Grave Doubts (A Paranormal Mystery Novel) Read online

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  “She won’t be here long, Mom. I’ve already made a few calls. It shouldn’t be hard to find her a home.”

  Lee dropped into a kitchen chair, still holding the can of soup between her hands. She took a deep breath, trying to focus her thoughts through the deepening headache and sleepless haze.

  “Why did you get this dog in the first place, Amy?”

  “I told you, Maddie thought we would be able to stay in the house we lived in this summer, but the guys who rented it last semester had made a deal with the landlord so they could have it when they returned this fall. So, we had to move into this apartment. We thought if we paid an extra cleaning deposit, they’d let me keep Soldier. But, it’s small and doesn’t have a yard, and they won’t make exceptions. Everything else is already rented, Mom.” She threw her mother a desperate look. “I don’t want to give her away, but I don’t know what else to do.”

  “I won’t have a dog, Amy. You know that.” Lee concentrated on not moving a muscle, hoping it would reinforce her point.

  “Mom,” Amy came and sat across from her mother, her favorite charm bracelet tinkling as it hit the tabletop. “It’s not as if you have to keep her. I’ll be back on Saturday. She’ll keep you company.”

  “I don’t want company!” Lee snapped, inadvertently pounding the can of soup on the table. Amy’s charm bracelet bounced a short melody in response.

  They both froze. Lee dropped her eyes and drew her clenched fists into her lap. Amy tensed, but kept silent, pulling the animal to her side.

  “I’m sorry. I’m pretty wound up,” Lee apologized.

  She looked up at her soon-to-be nineteen-year old daughter and then down at the dog now resting its head on Amy’s knee. The black mask that extended down the dog’s muzzle softened her face, but Lee knew better. Soldier had been trained by a military man as a security dog and had failed a crucial test. She’d been unable to identify with a human being strongly enough to provide the required protection. The trainer had a choice to either put the dog down, or find it a home. Her soft-hearted Amy had offered a home. Now Lee had visions of her daughter’s throat being ripped out by mistake.

  Lee shifted her gaze to a mug sitting on the table from breakfast.

  “I love this mug, you know,” she said aimlessly.

  Amy had given it to her for Valentine’s Day. Lee reached for the mug, absently tracing the two interlocking hearts stenciled on its side. Her world was falling apart, pushing her emotions to the edge. She had just lost her assistant and close friend. Now, she was losing her daughter. She needed to get a grip. Gymnastics had once been her vehicle of choice to blot out personal conflicts. Back then, dusting her hands with chalk and heading for the parallel bars was all it took. In fact, Patrick had once accused her of using athletics to fill the gaps in her life. He’d been partially right. She hadn’t dated much back then. She always said she was too focused on the sport. It wasn’t until she’d been injured and had to give it up that she’d met and married Brad. After Brad, there was Amy. Now, there was only work.

  Lee got up and took the mug to the sink to give her time to think. She put it under the faucet and turned on the water to rinse it out. When the old pipes stuttered, something inside her snapped, and she slammed the flat of her hand against the curved spout with a strangled curse. Amy remained silent as Lee’s anguish filled the room. Lee held her breath, staring into the old, ceramic sink, wincing at the tears that threatened to explode. A full thirty seconds passed before she exhaled.

  “Okay,” she whispered. “The dog stays until Saturday. That’s all.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” Amy agreed, jumping up to give her mom a hug from behind. “I know it’s been a tough day. You need to get some rest.” She kissed her mom on the cheek.”I’ve got to get going. I’m meeting Maddie for dinner.”

  Amy left the kitchen, running up the stairs with the dog right behind her. Lee continued to stare into the sink, focused on the small water bubbles that gathered around the strainer. The phone rang three times before she actually heard it. Forgetting she’d unhooked the phone in the kitchen the night Diane had died, she reached for that one first only to slam it down before hurrying into the hallway. She just caught Patrick before he hung up.

  “Hey,” he said. “Sorry about before. I didn’t even wish you a Happy Birthday.”

  Patrick couldn’t stand conflict. He was almost always the one to apologize first, sometimes showing up in awkward places in order to do it. He’d once appeared at her office in the middle of an important meeting, intent on assuaging his guilt over a disagreement. She had to let him off the hook now, or he’d be on her doorstep when she got home from Robin’s that night.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Lee said. “I shouldn’t have snapped. I’m just really tired.”

  “No problem, and I’ll take good care of the typewriter. And I hope you have a nice dinner. You deserve a break. Then get some rest.”

  “Okay,” she smiled. “That’s just what Amy said. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  She hung up just as Amy came down the stairs.

  “I’ll call you when I get back to Corvallis.”

  Lee perked up and turned to find Amy with a box of folded clothes in her arms.

  “I’m going over to Robin’s for dinner.”

  “Good idea. I left a little something for you upstairs,” she said shyly. “I’m sorry I won’t be here tonight, Mom. I mean, for your birthday and all.”

  Lee smiled, hoping to camouflage her disappointment. “That’s okay. We’ll do something next weekend.”

  Amy brightened up. “Absolutely. I’ll call you when I get to campus, so turn the answering machine back on.” Amy leaned down to give the dog a kiss on the nose, letting her dark curls flop into her eyes. “I left the dog food in the kitchen.” She grabbed her purse off the hall table and turned to her mother. “I love you, you know.”

  “I know,” Lee replied, blinking back tears suddenly. Her throat seemed perpetually tight these days, and she swallowed to relieve the pressure. Amy opened the front door and stepped onto the porch.

  “You have your inhaler?” Lee stopped her, already knowing the answer.

  “Yesssss, Mom,” Amy replied, twisting the corner of her mouth.

  “Well, don’t get used to the idea of leaving this dog here.”

  Amy smiled. “I won’t. By the way, there are a couple of bags of clothes upstairs for the thrift store.”

  Lee just nodded as Amy ran down the steps and started across the lawn.

  “Hey,” Lee stopped her again. “You originally said there were two reasons why this dog flunked out of security dog school. You only gave me one.”

  Amy turned back, the hood framing her face. “It seems she was a bit hard to call off, as they say.”

  An impish smile appeared, deepening Amy’s dimples. For a fleeting moment, she looked exactly like her Uncle Patrick. Then she dashed for the street, the jingling chime of the charm bracelet fading as she reached her car. Lee watched her pull away from the curb, finding it difficult to breathe.

  She continued to stand in the doorway long after the car was gone as if Amy might change her mind and come back. When Amy didn’t come back, Lee crossed her arms over her chest trying to hold in the sob that struggled to get out.

  How could it be that her daughter was old enough to be in college? Lee still remembered the smell of the baby powder she used to smooth onto Amy’s skin after a bath, and how she laughed every time Lee touched the bottom of her tiny little foot. Lee remembered staring at that foot, wondering how a foot could be that small. It was like a perfectly made miniature of the real thing. Now, Lee wondered how that foot had grown so big it could walk away on its own.

  With a deep sigh, she looked down at the dog standing quietly by her side. “Don’t get any ideas. I’m not a willing partner in this.”

  The dog whined and placed its head beneath her hand. Lee grimaced, but didn’t push her away this time. As a brisk breeze wound up outside, Lee glanced
once more to the street. A handful of dried leaves had begun to chase each other down the sidewalk, pushed on by an invisible force. She closed the door under the watchful eyes of a large, black bird perched on the telephone wires above her property.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  A hundred small water jets pounded the knots out of Lee’s neck and shoulders, sending tingles of pleasure down her back. Moments later, she toweled off and dressed in her favorite lime-green chenille sweater, faded jeans, and black flats, before surveying herself in the oval mirror that hung next to the vanity. If she thought the image would lighten her mood, she was disappointed. The high cheekbones, a gift from her Norwegian grandfather, helped support the visage, but the whole image lacked energy. Even pinching her cheeks only succeeded in creating red blotches that stood out in contrast to the shadows that dulled her normally clear blue eyes. Only the dark curls that had been cut to frame her face seemed to add any vitality to the image in the mirror. Lee stared for so long at the haggard reflection, that the image blurred and she no longer recognized the person staring back. Just the hazy outline of a woman she didn’t really know - a mother, a sister, an ex-wife, an ex-friend.

  You’re no friend of mine!

  The last words Diane had ever said to her seared her mind, and she closed her eyes, willing the tears to retreat. Finally, when she opened them again, her tear-soaked gaze came to rest on a picture reflected on the wall behind her. In it, she and Patrick were perched on the lap of a department store Santa when they were very young. Patrick was two years older than she and sat tucked in the old man’s elbow, eyes twinkling, his hand outstretched to snag a curl of the man’s fake beard. The expression on Patrick’s face never changed. She saw it then as she saw it now. To him, life was a bit of a lark, something to enjoy, but not take too seriously. On the other hand, at some point in her own life, Lee had retreated to an inner sanctuary where few people were allowed. Even Patrick.

  Lee sighed and shook her head to dispel the conflicting images. She reached over and picked up the onyx bird from where she’d placed it on the counter earlier. The head was polished as smooth as an oil slick, and the beak was carved like a fishhook. Reflections from the light over her mirror made the chiseled eyes seem as if they were alive, keeping track of her every movement. The lamp on the counter had also warmed the onyx. It was comforting, and somehow familiar. She’d been with Diane the day she’d bought the figurine in a second-hand store in Yakima, Washington, near the Indian reservation. They’d been browsing for antiques. Diane found the bird tucked behind a dusty old watering can, along with two other stone sculptures. Although the other figurines were of the same quality, it was the bird alone that had attracted her, prompting her to take it to the old Indian behind the counter.

  Quick to recognize a potential buyer, the old man had waxed eloquently about Indian totems and how they represented the physical form of an individual’s spiritual guide. The man had taken Diane’s hand in his leathered palm and turned it over as if reading her fortune. With a curious glance at Lee, he’d claimed it was Diane’s totem and even offered to lower the price. Lee sniggered in the background, thinking this guy should have been selling used cars. To her surprise, Diane had shelled out the required fifty dollars and taken it home. Cupped now in the palm of her hand, Lee wondered why Carey had picked this one item out of all of Diane’s belongings to give to her. She replaced the figurine on her makeup table and finished getting ready.

  Fifteen minutes later, she was back downstairs, anxious to get to Robin’s. She placed a ceramic bowl filled with dry dog food in front of Soldier. The dog sniffed at the bowl and then turned up her nose.

  “What’s that supposed to mean? You’re not getting anything else.”

  Soldier sat down, her German Shepherd ears standing straight up like two exclamation points. The message was clear. She wanted something else. Lee looked into the bowl and wrinkled her nose.

  “It is pretty pathetic, I suppose, but you have no choice.”

  The dog whined and slid her paws forward until she lay on the floor, her big black nose pressed against the bowl. Frustrated, Lee yanked the bowl away and added warm water. When she replaced it, the dog rose and began to eat.

  “Jeez. Is that really what you wanted? You communicate better than most four-year olds.”

  Soldier consumed the meal quietly. When the dog had finished, Lee snapped her fingers.

  “C’mon, time to go outside.”

  She led Soldier onto the back porch and then let her out into the backyard. She watched her sniff her way around the withered rose bushes and rhododendrons until the doorbell rang. Letting go of the outside screen door, Lee left the back door to the house open, thinking Soldier would bark if she wanted back inside. Lee was surprised to find Carey standing under the porch light.

  “Hi, Lee. Am I disturbing you?”

  Carey still wore her funeral dress under a light raincoat, but had removed the gloves and hat.

  “Of course not,” Lee replied. “I’m going out for dinner soon, but please, come in.”

  Carey stepped inside and Lee offered her a cup of tea.

  “Just a glass of water, if you don’t mind.”

  Lee hung Carey’s raincoat on an antique coat tree by the stairs before going to the kitchen. As she filled a glass with water, the screen door slammed. She turned in time to see Soldier pad down the hallway toward the front room with only a cursory glance in Lee’s direction. Smart dog, Lee thought. She threw some ice into the glass before following her.

  Carey stood looking through the front window toward the street. The sun had dipped below the trees, washing the sky in hues of dark gray. The soft light from a faceted Tiffany lamp cast a warming glaze across Lee’s collection of antique clocks that lined the walls on either side of the window, their ticking creating a soothing white noise in the background. Next to the clocks was an oak bookcase that held about fifteen of her antique cameras. Soldier sat behind Carey waiting for acknowledgment.

  “Here you go.” Lee offered the glass of water.

  As Carey turned, the spill from the lamp caught the area under her left ear lobe, illuminating a large bruise. The mark was visible for only a moment and then gone. Lee pretended not to notice as Carey took a long drink.

  “Please, sit down, Carey.”

  Lee gestured to an overstuffed white chair, and Diane’s sister sank into its comforting embrace as if she’d just returned from a long journey abroad. She closed her eyes for a moment, while Lee sat on the edge of the flowered sofa. An awkward pause filled the room until Carey opened her eyes to stare at the glass in her hands.

  “I just have to talk to somebody,” Carey said, still staring at the glass. “Vern couldn’t care less about all of this. He thinks I’m crazy.”

  “You mean about Diane’s death?”

  “Yes. I just can’t believe she killed herself.”

  Her voice trailed off, and she paused, looking at Lee with a frozen, haunted expression.

  “I know this will sound stupid,” she continued, “but I think Diane would have died before she would have killed herself.”

  Lee smiled despite the gravity of the statement. Lee slid down onto the sofa, curious now to hear what Carey had to say.

  “I don’t know if you knew this or not,” Carey began, as she placed the glass on a side table, “but we had an aunt who committed suicide when we were in high school. Diane loved her very much. But instead of being sympathetic, Diane was really angry at her. She felt life could never be that bad. That’s why I don’t think she’d ever do such a thing.”

  Another long pause filled the space between the two women. Carey seemed to be calculating her next move.

  “But, if she didn’t kill herself, Lee, then how did she die?”

  The expression on Carey’s face − the rounded, innocent eyes and lifted eyebrows − reminded Lee of a child. Diane had often said her sister couldn’t make a decision to save her life. Lee suspected she was right and considered whether she shoul
d be honest.

  “I don’t know how she died,” Lee admitted.

  Carey stood up and crossed to the fireplace, gazing into the cold, black chamber. Soldier lay on the floor in front of the antique chest that served as a coffee table, her eyes following Carey with a calm acceptance. Some dogs were like that, Lee thought, instinctively knowing friends from enemies.

  “The police think it was suicide,” Carey said to the empty fireplace. “So does my husband. Vern doesn’t have much imagination I’m afraid, and can’t conceive of anything else.”

  Carey continued to stand with her back to Lee, both hands resting on the mantle. Outlined by the rich wood of the fireplace and the warm tones of the wall sconces, she could have been a nun in prayer, all dressed in black. Lee watched her for a moment, contemplating the two sisters. Carey was shorter than Diane, and her brown hair had a natural curl to it, while Diane’s had been bone straight. Carey’s voice was feather light, as if she couldn’t quite get enough air into her lungs to support it. On the other hand, Diane’s voice had carried the heartbreak of a torch singer. Lee had tried to get Diane to sing on occasion, and once, when they’d had a little too much to drink, she’d succeeded. Diane had thrown a silk scarf around her neck, raised a shoulder and broken into, “Whatever Lola wants…Lola gets.” The two had peeled off in a fit of laughter, knocking over a bottle of red wine and staining the cream-colored carpet in Diane’s condo. It was one of the reasons Diane had recently pulled up the carpet and had the hardwood floors refinished.

  “I guess I can’t blame Vern,” Carey said softly. “Suicide is bad enough. But if Diane didn’t kill herself, the alternative is chilling. Vern thinks people who commit suicide are quitters. Now he doesn’t want his name associated in any way with Diane’s.”

  “That seems rather harsh,” Lee responded.

  “You don’t know my husband.” Carey lifted her chin to the ceiling as if to gain strength from heaven. “Diane wouldn’t have been surprised. Vern is very opinionated. He likes things…a certain way. If they deviate, even to a small degree, he gets, well, upset. You’ll have to agree, suicide is a severe deviation.” She paused again and let her eyes drift back to the fireplace. “He won’t even let me talk about it at home.”