Ghost House Revenge (4 page)

“I’m sorry,” Gary said, feeling uncomfortable. Grasping at straws, he said, “Do you
play a lot of racquet ball?”

“Three nights a week and every Saturday, when I lived in Jersey,” Derek said, smiling
again. “There was a little gymnasium there that didn’t charge too much for court time.
I miss it.”

“I sometimes see ads for a local health club in our town paper,” Gary said. “It has
a court. Why don’t you join?”

On Saturday Derek did drive into town to look up the club. Halfway there, he spotted
a young woman hitchhiking. Derek, who never picked up strangers, ignored her. Silver
lampposts and patches of sand and sparse, scrubby foliage shot passed him. Something
about this barren section of Belle Bay made Derek uneasy. Why was that? He was never
unsure of anything!

It was the woman, of course. She had looked like a pitiful refugee, her eyes huge
and staring. Derek looked in his rear-view mirror, his breath catching in his throat
when he saw her eyes. They seemed to be pulling him, making him turn the car around
and drive back to her. Without understanding why, he stopped and opened the door for
her.

“Where do you want to go?”

The woman said nothing. She stared straight ahead through vacant blue eyes. There
was a strange smell about her, a faint mixture of sea wind and rotted meat. Rotted
meat? Derek was disgusted at the thought. Close-up, the young woman’s appearance disgusted
him even more. She was so pale it was painful to look at her, especially since he
could see the veins beneath her skin. Her eyes had a filmy quality, and the blond
hair that hung around her shoulders looked as if it hadn’t been combed in weeks. Even
stranger were the clothes she wore—corduroy pants, a flannel shirt, and fur boots.
On a warm spring day.

God, have I ever picked up a loser
, Derek thought, starting the car again.

“Just tell me where you want to get off,” he said as he drove down the road. He was
annoyed at himself for giving in to a ridiculous impulse and letting this stranger
into his car.

All of a sudden, the woman pressed her hand on top of his. It was as cold as ice.
Derek looked down at it, keeping a firm grip on the steering wheel, although he wanted
to pull away from the freezing touch of her fingers. Her hand was chapped red. It
was as if she had just stepped out of a snowstorm.

“Hey, let go!” Derek cried. “What’s wrong with you? Do you need a doctor?”

She made no reply, but took her hand away. Derek turned his eyes from the road for
a split second. The woman was making gestures as if she were crying. Derek couldn’t
see any tears, though her small mouth hung open and her shoulders heaved. She stared
down the road.

“Mel . . . Mel . . . Mel . . .” she moaned.

Derek, his eyes on the road once more, patted her arm and told her he would get help.
She stiffened. Her sobbing stopped with a huge gasp, and she doubled over as if she
were
going to be sick. Derek quickly pulled the car off the road, got out, and ran to open
the door. But when he tried to help her out, she collapsed to the ground. Her eyes
stared glassily, and she made no sound.

“Jesus in Heaven,” Derek whispered.

He hesitated, afraid to touch her. All sorts of visions came to his head. Everyone
would start asking questions, and they might even accuse him of killing this woman.
She had been in his car—how could they think otherwise? Why should he jeopardize his
life and career for one crazy addict? He didn’t need that kind of trouble.

Derek looked up and down the road, surprised at how calm he was. There was no one
around, no one to see him lift her—why was she so stiff, he wondered?—and carry her
to a nearby clump of bushes. He put her down there, glad to be rid of her.

“Sorry, lady,” he said as he hurried back to his car, “but I don’t know you from Adam.
I don’t need your problems.”

He thought at first about forgetting the entire incident, but his sense of decency
got the better of him. He parked his car in the center of town and walked to a phone
booth.

“Belle Bay police department,” a voice said. “Bryan Davis.”

“I—I want to report a body,” Derek said carefully, keeping his voice low so that passers-by
wouldn’t hear him.

“A what?”

“A body,” Derek repeated. “I saw it behind some bushes on Houston Street, near Walher.”

“Hey, wait!” Bryan cried. “Who are you?”

But Derek had already hung up. By the time he reached the health spa and signed the
membership papers, he had pushed the incident with the girl from his mind. He was
choosing a racket even as Bryan Davis reached the designated intersection.

“Over there,” Bryan said to the cop with him. “I think I see something, Jack.”

“It’s just an old towel,” Jack said, kicking it aside to show that the ground beneath
was empty. “You suppose this is what our caller saw?”

“I don’t know,” Bryan said. “He sounded pretty upset. Let’s look a little further.”

As he poked through the clumps of bushes scattered here and there on the roadside,
Bryan took note of the fact that no cars had passed them. Chances were, no one else
had seen the body—if indeed there was one. After a few more minutes of searching,
Bryan straightened himself and sighed.

“Jack, we’re wasting our time,” he said. “It was just a wild-goose chase.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Jack said. He was looking at some point behind his captain.
“Nothing surprises me anymore.”

Bryan turned around and followed Jack’s gaze. He could see the huge VanBuren mansion
at the top of the nearby hill. Bryan wondered how the family was doing, especially
Gary.

“I sometimes see his wife driving him through town,” Jack said, as if reading Bryan’s
thoughts. “He’s still in a wheelchair, you know.”

“It was a hell of a fall he had,” Bryan said grimly. He clapped Jack on the shoulder.
“Let’s get back to the station. Well just assume the caller was seeing things, okay?”

“If it’s all the same to you,” Jack said, “I’d like to believe we aren’t going to
have any more trouble here.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more,” Bryan said as he got into his car.

As soon as breakfast was over, Derek turned to Gary and said, “Why don’t we get started
now?”

“Right away,” Gary said. “I’m having some clients here this afternoon, so I want to
get this done early.”

Melanie looked over her shoulder. “Honey, I’m going to be taking my new painting into
town today. Do you mind if I’m not here?”

“I’m sure I’ll be okay,” Gary said. Melanie often helped him by answering phones or
bringing coffee when he was with his clients.

“I hope you sell that painting,” Derek said.

“Thanks,” Melanie said. “If I do, I’ll probably sell a few more. The mayor’s wife
is filthy rich.”

“Then don’t take less than five hundred dollars,” Gary said laughing.

Later that morning, Melanie carefully laid the painting in
the back of the station wagon. As she walked around to her door, she looked up at
the ominous gray clouds in the sky. A faint rumble of thunder told her it would rain
within the next hour.

Melanie switched on the radio as she drove down Starbine Court and thought how pretty
everything looked that afternoon. The approaching storm gave the air a clean, cool
scent. She could see the stretch of beach through the sparse woods; it was empty except
for a young couple and their dog. The usually still waters of the bay were churning
now, and sea gulls anticipated the storm with high-pitched cries.

Melanie shuddered suddenly. Though it was April, she had felt a wind so cold that
goose bumps crept over her skin. Keeping one hand on the wheel as she turned a corner,
she tightened the belt on her raincoat. She heard something thump behind her and looked
quickly over her shoulder. The painting had shifted a little, but no harm had been
done.

“I sure hope I sell that,” she said out loud as she drove through the center of town.
She pulled into the parking lot next to the town hall, surprised to see how full it
was on this gloomy day. She found a spot at last, then switched off the engine. Crossing
her fingers for luck, she went around to the back of the car to retrieve the painting.
But when she pulled it out, she nearly dropped it. There was an ugly red smudge mark
right in the middle of it.

“Oh, no!” Melanie whimpered, propping it against the door. “I don’t understand. I
worked so hard on it. And I
know
that paint was dry!”

Something told her, though, that this wasn’t paint. Carefully she touched the spot.
It was thick, but not as thick as oil paint. Melanie brought her finger to her nose.
It wasn’t paint at all. It was blood.

Quickly she examined her own hands and arms for signs of a cut. That was fresh blood—it
wasn’t as if one of the kids had touched it earlier on and had been too scared to
tell anyone about it. Yet Melanie’s skin was unbroken. It was almost as if someone
had done this on purpose. But that was impossible.

Suddenly she heard a voice right behind her. “What happened to your lovely painting?”

An attractive, well-dressed middle-aged woman was at her side. The woman was shaking
her head.

“Who’d do such a thing?” she demanded. “It looks as if someone rubbed red paint on
it.”

“It’s—” Melanie stopped. Why should she tell this stranger the red mark was blood?
How could she, when she hardly believed it herself?

“Did you paint it?” the woman asked. “It’s beautiful, in spite of . . .”

Melanie nodded. “I was going to sell it to the mayor. I don’t think I could even give
it to him, now.”

“It’s really not a big smudge,” the woman said. “Do you think you could paint over
it?”

“I don’t know,” Melanie said sadly. “I don’t know if it would do any good.”

“Yes, it would,” the woman said, taking Melanie’s arm. “Come inside with me, and we’ll
talk about it. I’m Sarah Kaufman; I’m the mayor’s wife.”

Melanie and Sarah shared coffee in an empty office, discussing her work as a painter.

At last, to Melanie’ delight, Sarah wrote a check for one thousand dollars, explaining
that she wanted Melanie to do two paintings for her, one of the duck pond and one
of the local church. She asked if Melanie could put pink roses in that one. They were
her favorite flowers, she explained. They also agreed that four hundred and fifty
dollars would be a fair price for the damaged painting if Melanie could repair it
successfully. Sarah Kaufman was a sympathetic woman, and Melanie found herself lingering
on after they had completed the transaction, talking about her home and Gary’s unfortunate
accident.

When Melanie left the town hall, it was starting to rain, so she pulled up the hood
of her raincoat and ran down the steps to her car. She was surprised to see a young
woman sitting on the back fender. Melanie, feeling elated with the check in her purse,
smiled at her. The woman did not return the smile, but watched Melanie as she walked
to her door and got in the car.

When Melanie started the car, the woman was still sitting on the fender. Melanie hit
the horn, to no avail. Sighing in exasperation, she got out of her car. She tapped
the woman’s shoulder.

“If you don’t mind,” she said, “I’d like to move my car.”

The young woman said nothing, but stared up at Melanie. There was something in her
glassy blue eyes, something cold and vicious, that made Melanie shudder. The woman
seemed strangely familiar. Melanie studied her for a moment, then decided she didn’t
know her after all. “What is it you want?” Melanie asked. “Money? A ride?”

The young woman shook her head and smiled for the first time. It was a thin evil smile.

“I want you to die,” she said.

Melanie gasped and turned quickly to run into the hall. She found a security guard
and brought him outside. But when they reached the car, the woman was gone. Droplets
of rain covered up any indication that she had been sitting there.

“She was right there,” Melanie said, pointing.

“She probably ran away when she saw me coming,” the guard said. “I wouldn’t worry
about it. You know kids these days. Probably some smart-ass teen-ager.”

“You’re right,” Melanie said. “I’m sorry I bothered you.”

“It’s my job, lady,” the guard said.

When she arrived home, Melanie gathered the family together and held up the check
for everyone to see. She told about her meeting with Sarah Kaufman and how the mayor’s
wife had commissioned her to paint two pictures.

“That’s a lot of money,” Kyle said.

“But what about the other picture?” Gary asked.

“I couldn’t sell it,” Melanie said sighing. “Somehow, part of it wasn’t dry yet, and
it got smudged.” There was no point upsetting everyone with the truth.

“But you finished that several days ago,” Gary pointed out.

“I know,” Melanie said. “I guess—well, I guess this damp weather we’ve been having
kept it from drying. It’s all right, though. Mrs. Kaufman says she’ll pay four hundred
and fifty dollars for it when I fix it.”

Despite her feelings of misgiving, Melanie related the story about the strange young
woman. She described the glassy blue eyes and scary smile and related how the girl
had disappeared before the security guard could chase her away.

“Probably high on something,” Derek said. He thought for a moment about the hitchhiker
who had been in his car the other day. Belle Bay was such a nice town. Not the sort
of place you’d expect to find a lot of drugged hippies.

“Well, let’s forget it,” Gary suggested. “This is too happy a day to dwell on something
like that. Why don’t we all go out to dinner, to celebrate?”

“It sounds great,” Melanie said. “Derek and Alicen will come, too, I hope?”

Derek smiled. “Let me get my umbrella.”

A short while later everyone headed out to the cars, laughing and talking about the
good evening they would have.

* * *

The silence of the big house lulled Lad to sleep. His wiry body was stretched out
near the front door, ready to waken and jump all over the children when they returned.
A twitch of muscle would ripple his smooth gray-brown skin every once in a while,
but the dog slept on.