Summer Shadows (27 page)

Jack protested that he was well enough to stay, even though he yelped every time Julia touched near the cut.

Dylan arrived then. Julia wasn’t too busy to notice his disappointment when he learned that the Budds were going home. She noticed that he drew Ron aside to speak with him.

“Dana,” she said, “why don’t you go and find our things so we can leave.”

Dana was as reluctant as Jack. “But we were supposed to meet Robert here, Aunt Julia. Shouldn’t we wait for him?”

“Oh, I’d forgotten,” Julia sighed. “You’d better give your dad a call, Amelia, and see where he is.”

Amelia darted out, followed closely by Dana.

“Mrs. Lamontaigne,” Dylan said, brightly. “Would it be all right if Ron stayed longer? We just started a game, and J. C.’s dad went to his truck for the S’mores supplies. We’ll walk him home after.”

Julia was about to say no, then hesitated when she looked at Ron. He was looking at her apprehensively.

“Would you like to stay a little later, Ron?”

“Sure.” He added, “I mean, unless you need me.”

“I think we’ll be all right,” Julia said. “I’ll just speak with Sheila about it and make sure that she’s up to making the detour.”

“I’ll get her.” Dylan bolted from the bathroom, but Ron stayed where he was and silently began cleaning up the discarded first aid supplies.

Dana and Amelia returned with news that Robert wasn’t picking up his phone, so Julia called him herself while Jeanne offered to hold Jack. She listened in carefully as Julia left a message, informing him that they were all headed back to the house and he could pick Amelia up there.

Sheila came in and promised to keep an eye on Ron and bring him home safely.

“Not that he needs an eye kept on him,” she said, as she watched Julia gathering up their belongings to head home. “That one was born thirty-five years old, I think.”

“I think you’re right,” Julia laughed.

Ron was pulled outside with the boys and, with a final thank you to their hosts, the rest of his family stepped out into the night.

As soon they were outside, Dylan had turned on Ron with an elated smile.

“Ready for a little haunted house-snooping?” he asked.

Ron’s heart started to pound. This was it. They were actually going into the house to find a ghost. It was possibly the most thrilling, dangerous thing Ron had ever done.

Dylan turned to go find the other boys, and Ron followed him, trying to keep his face clear of excitement. No need to tip anyone off.

“What about Aunt Julia?” he asked, keeping his voice low. “We’ll pass her on the road, won’t we? What’ll we say?”

“Nothing,” Dylan said. “We’re not going to run into her. If we use the bike trail, we’ll avoid the road and get there without anyone seeing us. We’ll be in and out and no one will ever know we were there.”

Ron hoped he was right.

38

M
rs. Jurta decided to walk Julia and the children home. She’d eaten her fill of cake and didn’t want to leave Dexter alone for too long.

It was a nice night for a walk. The two little girls were ahead of them, talking confidentially. Jack was limp with sleep in Julia’s arms. All around them, tree frogs sang harmony to the tune carried by the crickets, and bats darted industriously overhead.

Julia took a deep breath. The air was fresher than it had been lately, and she was glad to be outside. It was peaceful, a perfect summer night.

Mrs. Jurta did most of the talking, still angling for a commitment from Julia. Julia let her go on as she indulged in her own thoughts. She thought about Jack’s injury, and how quickly her neighbors had sprung up to help him, as they had so many times already these past few weeks. After months of feeling isolated, it was comforting to know that there were others around who cared enough to help.

Too bad this situation is only temporary…

They rounded the corner to Whipple Lane and the two girls began to run towards the house. Julia was too tired to try to catch up or to stop them. She felt her phone vibrating in her back pocket and shifted Jack to reach it.

It was a text message from Robert. Julia was surprised by the rush of relief she felt. She hadn’t realized how much she’d worried that his delay was being caused by some problem or disaster at work.

If I’m this worried about a cop I’m not even in a relationship with, how much worse is it to be his wife or daughter?

It was a fleeting thought, but it was enough to give her a different perspective on the former Mrs. Wilde and her reasons for leaving her husband.

The message was short:
On my way. Sorry I’m late.

It was almost too short. No mention of why he was so late, but he was probably on the road and couldn’t say any more. And Julia wasn’t about to start nagging.

She replied:
No prob. We’re at my house now.

“I’ve never seen that there before,” Mrs. Jurta said suddenly, drawing Julia out of her thoughts.

Julia blinked and looked around. “I’m sorry? Haven’t seen what before?” She slipped the phone back into her pocket and hiked Jack up on her shoulder.

“That truck. I don’t recognize it. Odd.”

She gestured towards a big pickup truck parked in front of her house. It was sitting there, dark and ominous. It probably belonged to a friend of a neighbor, having a beer and watching a game. Even so, Julia felt a chill go down her spine.

“I don’t like it,” Mrs. Jurta looked frightened. “What if they’re robbing my place? What if they’re waiting for me in there?”

That seemed to Julia to be a huge jump in logic. “Your dog would be barking, wouldn’t he?”

“Not if he’s been drugged. Or worse. Oh, Lord, I wish I had my gun! I’d go over there right now and confront them. No one’s cleaning
me
out and getting away with it!”

There was a touch of hysteria in her tone, and Julia was very glad that the gun wasn’t there.

“Why don’t you come in with us and wait,” she suggested. “We can watch the house from my place until Officer Wilde gets here. It’s probably nothing – just a friend staying over who parked at the wrong house, maybe. These places can look alike in the dark.”

Mrs. Jurta didn’t answer right away. She couldn’t take her eyes off the truck, and Julia wondered if she was going to flip out. She didn’t know what to do if she did.

“We won’t do any good waiting out here,” Julia said. “Come on inside with me. I could use a cup of coffee and a chat while I wait for Amelia’s dad.”

“But what about my dog?”

“He’ll be fine. Come with me and let’s get the kids in the house.”

Julia propelled the older woman along until they reached the side door. As they passed the two girls, Julia told Dana to follow her. Then she stopped to find her house key while Mrs. Jurta, hiding in the shadow of the van, tried to catch a glimpse of the imaginary thieves.

It was impossible to search her purse with Jack in her arms, no matter how she shifted him back and forth. She finally gave up and tapped Mrs. Jurta on the shoulder.

The woman jumped and turned around.

“Would you hold Jack for me, please?”

Mrs. Jurta took him reluctantly. Jack woke up during the transfer and rubbed his eyes solemnly, and she bounced him up and down in her arms while glaring across the street.

“I’m probably being cleaned out even as we speak,” she said. Her hushed and dire tone was in keeping with the drama she was creating. “I should call 911.”

“Let’s wait for Robert before we do that.”

“Where are the police, I ask you? Never where you need them, yet always around when you’re going a teensy bit over the speed limit.”

“There’s nothing in the back of the truck yet and there’s no light coming from your house,” Julia said. “They’d hardly be working in total darkness. They would at least have flashlights.”

“That’s true, I suppose. Dexter’s been so sensitive to light lately that I haven’t left even my bedroom lights on, like you.”

“Like me?” Julia was pawing through her purse, trying to remember which compartment she’d placed the keys in.

“Like you, leaving the back room light on. Always a good idea. People will notice the shadows on the shades.”

Julia’s head snapped up and she looked around the doorway to the back of the house. Sure enough, there was a dim light emitting from the back bedroom, the one with the blood-stained walls. She could see the faint glow through the windows of the other bedroom. A chill washed over her for the second time that night.

She had turned off all the lights before they left for the party that afternoon.

“Come on, Budd, keep up!”

Ron hurried through the underbrush after Dylan. Bushy branches scratched his legs. Twisting roots tried to trap his feet, and insects swarmed them every time they stopped for a breather.

“How much further?” Mac wheezed. He sounded awful. Ron was winded, but at least he didn’t sound as bad as the leggy nerd did. It wasn’t much comfort, but he’d take it.

“Almost there,” Dylan said now. He was leading, doing his best to keep ahead of George.

“Good night for a hike,” George said.

Mac wheezed, “Sure, if you don’t mind ticks going up your back and – other places.”

“Quit moaning. You didn’t have to come.”

“Shut up,” Dylan muttered. “We’re here.”

The house loomed before them, looking even more like a set for a horror movie than Ron had remembered. He looked around at the other boys for their reactions.

Theirs weren’t obvious. Mac adjusted his glasses and studied the wall, while George brushed twigs from his shirt and checked his phone. Dylan crouched next to his backpack, rummaging through it.

After George fiddled with his phone for a few moments, he thrust it in front of Mac’s face and took a picture. Mac jumped back and tripped over an exposed root, falling flat on his back.

George laughed and showed Dylan the photo.

“Nice,” Dylan laughed. “All right, Ron, you’re cameraman again and Mac, here’s my night vision binoculars. Be careful with those – they’re my granddad’s.”

“What’s the game plan, Dyl?” George asked.

“We’re going to split up,” Dylan began, but he was immediately interrupted.

“Uh, no, bad idea,” George said. “People always get killed when they split up.”

“That’s just in the movies.”

“I have to go along with George on that one,” Mac nodded. “We’re already breaking and entering – I don’t want to add criminal stupidity to the charges.”

“I meant, we
pair
up,” Dylan said, patiently. “Me and Ron, you and George. We take the opposite ends out of the house and see if we can’t flush out this ghost. We each have a cameraman and a leader, and Mac and I will stay in touch by cell phone. Sound good?”

The two older boys nodded, but Ron raised his hand.

“I don’t think we should break in,” he said.

“We’ll try not to. Start looking for unlocked windows. That way it won’t be breaking in.”

“Just entering,” Mac agreed.

“Let’s move!” George said.

They stepped over the low wall of bushes. The other two hurried around the back, and Ron and Dylan were alone.

“Okay, Ron,” Dylan whispered. “Just keep the camera rolling and follow me. Watch your step and don’t trip.”

Ron fumbled with the buttons, embarrassed by his shaking hands, and then brought the camera to bear on Dylan. “Ready.”

Dylan turned with a theatrical flourish and began to creep around the house. Ron sighed, exasperated, and then followed him.

They went around the corner and stopped while Dylan peeked through windows and tapped on the glass. Nothing stirred, but that didn’t deter him. He didn’t miss one window without stopping to rap on it or shine his flashlight into the darkened space. It was so ridiculous that Ron forgot about being scared and started wondering what the professionals Dylan was trying emulate would think of his “footage”.

Dylan stopped, gazing soberly into the camera.

“It’s still relatively early at night. Most ghosts don’t come out until after midnight, but if we’re lucky, we might catch an early one. My friends are on the other side of the house, trying to stir something up right now. But I’ll tell you,” and here he leaned forward in an attempt to look cool, but he looked even sillier than before. “Tonight, I feel lucky.”

Ron shook his head and looked up to a big window on the second floor.

Someone was staring back at him.

Julia tried to calm herself, tried to think. Mrs. Jurta’s talk of burglars had her on edge: she expected to be hit over the head with a mallet by a malevolent criminal at any moment.

Had she forgotten to turn the light off? It was possible, but she couldn’t go in there with the kids until she was sure.

“Mrs. Jurta, would you stay out here with the kids while I take a look inside?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

Mrs. Jurta was alarmed. “What? Why? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she assured her. “I just want to look around a bit before I let the kids in, that’s all. Normally I would have them wait with Ron, but he’s not here now. Would you mind?”

“Well, I guess not…”

“Why aren’t we going in?” Amelia asked.

“You will in a second,” Julia said, keeping her voice low. “You two wait here with Mrs. Jurta, okay?”

“Now, you know, Julia,” Mrs. Jurta said. “If you had a dog, you wouldn’t have to worry about this.”

“Thank you for that, Mrs. Jurta.”

Julia’s fears seemed silly to her now, and she wished she hadn’t made such a big deal out of the whole thing. She probably wouldn’t have, if Mrs. Jurta hadn’t gotten her all nervous with talk about burglars and murderers.

She found her key and inserted it in the lock, keenly aware of the sound as she turned it. The door swung open quietly, as it always did, and she stepped inside.

The face was motionless, white and distorted, watching them with a terrible intensity. Its eyes were two empty holes, boring into Ron’s, holding his horrified gaze.

His heart stopped as the camera fell from his hand and hit the ground. After two failed attempts to speak, Ron managed to gasp, “
Dylan!”