Home For the Haunting: A Haunted Home Renovation Mystery (22 page)

It was clear there was no need whatsoever for me to intervene. Graham was casting a much more powerful spell than I could ever muster with my self-important “help the community” line. Graham was speaking to Kobe with respect and laying out the truth of the world without judgment or opinion.

Our eyes met. I felt another little piece of the ice around my heart slough off in the heat.

Raven showed up half an hour later, standing on the sidewalk and rocking from one foot to the other. In the harsh afternoon sun, she looked much younger than she had the other night. I almost felt bad about pinning her to the floor with my boot.

I gestured to Caleb. “That’s Raven. I’ll introduce you, and then you could get her a pair of work gloves, and maybe you two could clean up the path between the houses?”

It was still littered with junk from old furniture to stray nails, from our interrupted work on the weekend.

“Okay,” he said, clearly dubious. “But it’s awkward.”

“I know. I owe you one. Or lots of ones.”

Speaking of awkward . . . Hugh was now standing on the sidewalk in front of Monty’s house. Again, he had such an ethereal look about him that he appeared almost like a specter himself.

“Hi, Hugh,” I said. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugged. “I was just—I don’t know—just looking at the house. My house. The Murder House.”

Once again it struck me that this was not a useful way for Hugh to spend his time; I was no therapist, but dwelling on the place that had housed so much tragedy didn’t appear to have helped his sister, and I wasn’t sure Hugh would fare any better.

“If you have some extra time, we could use all the help we can get,” I said.

“Really? I’d love to help. It’s about the only useful thing I can do. My dad was handy; he taught me.”

As was predictable, at his own mention of his father, Hugh’s attention wandered. His lips moved slightly, as though working on yet another poem. But since he didn’t have Simone with him, there was no one to translate for him.

“Thank you, Hugh; that would be great. We’re trying to finish up this ramp while we still have the light.”

As I led him over to the ramp, he kept his eyes on the house next door.

“Have you seen anything else happening at the house?” he asked.

“Not really, though I haven’t gone back in, so . . .”

“Tomorrow is the anniversary,” said Hugh.

“I know.”

“Have you . . . you mentioned once that you might be able to arrange for a séance?”

I wish I knew what was best in this situation; in a way, a séance seemed like the smart move, since ideally we could keep things under control, and with luck we could actually ask questions of the spirits. And according to Olivier, Hugh’s presence there would help by boosting the connection to the family. But I worried about his mental health.

“Yes, I think we can do that,” I said. “But are you sure you want to be part of it? We could do it without you and let you know what happens.”

Hugh fixed me with a look that was suddenly focused and intense. “I know I seem fragile sometimes. But I’m not. I want to understand what happened. I need to talk to my father. If you can’t do it, I’ll find someone who can.”

“Okay,” I said, taken aback. “I understand. I think you’re right; we should have a séance tomorrow night and see if we can get to the bottom of all of this. I’ll see if I can make it happen.”

We joined the group working on the ramp, and I introduced Hugh around. Monty came out briefly and asked if someone could fix the curtain rods in the front windows. Hugh volunteered to go in and see what he needed. Monty didn’t seem interested in interacting with the ramp crew; it made me wonder about what Stan had said, about Monty’s lack of involvement in the ramp’s construction.

While the others were busy, I called Olivier and asked about the séance. He had made contact with Meredith, and it was set to move forward. “We need six people besides Meredith. Three women, three men. I’ll be there, and Hugh, and you and Hugh’s wife? Do you know another man and woman who would be willing and able to come?”

“Sure, I’ll find someone,” I said, looking over at Zach and Graham. Once the posturing and power struggle between Graham and Zach settled down, and it was clear Graham was in charge, everyone had relaxed, and the work was progressing well.

I still felt a bit defensive about the whole ghost thing in front of Graham, and I realized a good part of it was that I cared what he thought of me. With Zach I felt more at ease, because I didn’t care as much. But if I asked Zach to the séance instead of Graham, I would never hear the end of it.

As for a woman to invite? Luz was petrified of anything ghostly, but my friend Claire, the landscape designer, was pretty kickass. She might well have plans for Friday night, but it couldn’t hurt to ask.

The sound of sawing and hammers banging was like a lullaby to me, calming and soothing. It was enough to make a person forget about ghosts and murder for a bit.

Kobe was using a drill with a Phillips-head bit to screw a sawn plank onto the support below. Graham, I noticed, was working nearby but acting as though he wasn’t watching; it wasn’t irreparable if Kobe did it wrong, after all. The boy was applying himself with concentration; tongue curled around his lip, he held the drill with both hands and pressed down firmly and steadily as he’d been told. The screw went in a little crooked but adequately.

He released the mechanism on the drill and stood back to admire his own handiwork, a pleased look coming over his face.

“Not bad,” I said. “Not bad at all.”

He seemed to catch himself and shrugged. “Yeah, no big deal.”

“Could be a very big deal if it makes the difference between a man being trapped in his house or getting out independently.”

Another shrug.

“Hey, could I ask you a question? Where would a person get drugs around here?” I felt like the worst kind of old person, the sort that asks kids about “newfangled” telephones and the like. Did people even call drugs “drugs” these days? Did you say “score some dope”?

Kobe gave me a decidedly disapproving look. “Don’t you think there are better ways of handling your problems? Lady, like, you should have, like, resources or whatever.”

“Thank you, Kobe. I appreciate your concern. But I wasn’t looking to buy anything for myself. I’m trying to find out who Linda—the woman we found here?—who she might have been in touch with before she died, and you mentioned you had seen her hanging around here. She had some problems.”

“She a user?”

“I think she was, yes.”

“What was she into?”

“I’m not really sure. Alcohol, definitely, but drugs, too.”

“Alcohol’s, like, totally a drug.”

“Yes, I realize that.”

“Worse than a lot of drugs.”

Little Kobe was a real stickler for public health issues, it seemed.

“I agree with you,” I said. “All of it can be dangerous stuff if it gets out of hand. But there’s one big difference: Alcohol’s legal. For grown-ups, anyway.”

He pondered this as though it were news.

“Anyway,” I continued, “I know it’s a long shot, but I’m trying to help out the folks who used to live here.” I glanced over at Hugh, who I could see through the front windows adjusting the curtain rods. “The boy who escaped, he’s a man now, but this sort of thing can haunt a person.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“Hey, what’s with the potty mouth?” I couldn’t help myself.

He gave me yet another scathing look.

“I would like to talk to whoever deals around here, just to see if they knew her and can give us any information.” It dawned on me that this was precisely what Graham was worried about—that I really should leave this sort of thing to the police. In fact, Annette might already have spoken to the local suppliers. But then, I imagined Kobe would know things that others might not.

“Have you ever heard of a guy that used to live around here a long time ago, dealt some drugs, named Duct-Tape Dave?”

“Duh.”

“He must have been before your time,” I said, unconvinced.

“Well, yeah, but he’s a legend around here. He was a great businessman, but he had heart.”

“He went by Duct-Tape Dave.”

“That was because of his homemade silencers.”

“Yeah. I think that was sort of my point. If you go by an assassin’s moniker, I’m not sure I’d say you qualify for the crook with a heart of gold.”

“What’s a ‘moniker’?”

“It’s another word for your nickname or your handle.”

“Why you don’t just say that, then?”

I shrugged.

“Dave gave money away sometimes, though,” Kobe continued. “He gave money to the lady lived next to him, old Ms. Lee.”

“No kidding? Hey, this was decades before you were even born. How do you know so much about this guy?”

He shrugged. “I’m sorta like the local historian; that’s what people say. I like the stories, so I’m always asking my mom and the neighbors, and they tell me stuff.”

“And Ms. Lee told you Duct-Tape Dave gave her money?”

“Not exactly. I heard that from—I dunno—maybe one of the runners? Can’t remember. It’s just the word on the street. Dave’s still kind o’ like a legend.”

I looked down “the street.” It sure didn’t look like the urban mean streets that one might see in certain parts of the city, in the Bayview or West Oakland—or even in the Fruitvale, where I lived. No abandoned vehicles or houses—with the notable exception of the oddly majestic Murder House, of course—no trash, not even in the empty lot next to Etta’s house. It could be called a bit down-at-the-heels, but the yards were tended, and there was a sense of community and history—even if that history was focused on the most successful drug dealer in the neighborhood. But it sure didn’t seem like much of a Mean Street.

So if the street of thirty years ago was anything like it was now, I could only imagine how a drug-dealing house went over with the neighbors.

“Hey, Kobe, do you go knock on the door of the house over there?”

“The Murder House?”

I nodded.

He twisted his mouth and looked away. “Um . . . maybe. Sometimes. Can’t back down on a dare.”

“Well, knock it off. Or I’ll sic Ms. Lee on you.”

He looked at me, startled. “Don’t even joke about that. She knows people. She knows people who
know
people.”

I laughed, but I noticed he didn’t join in. Was this nervousness around someone who knew his mother, or could the energetic, oh-so-understanding Ms. Etta Lee be more involved than she might at first appear?

The ramp came together well and quickly; Kobe had become Graham’s shadow, listening intently to every instruction. Hugh spent the whole time inside with Monty, rehanging drapes and earthquake-proofing bookcases. Caleb and Raven had begun chatting, and I heard more than one giggle ring out as the Goth girl let slip her sullen facade.

In fact, the teenagers were getting along so well, I started to get a little nervous. I had asked Caleb to befriend her, but I wasn’t sure I was ready for him to bring Raven around for dinner.

The sun set a little before six, cloaking us in the orange rays of dim light. Next door, I noticed several lights clicking on. Monty was right—that house seemed to have a life of its own. As I looked toward the lit windows, I wondered whether the resident ghosts were carrying on their routines, walking through their strange afterlife . . . and condemned to reliving the crimes of that terrible night.

“E
nough already,” said Graham that evening as we were putting away the tools. The ramp was finished and solid. There was still plenty to do this coming weekend, but at least now Monty had complete access and egress to his house. He came out and rolled up and down a few times, to our applause.

“Enough what?”

“I get the point.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You think I was flirting with Cookie last night, so you spent the day with that boy to drive me crazy.”

“Zach’s not a boy.”

“Yeah. I guess that was partly my point. Enough with the flirting with Zach.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Okay, ‘flirting’ might be too strong a word in this case, because you really suck at flirting. But admit it: You’re trying to make me jealous.”

“Whatever do you mean?” I winced at my own wording, which put me in mind of
Gone with the Wind
, which my father insisted on watching the other day, blaming it on my dear departed mother.

“Come off it, Scarlett.” Apparently Graham noticed the same tone in my voice. “Have dinner with me; give me a chance to win you back.”

“Um . . .” While I was trying to think of an excuse, Graham rested his hand on the back of my neck, then scrunched my hair up in his fist and gave a gentle tug while looking deep into my eyes. It was a signature move that made me melt. “Okay. But first we have to take everybody home. And then you have to go with me to talk to a guy about a thing.”

“Oh, boy. Who is this?”

“Just a guy Kobe told me about. It’ll be real quick.”

“Mel . . .”

“Look, you said you were worried about me, so I’m asking you to be my backup. If you don’t want the position, I could always ask Zach to go with me. He’s remarkably accommodating.”

“I’ll just bet he is,” he grumbled. “Let’s go.”

We dropped Raven off at her home with the promise to tell Inspector Crawford she had fulfilled her community service. I noticed she and Caleb traded digits on their phones, which worried me. I’d wanted him to snoop around a little for me, not get involved with kids who performed rites over Ouija boards in empty houses.

Then we dropped Zach at his car. I got out to hug him good-bye and to thank him for being my escort today. He gave me a wink, saluted Graham, and was gone.

“Did you get any information from Raven?” I asked Caleb as we drove him to his mom’s place near Pacific Heights.

He shrugged. “Sorta.”

“Like . . . ?”

“I don’t know if it really relates to what you were looking for. I mean, it’s not really about the dead body. It’s just, like, kinda weird.”

Graham gave a mirthless chuckle. “Like anything about this case isn’t.”

“What is it?” I asked Caleb, pointedly ignoring Graham.

“Raven says she, like, totally saw Monty walking around one night.”

“Around where? At the Murder House?”

“No, I mean like, not in his chair.”

“Out of the wheelchair? You’re saying he can walk?”

He nodded. “You don’t think . . . like, if he could walk, maybe he could have been part of what happened to Linda? And maybe he’d be worried now about what you might do if you figure it out?”

I tried to process this information. “Even if he can walk, that doesn’t mean he had anything to do with Linda’s death. Among other things, the police still think she killed herself or that it was an accidental overdose.”

“Yeah, but you think someone killed her,” he said, his dark eyes unusually sharp and focused on me and my response. “Don’t you?”

We pulled up in front of a tall building where Caleb lived with his mother in the penthouse suite. The front doorway was decorated in ornate concrete tracery formed to look like a stylized face, with its mouth as the entrance. It was the sort of thing people did in the old days: They tried to make a splash, design something unique and special.

“I . . . um . . .” I stumbled as I tried to gather my thoughts. I didn’t want to scare Caleb, but there wasn’t much point in denying the obvious. And after all, this was why I asked him to speak with Raven. “I’m still not sure. I guess it seems sort of suspicious to me . . . but I haven’t figured it out.”

“Anyway, Raven says Monty’s totally, like, a crook.” said Caleb as he gathered his heavy backpack full of schoolbooks. “Promise you won’t go over there alone anymore.”

“I . . .” I was about to protest that I would be fine, but realized how stupid that sounded. If Monty was able-bodied, he could well have been involved with this somehow. At the very least, it was suspicious behavior, and I needed to be better about my safety. Last time I was involved in something like this, I landed in the hospital.

I locked eyes with Graham, who was studying me.

“Okay, I promise.”

I forced Caleb to accept a kiss and a hug—which I held too long for his liking—and then Graham and I watched as he was swallowed up by the mouth of the apartment building.

“You see,” Graham said in a low voice. “I’m not the only one worried about you.”

“I know. You’re right. So, let’s go talk to Monty.”

He gave me a pained look. “I thought we were going to talk to some mystery guy, then going to dinner.”

“We are, but it’s still early. The fellow I want to talk to isn’t far from Monty’s house. You’ll be my backup.”

“Okay, so go over this whole thing for me one more time, will you?” Graham asked. As we drove back across town, I gave him the lowdown as far as I knew it. It was helpful to hear myself talk aloud about the situation. As I spoke, I thought about what Kobe said about Ms. Lee receiving money from Dave, and how he’d reacted when I mentioned telling her about his behavior. And the gun, and how the house that burned was right next to hers . . .

We pulled to a stop at the corner of Noble and Dover streets. Graham remained silent. I looked over at him and realized he was trying not to chuckle.

“What?”

Now he let loose with a little whoop.

“
What
?”

He held up his hands in surrender. “Hey, far be it from me to second-guess the crime-solving, ghost-catching queen of the construction trade. But little old Ms. Lee, the retired schoolteacher? You seriously think she masterminded some sort of drug-payoff/murder scenario? This is the woman with the model railroad in her illegal add-on porch? The one with the three-legged cat?”

I could feel my cheeks flame.

“I’m just trying to keep an open mind,” I mumbled. “I may be a crime-solving genius, but if you’ve noticed, so far my genius pretty much arises from accidents. I haven’t actually guessed the perpetrators before they, you know, try to kill me.”

Graham looked suddenly serious. “Yes, that part I’ve noticed.”

“Anyway . . . if Monty can walk . . . maybe he really was part of this. I don’t even know what to make of that.”

“You drive me insane, you know that?”

I did my best to channel Cookie, copping what I hoped passed for a coquettish smile. “In more ways than one, I hope.”

He reached out and pulled an unruly corkscrew curl. It bounced back immediately. It annoyed me, which he knew perfectly well.

“Let me assure you,” he said as he pulled me into the circle of his arms, which pushed the annoyance right out of my consciousness. “You drive me crazy in any number of ways. This one happens to be my favorite.”

We shared a long kiss.

When I finally pulled away, he started to lean in for another kiss, but then pulled back with a resigned look on his face.

“You’re plotting, aren’t you? Fess up. While I’m getting carried away kissing you, you’re thinking about your next move in whatever crazy investigation you’re conducting. Might as well tell me what it is.”

“It’s not that big a deal, really. I just want to talk to the local drug dealer. Real quick. Kobe told me where I could find him.”

We were in a dicey neighborhood. There was a group of young teenagers sitting on the steps, and I thought about Ms. Lee saying that kids as young as ten were sometimes recruited by gangs.

A young boy, no older than Kobe, came to the passenger-side window. Graham leaned over me and spoke to him.

“Have you seen this woman?” I handed out the photo of Linda.

“We’re not cops, and we don’t care what you’re doing here,” said Graham as he handed him a twenty. “We’re just friends, looking for this woman. There’s another twenty in it for you if you take the photo to your friends and ask them about her.”

After a few moments an older teenager approached the car. He walked cautiously, approaching the vehicle sideways, his hands down at his sides, as though ready to pull a piece if he needed to. He grabbed the money.

“Yeah, I seen her,” he said. “A regular. Not for a while, though.”

“What did she buy from you, do you remember?”

“All she bought was oxy and pot. She wasn’t what you’d call hard-core. Just, like, a user.”

•   •   •

“Well, that was a bust.”

“And I’m out forty bucks,” Graham commented.

“I’ll pay you back.”

“What did you expect to learn?”

“Just what she was on, I guess. And to be sure she really was an addict—you never know. Everyone keeps saying that, but I didn’t feel like I knew for sure. Oxy isn’t an opioid, is it?”

“I have no idea. This isn’t my area of expertise.”

“You seem to know how to get dealers to answer questions.”

“I’ve seen TV. And offering money comes in handy in a lot of scenarios. So, now we go to dinner?”

“First I’d like to speak with Monty. Do you think he really could be a crook?”

“Anybody could be a crook. Especially in your orbit, I’ve noticed. But even if he’s ripping off everybody doesn’t mean he murdered Linda. What would have driven him to something like that?”

I shrugged. “Annette keeps telling me murder is usually committed for stupid reasons. Maybe she saw him out of the chair, and he panicked that she’d tell.”

“And he feared that Neighbors Together would shun him? That doesn’t seem like much of a motive. On the other hand, disability-insurance fraud might have been enough of a threat. But then why leave the body there, where it wasn’t much of a stretch that you all would find it?”

I thought of Monty shouting from the porch that we were cleaning out the wrong shed.

“Again, all I can think of is stupidity. Or arrogance. Or both.”

We parked in front of the Murder House and mounted Monty’s steps. I looked at the just-completed ramp, and my heart sank at the idea that Monty might have been taking advantage of the kindness of all those volunteers. Of course, the possibility that he might have been involved in Linda’s death was pretty awful, too, but there was something so . . . conniving and dispiriting about pulling a scam on a charity.

There was no answer to our knock. I called out; still nothing. He had to be home; he was always home. But then, that was back before the ramp, and when I thought he couldn’t leave his house unassisted. If he was able to get around, I supposed he could go out when he wanted.

I peeked in through the front window, where the drapes were drawn and the light was on. I could just barely see through a crack in the curtains.

Monty was out of his chair.

But he wasn’t walking. He was lying on the floor, covered in blood.