea with us.” She leaned out and looked up past the porch roof at the darkening sky. “Looks like you just made it, too.”

“Yeah,” Elizabeth said, as she came into the kitchen and took her accustomed seat at the table.

Junia let the screen door slam shut with a bang, then directed her voice toward the living room doorway and called out, “Elspeth your niece is here to visit. “

When there was no response, Junia walked over to the doorway and glanced around the jamb. Looking back over her shoulder, she smiled and said to Elizabeth, “She’s fallen asleep again. Oh, well — the sleep can’t hurt her.” With that she walked over to the sink, filled the tea kettle, lit the burner, and placed the kettle on to boil.

“I understand you and your fella went out on a date a few nights ago,” Junia said as she sat down opposite Elizabeth. “Did you have fun?”

For an instant, Elizabeth considered telling Junia the truth, that she intended never to see Frank again, but instead she simply shrugged and said, “Sure. We had a lot to catch up on. But that was the same night Mr. Bishop’s house burned.”

“Oh, yes,” Junia said, covering her mouth with her hand. “Wasn’t that horrible’? But I’m glad to hear you and Frank are back to —”

“We’re not,” Elizabeth said, simply but sharply.

Junia instantly read in her response that there was more to it, but she let it drop. While waiting for the kettle to boil, they chatted pleasantly about a variety of subjects. Elizabeth kept the discussion away from her sessions with Graydon, Henry Bishop’s death, and her relationship — or
non
relationship — with Frank Melrose. Junia talked of neighbors and innocuous local events, such as the patchwork quilt she was working on for the church fair and how grateful she was that spring had arrived and she could work outdoors on her rose bushes.

Outside, the darkness gathered swiftly as the clouds lowered. A strong breeze blew up from the west, and, before the tea kettle had begun to whistle, plump raindrops were splattering against the kitchen window. Junia snapped on the overhead light, and a warm, yellow glow flooded the room. Safe in her aunt’s cozy kitchen, Elizabeth thought that any disturbing thoughts and feelings should be kept at bay, but when the water in the tea kettle began to boil, the shrill whistle jangled her nerves.

Junia got a package of store-bought chocolate-chip cookies from the cupboard and brought them, along with tea cups, a honey jar, and a pitcher of milk, over to the table.

Once she was settled back into her chair and had taken a nibble of a cookie, Junia smiled and said softly, “So now tell me, dear, have you thought any more about what we talked about last time you were here?”

Momentarily confused, Elizabeth looked dumbly at her aunt. Junia smiled and added, “You know, about letting my friend try to help you.”

In a rush, Elizabeth remembered Junia’s mention of a friend of hers who might be able to contact Caroline. She almost said
I have all the help I need already
, but took a bite of her cookie instead and chewed; her gaze drifted to the rain-splattered window as she struggled to phrase a reply. When she took in a sharp breath, she inhaled a cookie crumb and ended up having a brief coughing fit. The tea was too hot to sip, so she got herself a glass of water at the sink while Junia looked on. After gulping down several mouthfuls of water, Elizabeth sat back down at the table, still wondering what in the world she was going to say to her aunt.

“I — really hadn’t thought much about it, I guess,” she managed, even though her voice sounded fragile to her own ears. “I’ve been pretty much occupied with ... other things.”

Her mind was filled with echoes of the conversation she had had with Graydon three days before, and she couldn’t help but wonder if this was just a bizarre coincidence or if — somehow — that conversation and her aunt’s suggestion were connected.

“Well, I realize it’s a rather ... unusual thing to ask,” Junia said, “but I want to reassure you that I think she can help you. If you would like to speak with Caroline, that is. I know Claire would do everything she can to help.”

“Do I know who this ‘friend’ of yours is?” Elizabeth asked.

Junia shook her head. “I doubt it. Her name’s Claire DeBlaise. She lives up in Raymond and I met her only a few years ago myself. Actually, I’m not sure exactly when it was, but I do know it was long after you had moved away from home.”

Elizabeth shivered as she took her cup of tea and sipped at it. In her imagination, she was already following this conversation along the same lines she had followed with Graydon; but where

Graydon had been inconclusive, insisting he was throwing this out only as a therapeutic point of conversation, Aunt Junia was being very specific and very sincere, telling her exactly what she wanted to do. It came down to the same questions: Did she believe there was any possibility at
all
that it could be done? Could she — or anyone — contact Caroline? Or did she think that dead is dead, and that any contact with the dead had to be no more than woollyheaded wishful thinking, outright deception, or — perhaps worst of all — self-delusion.

“And this friend of yours — Claire ... she says she can do this?” Elizabeth asked, her face feeling as if it were chiseled out of ice. “Do you really think she can do what she says?”

“I can’t speak for you, dear,” Junia said, lowering her voice and leaning toward Elizabeth across the table, “but I know that when I’ve sat with Claire, she’s said things that she absolutely could not have known, things that could
only
have been known by me and ... the person I was contacting.”

Elizabeth wanted to ask her aunt who she had contacted, but thought better of it. She had always wondered why Junia had never married. Her mother had told her that, when Junia was young, she had had a lover who was killed during World War II. Elizabeth wondered if that was who Junia had been speaking to “on the other side.”

“And if I ... if I
did
want to give this a try,” she said softly, “is there — I mean, would it cost me anything?”

Junia let loose a short, braying burst of laughter. “Of course it wouldn’t! Claire doesn’t do this for money. She’s been given a gift, the gift of allowing spirits of those we say are dead to enter her and speak through her. To accept money for sharing such a gift would be ... well, it just wouldn’t do.” She shook her head, her eyes going momentarily unfocused. “No — it wouldn’t do at all. Would you like me to give her a call?”

Elizabeth hesitated as conflicting thoughts cascaded wildly in her mind. The reasonable thing to do, she knew, would be to put a stop to it right now — thank Junia for her concern and tell her that she didn’t want to dabble in
anything
occult. She had learned her lesson back when she had fooled around with the Ouija board, and the spirit of Max had told her and her sister to commit suicide.

She surprised herself when she nodded in agreement and said, “Yeah — I guess so ... Why not?”

“Okay, dear,” Junia said, pushing herself away from the table and standing up. “Let me just duck into the living room to check on Elspeth, then I’ll give Claire a call. You just sit here and enjoy your tea.”

With that, Junia hurried from the kitchen, the sound of her feet scuffing like sandpaper on the hardwood floors. Elizabeth smiled weakly as she shifted back in her chair and pretended to get comfortable. She couldn’t deny the thoughts that nagged at her, the feelings that, spurred by Graydon’s “theoretical” discussion, she was allowing herself to be suckered into some crazy-ass spiritualist stuff. The chances that Aunt Junia’s friend Claire — or anyone, for that matter — really could communicate with the dead were remote, perhaps impossible. Even if this Claire DeBlaise wasn’t an outright charlatan, Elizabeth figured she would end up sitting in a darkened room, waiting for the table to start tapping or something like that, and then would be told that the spirits, apparently, weren’t willing to communicate.

But what if it works?
she thought, even as waves of gooseflesh rippled up her arms. If she put aside her intellect and searched her feelings, she could feel a slim ray of hope.

What if this woman really
does
have an ability, and what if I
could
speak with Caroline? What would I say to her?

Elizabeth found herself already phrasing questions for Caroline in her mind.

“It’s all set for tomorrow night, if that’s all right with you.”

Junia’s voice burst suddenly from behind her, startling Elizabeth. She turned around and looked up at her aunt as she came back into the kitchen.

“Tomorrow ... Friday? Umm, yeah, sure,” Elizabeth said, not really thinking. “I don’t think I have anything planned for tomorrow night.”

“Good, then,” Aunt Junia said. “She’s expecting us around eight o’clock. I’ll have Helen Saunders stop by to stay with Elspeth while we’re out. Can you pick me up sometime between seven and seven-thirty?”

Still feeling numb, and thinking she was probably a complete fool for getting involved in any of this, much less for encouraging Aunt Junia’s belief in such nonsense, Elizabeth gulped down the last of her tea. She brought the empty cup over to the sink and then asked if she could use the phone to see if her mother would come and pick her up.

She walked down the hallway to use the phone in the entryway so she wouldn’t disturb the still-sleeping Elspeth. With each footstep, the unnerving sensation that she was being watched got stronger and stronger. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that it wasn’t Junia, watching her from the kitchen, but seemingly someone lurking in the darkened comers of the hallway, always just out of sight ... just out of reach.

As her nervousness steadily increased, Elizabeth paused by the bathroom, both tempted and afraid to peek in at the mirror over the sink. Who might she see reflected there? she wondered. Whose death-pale face would be looking out at her from the glass?

Finally, bracing her shoulders and sucking in a deep breath, she walked past the bathroom door to the phone in the hallway. As she dialed home and spoke briefly with her mother, who said she’d swing by within half an hour, Elizabeth could feel the almost physical contact of unseen eyes peering at her from somewhere in the house. No matter which direction she looked, it always felt as though there was an indistinct presence behind her, and cold, unblinking eyes were watching her ... staring at her ... drilling into the back of her head.

2.

Elizabeth decided to wait outside on the back porch for her ride while Aunt Junia helped Elspeth with her afternoon bath. When she heard the crunching of tires on the gravel driveway above the splattering sound of rain on the porch roof, she looked out expecting to see her mother’s car. Her throat tightened when, instead, she saw the rain slick two-tone blue of a town police cruiser. At first she thought it was Detective Harris, coming by to ask her or her aunt some more questions. Then the driver’s window slid smoothly halfway down to reveal Frank, looking up at her with a thin smile.

“Hi,” he said, with a forced cheerfulness.

“Hi, yourself,” Elizabeth replied, before turning to glance nervously at the kitchen door, as though expecting help to come charging out of the house. When none seemed forthcoming, she looked back at Frank and asked, “So what brings you around?”

Frank shrugged. “just passing by. I thought it was you I saw waiting out here. I just kinda wondered what was up.”

Elizabeth wanted to be mad at him for intruding on her like this, but there was something about his friendly smile that warmed her, and she couldn’t help but smile back. If he did give her a ride home, she thought she might ask him to fill her in on what Detective Harris hadn’t told her.

“I walked over here after work,” she said, resenting that she felt she needed to explain herself to him.

“Rain kinda caught you, huh?”

“Yeah,” Elizabeth said, nodding. Her eyes kept flicking up and down the road, looking for her mother whenever she heard the hissing of tires on the wet asphalt, but Rebecca was nowhere in sight.

“I was just waiting for a ride,” she said at last.

“I can drive you home if you’d like,” Frank said brightly. His smile seemed warmer, more honest now, but there was still an edge in his voice that made Elizabeth think he was offering his help just a bit too fast.

“My mother’s already on her way,” she said, glancing at her wristwatch. “She should have been here by now. Thanks anyway. “

Frank nodded but made no move to back the cruiser onto the road. The engine idled smoothly, and, for a little longer than was comfortable, the only sound was the steady slap-slap of Frank’s windshield wipers and the splatter of rain on the roof and road.

Finally, unable to stand the silence any longer, Elizabeth asked, “Is there something I can help
you
with?”

“I’ve been meaning to give you a call,” Frank said, biting his lower lip.

Elizabeth looked away when she found she had nothing to say.

“Why not call home and see if your mother’s left already,” Frank suggested. ‘‘I’m heading out your way, anyway.”

Elizabeth opened her mouth to say she’d just as soon wait for her mother, but Frank cut her short.